‘Come in and close the door.’
Her voice was soft, she was clearly trying to keep me calm.
‘Would you like to sit down?’
She was still using that tone. I suspect they taught that in some psych class along the way. It probably had a euphemistic name like ‘Patient-Counsellor Connections’ or something like that.
There was no tone, no psychologist magic that was going to calm me down today. I had something to say and I needed every ounce of anger to stay brave enough to say it.
I perched on the edge of the leather chair across from hers. I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped to keep them from shaking.
‘Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?’ The worst was that she sounded sincere, I almost believed she cared.
What was troubling me? Where did I start? Did I complain about how she reported our sessions back to my mother? How she and Mom had portioned out their advice so it would seem like I was hearing the same thing from two independent sources? Did I tell her about the frustration? The feeling of betrayal?
The words bubbles into my throat and clamoured to get out of my mouth. I swallowed them down and let a single phrase escape.