“When?”
“Um, last month, I think? I was just sad and lonely,” I murmur. “It was after Isabelle’s birthday party. I got home and I just…I don’t know…”
“It’s okay.” Dr. Boyd puts a box of tissues in front of me and I’m suddenly aware of the wetness dripping down my cheeks and neck. “It’s okay, Natalia.”
“I went home,” I cry, picking at my cuticles, “and cried on the couch for a while. And I just felt really,reallyempty. And…worthless.” I hiccup. “Like my friends didn’t really want to be my friends, and maybe I don’t deserve them to be my friends.”
“Natalia,” Sasha says. “Did you think about more than self-harm?”
I bite my inner lip until there is a metallic taste on my tongue. I nod. “I started thinking, what if I could just never stop? What if I was going to do…what if I’m going to self-harm my whole life because I don’t know how to do anything else? Like…I’m an adult. Shouldn’t I be past this?”
“Adults suffer from depression, Natalia,” she says gently. “Adults self-harm. It affects everyone and anyone.”
I exhale shakily. “I know. I know, I just…I’m scared I’ll always be in this cycle and I’m scared I’llwantto always be in this.”
“Did you use any of our old techniques?”
“I cuddled with Binx,” I croak. “I tried to meditate. I showered and put on a movie until I fell asleep. I just tried to ignore it.”
“And the journaling?”
I shrug, indifferent. “It doesn’t feel like me. I just prefer to bake.”
“Okay, so baking,” she says. “How has that been?”
“Good.” I sniffle. “Fine. I’m scared I’ll wake up one day and hate it. I already do sometimes.”
“Have you considered taking some time off?” she asks. “Maybe a week or weekend vacation? Or even a mental health day.”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Who am I without the bakery?”
“You would still be you, bakery or no. Baking is your passion, right?”
I nod.
“Then, without the bakery, I’m sure you’d still bake. I’m sure you’d still find solace in it.”
“Maybe,” I murmur. “I’m kind of seeing this guy.” I wipe beneath my eye with the crumpled up tissues in my hand.
“And? Are you happy?”
“Yeah,” I rasp. “Yeah, but…”
“You’re scared,” Dr. Boyd finishes for me. “Natalia, the last time you were in a relationship?—”
“I know,” I mutter. “It got really bad. But this—He isn’t like that. Rowan is—” I choke on a sob trapped in my throat. “I can’t let myself love him. I can’t lethimlove me, but I know he does.” I let go again and allow the tears to rush down. “He loves me and I don’t know what to do with it.”
“With what, sweetie?” she asks gently.
“With the love,” I cry. “I don’t know how to accept it. I don’t know what to do with it or where to put it. He looks at me like that and I wish he wouldn’t. But I want him to because no one has ever looked at me the way he does. I can’t do this—I don’t think I can do this.”
“Do what, Natalia?”
“Him! I mean, we’re supposed to only be having sex but it doesn’t feel like that anymore. He cares and he’s gentle, and it’s ruined! But it’s so much better. I don’t know. I—He cares. We haven’t…”
We haven’t fucked in so long because we aren’t just fucking anymore, and we both know it.
“And I don’t like the way I’ve treated him,” I confess out loud for the first time. “I always shut him down—call him for sex. And when he’s nice to me, I don’t know what to do with it. I have so many feelings for him but I don’t know if I’m ready to give them to him. I’m not well enough.”
