I shook my head and she nodded, picking up her notepad and reading over something for a moment.
“How about we go back to the fear of apologizing.”
I groaned and threw my head back. “I’ve been working on that one. I actually said it a couple of times this week.”
“Really?” she said with a pleased sound of surprise.
“Yeah. It’s…fuck,” I rolled my neck again. “It was a conditioned response, I wasn’t allowed to say…”Fucking say it, you weak puta!“I wasn’t allowed to say, ‘I’m sorry’.” I released a breath of relief, squeezing the pillow harder. “I was punished if I didn’t apologize properly.”
She hummed in acknowledgement. “I’m glad you’ve started breaking that conditioning. Keep at it and it will get easier each time. Let’s work on another one then.” She glanced down at the list, lips twisting in thought. “How about the bathtub?”
My heart raced and I shook my head. “No. Not today. Please.”
She studied my reaction before finally nodding. “Okay. Cutting your hair?”
I took a breath, waiting for my heartrate to return to something that didn’t make me lightheaded.
“My dad. He buzzed my hair off when I was in elementary school. And I’ve refused to cut my hair since.”
“You’ve not cut your hair in, what? Ten? Fifteen years?”
I shook my head, reminded of my flashback while I was with Enoch on our first non-date date.
“No, I cut it about four years ago, but it wasn’t my choice.”
She nodded. “Okay. Okay. So, even if you decided yourself to cut it, that still scares you?”
I closed my eyes in thought for a moment. “Yes? I’ve not really ever considered cutting my own hair.”
“Alright, why don’t we talk through that time you got your haircut by your dad.”
I sighed. “Um…I was…seven, I think. It was second grade, just before Thanksgiving. I remember because I cried every night of school break when I woke up each day and it hadn’t magically grown back. I had to go back to school with a buzz cut. Half the class thought I had gotten lice and refused to stand near me. The other half thought I had cancer and was dying, which didn’t mean they were nice. Just meant the whispered about me wondering when I was going to die.”
Sarah shook her head with a frown. “Why did he cut your hair?”
I shrugged. “Decided I was being a brat during one of his come downs. Busted my brother’s face when he tried to stop him and forced him to help pin me down so he could finish.”
I shook the memory from my mind, running a hand through my waist-length hair, as if to remind myself that I wasn’t bald anymore.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she sighed, shaking her head again. “And this other time, the more recent haircut?”
“Someone cut it while I was sleeping.”
“And how did you react?”
I could hear the sound of the shears like Mrs. Nortuck was here in the room.
My eyes stared at the pile of red hair on the floor, nose burning with the urge to cry. I ignored the mirror that she held out for me to look at her work, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to keep my tears and panic at bay if I saw myself now. I only had so many minutes left before I had to get dressed for the ceremony.
I ground my teeth together, shoving the memory away.
“Emory.”
I jolted, blinking, focusing my gaze on the hand that was attempting to unfurl my fist, locked around my hair.
“Shit,” I muttered. Looking over to find Sarah studying me.
“Hi. You with me?”
