I blinked, looking back down at my hand as I pulled it away from my head, several red strands following. “Y-yeah. Forgive me for…” I trailed off, swallowing, trying to get myself back to the present.Fuck, I ripped out my hair. I didn’t even feel it. Surely that doesn’t count as hurting myself, right?
“Here,” she said, holding out a cup of water.
I nodded, taking the cup and sipping the cold water.
Sarah stood, giving me space, and returned to her seat across from me.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, still clutching the pillow with my other hand.
“What…what had you asked me?” I asked, trying to get my bearings.
“I asked what happened four years ago when you cut your hair?”
“Right,” I nodded, opening my eyes, and placing the water cup down. “Right. Um, I cried afterwards, but I survived.”
The silence dragged and she eyed the clock.
“Okay. I want you to think about cutting your hair. You don’t have to do it. Yet. But just think about it. Imagine yourself with a pair of scissors, or maybe a friend, or even a hairdresser if you think you’d prefer that but just imagine it. Sitting there, choosing the length of hair you’d want to have, seeing the hair as it’s cut, and how you’d look once it was over.”
I nodded, feeling numb and a little spaced out.
“You did good today. Let’s pick up on Thursday? Can you do one?”
I closed my eyes, trying to think what my work schedule was.
“Um, yeah. Sure.”
I’d have to use my lunch hour, but I’d make it work.
She nodded, standing from her chair.
“You okay to drive? You’re welcome to sit in the waiting area as long as you need.”
“No, I’m good.”
She nodded again and I finally released my death grip on the pillow to stand.
“Bye, Emory. See you soon.”
???
I stared at the calendar on the wall, counting backwards again.
Thirty-seven days. Thirty-seven days since Enoch walked back into my life. The last week of my calendar was void of my numbering, since I wasn’t home to count the days since I left Eden.
Was this a sign I should stop counting? Was it finally time for me to break the fucking habit? Or was I just switching to a new obsession?
Thirty-seven days with Enoch.
Seven days free from self-harm.
“Em? You there?”
I cleared my throat, focusing in on the sound of Cole’s voice ringing out from my phone’s speaker.
“Yeah. Sorry. Um, I’ll get back to you, okay?”
“Yeah. No worries. I’ll keep the slot open for you.”
