Chapter Twenty-Three
Iris closed her laptop,putting it off to the side. She smiled, the same smile she’d had at our last two sessions. I wondered if she ever got disappointed. Even though I was about to tell her I hadn’t done my homework for the week, I was sure she’d still smile. It was a comforting one, either way. “How have you been since our last session?”
I shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I didn’t do what you asked me to, though.”
“Okay. Why not?” Her voice was level and smooth, not even a hint of raised tone in it. The true example of patience.
For a moment, I thought about just how honest I wanted to be with her. How deep into my mind did I want Iris to see? I’d been playing that same game for years now. Keeping things justvague enough or deep enough to keep someone from being too curious.
Sighing, I shifted on the couch in front of her. Therapists and couches. I never understood why a therapist always had a couch for clients to sit on. Was it to give false comfort? I grabbed one of the throw pillows beside me, holding it in front of my chest and stomach. “I think it’s dumb. How could that possibly help me?”
“I guess you’ll never know if you don’t try.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure. Writing words on my skin in red fucking marker will totally alleviate any and all urges to cut my skin instead. You really got me there.”
She tilted her head, her eyebrows furrowing just slightly. “Why don’t you think it’ll help?”
“Because it’s the pain I’m looking for. I need the pain and the blood. I need the shitty healing process after. And once they’re healed, I need to be able to slice over them again. What don’t you understand about this?”
“You haven’t even tried, Moon. If you aren’t ready to fully stop, it’s okay?—”
“I am, though. I’m ready. I want to.”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do. Why do you think I’m here?”
“Why doyouthink you’re here?”
I gripped the pillow in my hands, tugging on the sides while I squirmed where I sat. She was the therapist here—why wasn’t she answering these questions herself? It was a damn miracle I’d even told her I cut myself. It was a miracle I’d told her I’d been struggling with mental health for years after a vague trauma I briefly mentioned. It was a miracle I was alive, and here she was, trying to get me to think about shit I had no reason to think about.
Emerson was my reason. He was the entire reason I was here. The idea that, maybe, I’d be able to love him the way hedeserved, without all the broken and caged pieces of my heart getting in the way, was enough. Crescent and Elio had been trying to get me into a therapist’s office for a while, but when Emerson asked, it was different. They were stuck with me, no matter what. Emerson was choosing to be with me. He had a choice where they didn’t. He saw me in ways they never had, and never would.
Iris leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “What would you write on your skin if you were to do it? What kind of things do you feel when you’re about to self-harm?”
The question made the very skin she was asking about line with goosebumps. Little tingles of unease settled in, crawling along every scar and into the fresher cuts that’d finally healed. I looked to the side, avoiding her gaze entirely. “Failure. Murderer. Worthless. Mistake.”
“Why failure?”
“I couldn’t protect my siblings. I never accomplished much during school for my parents to be particularly proud of. I’m here, in this office, talking to you. No offense.”
“So, you’re talking about other people. You think you’ve failed other people. What about yourself, Moon?”
I jerked my head toward her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Iris pointed her finger at me. “Do you think you’ve failed yourself? By not giving yourself enough grace.”
Scoffing, I shook my head. “Fuck no. I don’t deserve grace.”
She nodded slowly, clasping her hands together. “Okay. You gave me quite a few words I want to eventually get to, but I’m going to focus on this one for a second. If you aren’t ready to get better, then you never will.”
“Oh my god, not that again. I told you, I’m ready to stop.”
“I didn’t say stop self-harming, I said get better.”
I glared at her. “That’s the same thing.”
“No, it isn’t. You know that, right? Self-harm is just a small part of the overall equation. You aren’t suddenly healed once you stop self-harming. We can tackle that issue, but we won’t fix a thing unless we find the root cause and heal through it. You’ve got a lot of rewiring in your brain to do. And that could take months, if not years.”
