I shake my head. ‘I don’t think I would.’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘Okay, maybe I’d feel better for five minutes, then I’d just feel ten times worse.’
As if I could feel worse.
Justin has agirlfriend. A new girlfriend. I’m in fake-therapy with anus-less Edward, while my ex is moving on, dating a dreamboat called Orla. It’s so unfair.
Sam flops down beside me, deflated by my lack of enthusiasm. ‘Are you okay, mate?’
‘Not really,’ I reply. ‘Can I have a cuddle, Sam?’ I add in a small voice.
‘Ugh, fine, give me a sec.’ She turns to offload the mug onto a side table, and I pout.
‘You don’t want to cuddle me,’ I say forlornly.
‘You know how I feel about cuddling,’ she replies, arms now free and outstretched.
‘Well, I don’t evenwanta cuddle anymore,’ I say, pouting even harder.
She tuts, then pulls me into her arms. ‘Tough luck, the cuddle is happening. You don’t have to cuddle back but youwill be a cuddle recipient. The cuddle is happening to you. Enjoy the cuddle, Jane. I hope it makes you happy. Dear lord, what a sad little life.’
‘Shut up, or I’ll show you my nipples.’
I let myself be hugged. Sam doesn’t volunteer for too much affection, but she is very good at it.
‘How was the therapy session anyway?’ she enquires after a moment.
‘A waste of time,’ I say stridently, head up. ‘I kept telling Edward I don’t need it and it’s pointless, but he didn’t listen.’ I wave at the notebook on the coffee table. ‘He’s given mehomeworkif you can believe it! He says there will be exercises every week for me to do at home.’
She sits up straighter. ‘I bloody love therapy homework! I love it when Arshiya gives me stuff to work on at home.’
‘You teacher’s pet,’ I sniff at her.
‘What does he want you to do?’ she asks curiously.
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. Something to do with anger journaling. I’m supposed to keep a diary of feelings for the week. Write down what triggers things, warning signs, how I deal with it. All that crap.’
‘I’ll make a diary of feelings I have for Edward.’ She grins leerily. ‘It would be weird and pervy.’
‘Ugh, stop it.’ I roll my eyes, and she laughs.
‘No, but really.’ She smiles. ‘Anger journaling sounds like it’ll be really useful and interesting.’
‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Yours, you idiot.’ She leans out of the hug completely.‘But, look, you have to take some time off work, and you have to go to these sessions. You might as well try to get something out of it. Try and embrace this chill time, while also working on your mental health – kill two birds, etc.’
I regard her with horror. ‘Why would I kill two birds?’
She looks amused. ‘It’s an expression.’
‘Anexpression?’ I gape at her.
‘An idiom, a phrase,’ she adds. ‘Wait, you’re telling me you’ve never heard someone say they’re going to kill two birds with one stone?’
I gasp. ‘Now I’m murdering these two birds with astone?I’m taking a large pointy rock and I’m bludgeoning two innocent carefree little doves—’
‘No one specified that it was doves,’ she protests.
‘Two little robins then,’ I continue, ‘a pair of cute, red-breasted robins who – after years of searching – finally found one another and fell in love. And just as they’re building their happy little nest together, I come along with my bloodied rock to pummel the life from their limbs. I climb up the tree to find their tiny little sanctuary and one by one I—’
