Hirsch. I'm just here to talk to you and
make sure you're all right, okay?"
He stopped, and after a couple
seconds I realized he was waiting for me to answer. That was weird, especially
after 'conversing' with a Ms. Talk-a-lot like Erica. I tried to imagine Erica
sprawled on her back with this guy lounged on top of her, thrusting his hips in
and out of her.
Ew.
"Sure," I heard myself
say. The sound of my own voice was odd to me. I thought back to Friday night
when I'd laughed and didn't recognize that sound, either. These things were
probably significant for some reason, but I currently didn't know or care why.
He clasped his hands together in
front of him. "Morgan, you lost a lot of blood. They say it was from a
kitchen knife." He paused, his eyes shifting a bit, and I wondered if he
was uncomfortable discussing this. Well, if he was, he shouldn't have become a
psychiatrist. "Would you like to tell me why you cut yourself?"
I exhaled a breath I didn't know I
was holding. I looked up at the ceiling and tried to figure out two things.
First, did I want to go into gory detail about my pathetic life? And two, supposing
I did, how would I even begin telling him about it, with its complexities and
long explanations of my stupid life?
He tried again. "Morgan, I
know you're not a child, and I don't want to make you feel like you are. But I
know there is something that's bothering you, and I would like to help you with
that. You and I may have to spend a lot of time together, because many people
are worried about you."
"There isn't anybody worried
about me," I said before I could think. Damn. Stupid headshrinkers and their
psychology bullshit.
To my surprise, he didn't wear a
satisfied 'gotcha' grin. He didn't even miss a beat. "Why would you say
that, Morgan?"
I bit my lip and decided that,
since I was an idiot and talked already, I had to continue full-force. "Because…
because it's true. Don't get me started about my mother."
"Is your mother the reason you
cut yourself?"
A cynical laugh escaped my throat. "No,
not even close. It was-" I cut myself off, not wanting to sound stupid in
front of this man I'd just met, doc or no. Then, not knowing what else I could
say, I continued. "It was my ex-boyfriend, Adim. I mean, he didn't do this
to me," I added hastily. "I've been going through this cycle with
him… and…"
"Were you trying to get away
from his abuse?"
I looked up sharply, immediately
confused. How did he know?
My expression must have said it
all, because he gestured toward my chart, saying gently, "Morgan, the
staff that treated you for your blood loss contacted me. You have bruising in
various areas of your body, some months old, some weeks old—the type of
bruising that's consistent with domestic abuse. And you have an old
third-degree burn on your arm that's over a year old."
I was silent for a moment, not
knowing how to respond to this direct inquiry. Then I decided to ignore the
abuse reference and finish what I'd been saying. "I have been going
through a whole thing of getting together with him, breaking up…" I made
little circles with my hands to illustrate my point; I'm not entirely confident
it clarified anything for him. Part of me felt like I was being featured on a
talk show. Their stories were the same every time. We started going out, and
everything was great at first, but then out of nowhere he just started acting
crazy. "And then something else happened-"
"What happened?"
I looked at the color of his shirt
instead of his eyes. "Someone out there is spreading rumors about me."
I didn't have the energy to explain about the fake picture. Spreading rumors
was the same thing in my book. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I have
too much shit to think about." I closed my eyes and rubbed them, hoping he
would get the hint and walk away. Was it even legal to swear in front of a
psychiatrist? I wasn't sure. I felt tired and really wanted to go back
to sleep.
"Morgan, I know this is hard.
But these
make sure you're all right, okay?"
He stopped, and after a couple
seconds I realized he was waiting for me to answer. That was weird, especially
after 'conversing' with a Ms. Talk-a-lot like Erica. I tried to imagine Erica
sprawled on her back with this guy lounged on top of her, thrusting his hips in
and out of her.
Ew.
"Sure," I heard myself
say. The sound of my own voice was odd to me. I thought back to Friday night
when I'd laughed and didn't recognize that sound, either. These things were
probably significant for some reason, but I currently didn't know or care why.
He clasped his hands together in
front of him. "Morgan, you lost a lot of blood. They say it was from a
kitchen knife." He paused, his eyes shifting a bit, and I wondered if he
was uncomfortable discussing this. Well, if he was, he shouldn't have become a
psychiatrist. "Would you like to tell me why you cut yourself?"
I exhaled a breath I didn't know I
was holding. I looked up at the ceiling and tried to figure out two things.
First, did I want to go into gory detail about my pathetic life? And two, supposing
I did, how would I even begin telling him about it, with its complexities and
long explanations of my stupid life?
He tried again. "Morgan, I
know you're not a child, and I don't want to make you feel like you are. But I
know there is something that's bothering you, and I would like to help you with
that. You and I may have to spend a lot of time together, because many people
are worried about you."
"There isn't anybody worried
about me," I said before I could think. Damn. Stupid headshrinkers and their
psychology bullshit.
To my surprise, he didn't wear a
satisfied 'gotcha' grin. He didn't even miss a beat. "Why would you say
that, Morgan?"
I bit my lip and decided that,
since I was an idiot and talked already, I had to continue full-force. "Because…
because it's true. Don't get me started about my mother."
"Is your mother the reason you
cut yourself?"
A cynical laugh escaped my throat. "No,
not even close. It was-" I cut myself off, not wanting to sound stupid in
front of this man I'd just met, doc or no. Then, not knowing what else I could
say, I continued. "It was my ex-boyfriend, Adim. I mean, he didn't do this
to me," I added hastily. "I've been going through this cycle with
him… and…"
"Were you trying to get away
from his abuse?"
I looked up sharply, immediately
confused. How did he know?
My expression must have said it
all, because he gestured toward my chart, saying gently, "Morgan, the
staff that treated you for your blood loss contacted me. You have bruising in
various areas of your body, some months old, some weeks old—the type of
bruising that's consistent with domestic abuse. And you have an old
third-degree burn on your arm that's over a year old."
I was silent for a moment, not
knowing how to respond to this direct inquiry. Then I decided to ignore the
abuse reference and finish what I'd been saying. "I have been going
through a whole thing of getting together with him, breaking up…" I made
little circles with my hands to illustrate my point; I'm not entirely confident
it clarified anything for him. Part of me felt like I was being featured on a
talk show. Their stories were the same every time. We started going out, and
everything was great at first, but then out of nowhere he just started acting
crazy. "And then something else happened-"
"What happened?"
I looked at the color of his shirt
instead of his eyes. "Someone out there is spreading rumors about me."
I didn't have the energy to explain about the fake picture. Spreading rumors
was the same thing in my book. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I have
too much shit to think about." I closed my eyes and rubbed them, hoping he
would get the hint and walk away. Was it even legal to swear in front of a
psychiatrist? I wasn't sure. I felt tired and really wanted to go back
to sleep.
"Morgan, I know this is hard.
But these
Similar Books
