chapter twenty-two

THE LOBBY WAS cold, numbing the tips of my fingers and nose. My leg was bouncing, making it nearly impossible to scribble information on the forms in my lap. The pen made a tick tick sound as it hit against the clipboard with the rapid movement of my leg. A few people tossed me annoyed looks so I set the clipboard aside, clasping my hands and pressing them between my knees, hoping to subdue the shaking and the chill.

I didn't think I'd actually go through with this, especially when Harry said he wouldn't be able to go. For my doctor's appointment, it was in the morning when he didn't have a client coming in. However, I had to schedule a later appointment for this... this therapist, and he had a few people come in during the afternoon. I couldn't remember how many times he'd apologized, but it had been great many.

Holding Gemma's pep-talk close, and Harry's sincerity closer, I somehow convinced myself to still show up.

But now I felt like I could vomit.

How would someone solve this? They couldn't possibly. If Harry couldn't help me, then they sure as hell couldn't. I'm curious as to how Harry put so much faith into something not many people believed in, but I promised him I'd try. I was going to try harder and I was going to get better because I promised him. I never broke a promise and I didn't intend on starting now.

Though the continuous opening of the door was very tempting. It'd be so easy to slip out of the waiting room unnoticed with the half-filled forms in the empty seat next to me. It would be like I was never there. They couldn't call me to come back because they wouldn't have my number. I could tell Harry I came and wanted to try something else...

Except that would be lying to him, and I was tired of doing that.

I had to believe that if Harry thought this was worth it, it was.

Letting out a slow breath, I picked up the clipboard again and tried to focus on the questions. There was a whole page and a half on policies and consent, then another page on confidentiality, two pages of patient information, and finally an acknowledgement that filled half a page. Each had a place for me to sign that I understood and agreed to everything. I hesitated at first, wary as to if I did agree with everything, but I signed them all nonetheless after a couple of proofreads.

Just when I signed the acknowledgement, a side door opened and my name was called. I froze in my spot, heart picking up pace. Miraculously, I gathered my wits fairly quickly and my legs remembered how to move. The man, who I presumed was the therapist, was a middle-aged man with dark hair that looked like it had been dyed. He had a clean-shaven face with a strong jawline yet full cheeks and big brown eyes. He was barely taller than I was, his body of average build. Overall, he seemed entirely normal and benign.

I tried to take that as a good sign. Maybe this would work out after all. Maybe he would be easy to talk to and he could fix me. Yes, that would be nice; to be fixed. I was sick of being damaged, every bone and organ in my body shattered. How was I on my own two feet? That was a very good question, indeed.

"Nice to meet you," he said, his smile a bit too wide and his teeth too white. "I'm Doctor Marty Allen, but you can call me Marty, if you'd like."

Our handshake was brief and I replied, "Delilah."

Unphased by my lack of enthusiasm, he led me down a long hallway to the fourth room on the left. He gestured to a leather couch sat in the middle of the room. I swallowed and sat down. He closed the door, making me jump just the slightest. He retrieved a swivel chair from behind his desk and slid it over in front of the couch, taking his place in it.

"Um, I guess this is for you?" I said, though it came out more of a question as I handed him the clipboard with my forms.

He smiled again, this time just with his lips and I was grateful for that. He looked too eager to help me with a full smile. I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, wishing he'd get straight to the point so I could get out of here as quickly as I'd gotten in. He skimmed over the paperwork, lips pursed in thought and his fingers drummed the arm of the chair.

"Well, let's talk about you," he said, eyes peering over the clipboard to lock with mine.

I averted my gaze. "Isn't it all right there for you?"

"Why you are here is right in front of me, however, who you are is not. I'd like to get to know you a bit more. It's extremely beneficial in a healing process to know the patient you're helping." He crossed his legs. "So let's start with the easy ones. What's your favorite color?"

"Uh, blue."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"An older brother, Nathan."

"And what does Nathan do for a living?"

I picked at my fingernails. "He's in the military. He just came back home a couple of months ago."

"How long was he gone?"

I let out a breath. "I hadn't seen him since I was fifteen."

Marty's eyes widened. "That's quite a long time, considering you're twenty-two now."

I nodded.

"You must've been very excited to see him. Are the two of you close?"

"Always have been."

"That's good. Siblings often fight frequently and claim to hate each other, but the blood-bond is always there. You connect with each other even when it seems quite the opposite."

"Yeah, I guess."

The questions continued, varying from what my favorite subject in school was to what I liked to do in my spare time. I started to relax just the slightest. These were mere questions, and I could handle harmless inquires. He didn't ask about my favorite food or favorite restaurant, and I figured it was because food was the basic reason I was here today. Perhaps he was afraid such questions would unnerve or offend me, and maybe they would.

"What's your relationship status like? Single, taken, complicated..." He raised his eyebrows at the last one, like he knew something I didn't want him to. He couldn't possibly know about Justin, though. It wasn't on the forms.

"Taken," I said meekly, the word still sounding odd leaving my lips because I wasn't thinking about Justin when I said it. I was thinking about someone so much better, and the image of his face appeared, leaving me with a small smile.

"I take it the relationship is going well," he said, almost like he were teasing me with his own little smirk on his lips. "How long have the two of you been together?"

"Not very long," I admitted. "I've known him for nearly four months, but we've only been... 'official' for only one of them." My cheeks flushed a little.

"Did he have any part in you being here today?"

"He had every part in me being here today."

"And how did the two of you meet?"

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. "I needed to lose weight, so I went to the gym and got a trainer. There he was."

Marty nodded thoughtfully, then said, "You said you needed to lose weight. Were you terribly overweight?"

Was I? I used to think I was but now I wasn't so sure, not with the knowledge Harry continued to fill me with. To Doctor Phillips, I'd been obese. To Harry, I'd barely been overweight. Who's side do you take in such a predicament? The professional or the gentleman?

"Maybe," I finally answered, unsure of what else to say and I very much didn't want to elaborate.

The therapist, however, very much wanted me to elaborate. "And what exactly does that mean?" he asked gently.

I shrugged.

He sighed. "Delilah, I can understand your timidness around the subject, but I need to be informed of everything so we can get you feeling better."

Still picking my nails, I stared down at my hands. The room had suddenly gotten much more suffocating. The sunlight coming through the window showed an eerie amount of shadows lining the walls, and I felt myself shrinking in, cowering away from the silent monsters. They couldn't get me, I reminded myself. They were just shadows. Just shadows.

"Let's try this." I heard his chair creak as he wheeled forward some. "Tap your foot once for yes. Don't move at all for no."

I think my index finger started to bleed, albeit just a measly few drops. It smeared on the opposite index finger when I went to tear at the nail.

"Sometimes mothers can push their child to be how they wish they were. Did your mother suggest you should lose weight?"

No, of course not. Mom never made a single remark about my weight, not even when I gained it. She never stopped calling me her beautiful girl, either.

"How about a previous relationship you were in? Was your significant other persistent in urging you to change your appearance?"

The only sound in the room was my foot tapping once on the wooden floor.

"Had he always been a critic of your weight?"

No, no, Justin used to love me. He had me on a high pedestal long, long ago. I had been his princess, but I had been dethroned.

"So you used to be quite skinny, yes?"

My foot tapped again.

"Tell me, Delilah..." He hesitated this time, his voice lowered into a whisper. "Had this man ever physically harmed you?"

My eyes stung and my foot could no longer tap once--it was tapping rapidly. I dug my nails into my thighs and blinked, ridding the tears before they had a chance to come. I chewed my bottom lip until it was bleeding just like my index finger. I dragged my nails down the length of my jean-covered thighs, feeling panicked and light-headed.

"Okay, okay, Delilah..." He was trying to be soothing to calm me down, but I couldn't hear him. How could I hear him when Justin's shouts kept circling in my head? I could hear every word clearly, remember every crease in his forehead when he spat vile things at me.

I was worthless. I was irrelevant. I was a waste of time. God, why the hell did he end up with such a pathetic fat girl?

I don't know why I started to replay every fight, every punch and kick and scream. I hadn't thought about them for weeks, but now they wouldn't stop repeating. Had it all caught up with me? I never truly accepted what happened, did I? Never took a minute to stop and consider all that had occurred. Maybe that's what I was doing--considering.

My heart was pounding; Justin was yelling; I was crying; he was punching; I was cowering; he slammed the door; I crawled into bed and pretended he didn't mean to do all that he'd done. He loved me, hadn't he? Once in a blue moon, he would tell me he had. I never realized that he tried to stray away from using present tense.

I loved you, Delilah.

I love you too, Justin.

I had never noticed, never bothered to think too much of it. He had stopped loving me years ago, and I had been too naive to admit it to myself.

It felt like I was shattering all over again, my breath coming out in ragged pants and my eyes burning due to the tears I so desperately tried to keep at bay. If the therapist was still trying to speak to me, his voice was lost in the frantic jumble racing through my mind. I couldn't hear anything except Justin's booming voice and my own faltering heartbeat.

I stood, a little too quickly. My legs wobbled before I caught my balance, and I felt someone grab my elbow. Fear struck through me. Had Justin found me? I tried so pitifully to hide, to shield myself from his jabs. I pulled out of the grip, feeling like I could hunch over and vomit because of all the nerves inside me. I was still on my feet, just barely. I was still breathing, though not well. I was still conscious, yet wished I weren't.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," I stammered through uneven breaths and sobs, speaking to Justin but he ignored me and kept shouting.

And shouting.

And shouting.

My blurry eyes found the door and I darted for it, knowing it was my only escape, even if it was useless. He would always be there, back in the depths of my brain. I couldn't shake him no matter how hard I tried. He would constantly be a shadow, like those on the therapist's walls, and not even the darkness would keep him away forever.

I kept my head down while I maintained a brisk pace, yanking open the door that led out of the lobby and scrambling to find my car. I was angry with myself for the episode that just occurred, but I was even angrier at Justin for being a nightmare, always there to patronize me. It was like a taunt, like he knew when I was trying to get better and he couldn't let it happen.

After all, what was the fun in letting someone else win?

***

Who knows how long I'd been laying in my bed. It felt like months, but I think it was merely a few hours. It was just now getting dark outside, or at least I thought it was. My curtains were drawn and my face was smooshed in the pillow. I tried to make myself as small as possible, keeping my knees tucked to my chest and the pillow sideways to meet my knees. It was comfortable, oddly enough, which was only more persuading not to move.

Mom had come in and checked on me twice already. Dad and Nat hadn't, but that was understandable. Neither of them knew how to handle a sad woman. Their best guess was to let the lady have her privacy until she came to them and wanted to talk. I was glad that was their mindset. I wanted to be left alone.

My bedroom door cracked open, my back to it, and I didn't turn around to face the person entering. It was probably Mom coming back to try and get me to speak, as I've been mute the entire time. No question of hers got me to part my lips, or even got my brain to think of a response. I was hardly functioning.

I felt the covers lift before someone slid into the bed behind me. I still couldn't bring myself to move, but I had a pretty good guess of who decided to stop by. I hadn't replied to any of his texts or missed phone calls, so it was no shock his worry filled him to the brim. He knew a bad sign when he saw one. You couldn't get anything past him.

Harry sighed. "Your mom doesn't think the session with the therapist went well. And I'm beginning to believe psychic."

My mouth felt glued together. I couldn't open it even if I wanted to.

He didn't say anything. Instead he resituated, his arm falling over my hip and his head near mine. He kissed my shoulder over my sweater, but the heat was still there. The sweet gesture speaking more than his words ever could.

"Okay, new tactic." His breath was hot by my ear, then he nuzzled his face in my neck. "We'll lay here until you want to talk. Deal?"

I let out a breath, and Harry seemed to take that as my agreement. His arm hooked tighter around my waist, and he scooted closer to me and said nothing else.

Part of me was scared to tell Harry, as silly as that may sound. Now that it had truly dawned on me just how much of a blessing he was, I didn't want his patience to dry up. If I told him I started thinking about Justin and reliving the fights, what would he think of me? I needed to be stronger than that if I wanted to get better. I couldn't rely on him to tend to every wound until they didn't hurt anymore, because that would be an eternity.

The other half of me knew that Harry sincerely wanted to know what happened. He didn't want to be left in the dark about how I was feeling, and he would do anything he could to push Justin out of my brain. He couldn't ever do that completely, but he would try and try and try, and he wouldn't mind it a single bit.

Thinking this made me realize how lucky I was, and just how beneficial Justin had been. He had thought it would be helping himself if I got skinnier by attending a gym, but really, I found someone worth loving. Maybe I didn't love him yet, but I could. I would. If it hadn't been for Justin's incessant begging to change my appearance, Harry wouldn't even be in my life. I hadn't even known him half a year, but I didn't want to think about where I'd be right now had he not come around. Still in a hospital? In a mental institution? Still with Justin?

None of those three sounded like places I wanted to be.

I wasn't ready to talk, but I wanted Harry to know that I appreciated him being there. So I squirmed in his protective hold until he loosened his arm around me just the slightest, then I turned over to where we were facing each other. His eyes were bright and just as caring as they were every day, and I would continue to melt under those eyes every time they met mine.

Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to his but pulled away just as quickly. I curled into him, my head in his chest. Both of his arms encircled me now, my own little safe haven.

He chuckled quietly before murmuring, "You're such a tease."

Tilting my head up to look at him, he kissed me again before I could even see it coming. I went to move, but he already had one hand on my chin to keep my face in place. My hands were on his chest, and I didn't want to pull away, but I wanted to feel miserable at the moment. I needed to continue my self-loathing, but Harry wasn't going to let that happen.

His other hand was digging into my side, tickling me. I grinned against his lips, trying to suppress the laughter rising inside of me. Harry was smiling too as he kept our mouths intact, but he kept tickling just the same. I shoved on his chest as his other hand left my chin to dig into my other side. When our faces separated, I couldn't contain my laughter anymore and burst into hysterics.

"Okay, okay, okay!" I cried, trying to push his hands away from me.

He halted his attack, a smirk on his face.

I groaned, grabbing an extra pillow from under my head and pushing it into his face. "I was trying to drown in sorrows."

Harry pulled the pillow off his face and laughed. "Precisely why you needed to be tickled." He sat up, teasingly putting a fist over his heart. "So long as I am around, thou shan't ever be upset."

I rolled my eyes at him. "You're a dork."

He threw the pillow back at me, which I deflected with my forearm. "But I'm your dork."

I couldn't help but blush at this, a smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah," I said. "I guess you are."