“How are you feeling, Chloe?” The red-haired woman sitting in from of me asks, folding her hands over her notebook.
I sew my lips shut and focus on the creaking leather as I sink into it.
“Chloe… in order to heal, you need to talk,” The woman says gently.
“What is there to talk about, Mrs. Hayward?” I snap.
She flips through her notebook, “There is a lot that you can talk about! How about we start with recent events?”
I blow my bang out of my face, “Okay, my sister died. End of story.”
“Can you elaborate on that?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Sure, Mrs. Hayward, I can elaborate,” I roll my eyes, “My sister killed herself… or was killed by her disorder. It’s one or the other. The funeral was lovely. Everyone cried, blah, blah, blah.”
“She killed herself or was killed by her disorder…” She muses, “Would you mind explaining, Chloe?”
“It’s simple! She either off-ed herself or her eating disorder got her.” I snap again, my teeth clenching.
“I see… can you explain her disorder for me?” She probes.
Why, yes! I’d love to explain what I know about my sister to some random woman my parents paid for me to go to.
“No,” I say, “I don’t want to.”
“Chloe… in order to have closure…” Mrs. Hayward reaches for me, and I yank my arm away.
“I. Am. Fine.” I tell her, slowly, “I don’t need you.”
“Please… Chloe…” She pries, “You need this.”
“Oh give it up!” I reel, lunging for the door of her office, “You know nothing!”
I slam the door so hard that it vibrates in the frame. I slink down the hallway, and when I get to the receptionist’s desk, I’m caught.
“Where are you going, Miss Wilson?”
“I’m going home. I don’t need this crap.” I dig my hand into my hip and strut out the front door.
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I stand outside in the middle of the sidewalk. People swerve to avoid me; making sure they don’t drop their groceries, send their babies flying out of the unbuckled strollers, or trip on a crack in the pavement.
I don’t know what to do. My session with the carrot-top psychologist – Mrs. Hayward – isn’t supposed to be over for another forty minutes.
That means I actually managed to sit still in her office for ten minutes. Record! I should reward myself with a giant slice of frosted cake.
Ha, yeah right. I wouldn’t let myself stoop that low.
I shrug off the cold and walk down the street. Mrs. Hayward’s office is nestled in one of the busiest streets in town, a street filled with gleaming department stores, sugary candy shops and various other buildings that humans couldn’t function without.
I stop and freeze. A candy shop looms over me. I read the swirling letters on the door – Candy’s Sweets.
What a dumb name. For spite, I push open the door and step inside. The little bell over the door chimes, and the strawberry-blonde girl at the register looks up at me.
“Welcome to Candy’s Sweets! May I help you?”
“No thank,” I shake my head, “I’m just browsing.”
“Okay! I’m right here if you need me,” She chirps, gesturing to the glass counter she’s locked behind.
I throw her a smile and turn away, facing the tables full of candy and chocolate and calories.
Maybe I could just buy one thing… Will a piece of taffy or a gumball cause me to have a meltdown?
I trail along the shelves. Scents of sweet cocoa, buttery toffee and sour candies fill my nostrils.
Those things are filled with calories… Megan’s voice warns, and besides, toffee is really hard to get rid of.
I whirl around, panicked. The shop is empty, except for me and the startled saleslady.
“Uh… I should go…” I mutter, dropping a colourful bag of gumballs on the floor.
The lady speaks, but I don’t hear her because I’m already on the sidewalk, heaving for air.
I speed-walk back to Miss Hayward’s office and push open the heavy door. I slip past the receptionist and sit on one of the mahogany leather couches in the waiting area.
I slump on the seat, until my mother whirls through the door. “Chloe, are you ready?”
“Yes, Mom,” I spring from the couch and follow her out the door.
“How was the psychologist?” She asks, as we crawl into her car.
“I hate her,” I blurt, crossing my arms across my chest.
“Oh? But the reception lady I spoke to on the phone said she was one of the best in town…” Mom frowns.
I roll my eyes, “It’s what they all say. As long as they get their pay checks, they don’t care.”
“Chloe, honey, we only want what’s best for you…”
I glare at her, “Yeah? If you want what’s best for me stop trying to force me to eat, and go see crazy ladies, and stop trying to fit me into the perfect-daughter shell! The only reason you’re doing this is because you couldn’t save Megan.”
She stares at me, open-mouthed.
My chest heaves, and I clench my fists at my sides, “Just stop!”
She shakes her head and her mouth sets in a firm line. She deliberates for a second before speaking, “Chloe, you’re grounded.”
“What? But Mom – I have school, and appointments, and…” I protest, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Grounding won’t make any difference, darling. Of course I’ll still let you go to school and your appointments with Mrs. Hayward,” She simpers, “What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t?”
I roll my eyes.
She smiles at me before cutting the ignition and teetering into the house.
