Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter #2) - Melanie Martins Page 0,83

and hoping I’m wrong about all of it. But I can’t tell her that. Nope. I know she’ll tell my dad everything after the session. I have to tell her something that won’t raise any alarms. “I don’t have those either. Now that he’s gone, I only have insomnia.”

“That’s easy to fix,” she answers, writing something in her notebook. “I will give you a prescription for a pill you can take before going to bed, and you’ll sleep like a baby.”

I highly doubt her meds will work, but I give her a sugary smile and say, “Thanks.”

“Have you been eating?” Another annoying question that makes me cringe. “You look skinnier.”

“Um, I do have some trouble with that,” I tell her, embarrassed at the reality she’s exposed me to.

“Why don’t you eat?”

I shrug my shoulders in return. “If I knew…”

“Does the food you have at home taste bad?

“Oh, no,” I reply just as fast. “Janine is a great cook. I’m just never hungry.”

“Your body is. It’s your mind that prevents it from getting the nutrients it needs to survive.” The more she talks, the more self-conscious I feel about the whole thing. I’ve always had issues with eating. It’s nothing new, yet it’s usually due to stress, which is easily manageable with Xanax. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Petra?” Her voice is soft, yet her question goes right through me. She sounds disappointed, like a mother to her child.

I press my lips tightly together and close my eyes, no longer courageous enough to face her or the present reality. “When I close my eyes, it’s like I can escape this reality, this life… and everything I can’t control,” I tell her. “I guess with eating it’s the same.”

“You feel in control when you don’t eat?” I wish I could shut my ears just like I can with my eyes. But alas, for some reason, we haven’t been designed like that.

You feel in control when you don’t eat? Her question keeps playing in my head like a broken record, or like an introspection I should’ve done a long time ago. “I…” I have no will to answer, no will to face the demons that haunt me and make me do things to myself that I should be ashamed of. “Maybe,” I mutter. “I’ve already spoken a lot for the first session,” I rebuke, trying somehow to end the session sooner or just to talk about the weather and nothingnesses. Since I don’t hear any answer in return, I open my eyes and look at Dr. Nel. She’s busy writing something in her notebook. Then her head goes up, and she fakes a big, friendly grin. “Is Emma still here?”

I lift my brows instantly, astonished by her question. What does Emma have anything to do with what we were talking about? Well, it doesn’t matter—at least this is an easier question to answer. “No, Emma is in Europe. She left yesterday.”

“So you don’t have any friends to hang out with?”

“I have my group from Columbia, but we just meet twice a week to study.” And as I watch Dr. Nel taking notes that will surely be read by my dad later on, I can’t help but wonder what does having friends to hang out with have anything to do with me eating?

“So if you don’t hang out with your friends, what do you do in your free time?”

“I like to read and paint.”

“Paint?” Dr. Nel repeats as she nods, thinking something through. “Petra, I’d like you to paint something that is a reflection of your own self.”

I’m left speechless at her request. “A reflection of my own self?” I repeat, but mostly to myself. What does that even mean?

“Yes, take a white canvas and start painting what you feel represents you and your emotions the best.”

I wonder why on earth she is asking me to do this, but having a good relationship with your physician is advisable, so I simply mumble, “Um, okay…” The truth is, I haven’t painted since I woke up. I should definitely start again. At least it’s a good way to cope with my depression.

In a sudden move, Dr. Nel leaves her armchair and goes to her desk, where she writes me a medical prescription. “Here,” she says, now extending a piece of paper to me. “There is everything you need to sleep well and to fight your depression.”

And I smile, accepting it. But it’s not because of the prescription, no; it’s because I know our first