Page 35 of Starve
Belatedly, I realize he never told me why he was in such bad shape to begin with. Though I don’t know why I expect he would’ve answered me, even if I’d throttled him and tried to get the answer?—
“What?” I blink, realizing Dr. Radley has been speaking and I have no idea what she’s been saying. “I am so sorry. I’m really out of it. Uh, I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re having quite a bit of difficulty sleeping now.”Her voice is full of concern and care, but I don’t want it. The reason she thinks I didn’t sleep isn’t accurate, but I can’t tell her that.“I spoke to your doctors at the hospital. I was concerned about you after what happened.”
I already don’t like where this is going, but I don’t say anything.
“I think it would be best if we continued your sessions. You won’t owe me anything, of course. Since Bluebone’s insurance is covering all of your care.”Vaguely, I realize I knew that. Mom made the doctors promise I would not be paying a damn thing.
But that doesn’t make me want to go to Dr. Radley any more than I already do. Still, I know I can’t refuse without seeming weird about it. “I’ve actually been doing better than I thought I would. You know, all things considered,” I continue, trying fora weak attempt at getting out of this. But I know it won’t work even before she starts talking again.
“I’m glad about that, Fern. But I told you in your last session at Bluebone that I thought you would benefit from regular therapy sessions. I still feel that way, and not just because of the incident. There’s time in my schedule for me to start seeing you as your regular therapist, and I want to make sure you heal from this.”She lets out a soft breath, and her voice gentles.“I feel responsible, in my own way. You’re my patient, and none of that should have ever happened to you or anyone else. Please let me get you set with ways to cope, at least. I want to be there to help you. I want to see you come out of this stronger than before.”
Her pep talk is almost inspiring, and if I weren’t so tired, I would be impressed. Running a hand through my blonde hair, I tug at tangles created by how restlessly I slept. “I…yeah,” I acquiesce at last. I don’t know how I could actually deny her, when I’m sure she could make this mandatory based on my time at Bluebone Ridge in the first place. Even my mom would agree, and with my luck, she’d drive out here just to throw me in the back of her car and dump me at Dr. Radley’s office.
“Could you tell me where your office is? And, umm, my schedule is pretty open.” Lately all I do is entertain monsters, walk my dog, and go see old ladies who had a similar experience in Bluebone that I did.
They’re starving.
The words whisper on repeat in my mind, never quite leaving, though that is something I will not be telling Dr. Radley.
“How about today? Could you make this afternoon work?”I’ve never met a more eager therapist, and suddenly, I really wish she cared less about her job and her ethical responsibilities. Grimacing, I flop down on the bed beside Moro.
I don’t exactly have a valid excuse to get out of this, though I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “Yeah, I could do that. Just tell me what time, and where and…whatever.” God, I’ll have to do laundry. I’ve been avoiding it for a week, and I guess this is my wake-up call. It’s that, or dig through the hamper hanging on my door for clothes that don’t stink and hope for the best.
No, I have more self-respect than that today, I decide, as Dr. Radley tells me she’ll text me the address and a reminder. I have a few hours longer to suffer here in bed or get coffee, and I tell myself that by four this afternoon, I’ll be a real person again, with motivation and goals and clean clothes.
To the surprise of no one, especially not myself, I am not a real person when four p.m. rolls around. But I have clean clothes, and that is something I’m counting as a win. I hadn’t considered that I’d be leaving Moro here, and all I can hope for is that she doesn’t destroy the house.
“Seriously,” I tell her, checking that she has dry food and water along with the bone I’m giving her on my way out the door. I kneel in front of her, my hair up in a ponytail instead of being thoroughly brushed, and wearing a t-shirt and leggings along with my trusty sneakers that were in their prime sometime four years ago. “I can’t afford a new couch. Or a new kitchen. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m sort of doing odd freelance jobs online at the moment. So I need you to, you know, remember our living situation before you tear up anything. Okay?”
Moro just watches me, ears up, in that attentive way that she’s good at. It’s both a little unnerving and also very reassuring, so I give her one last scratch behind her left ear that has her head tilting to the side in appreciation, and then I pick up the filled, all natural bone from the counter to give to her as tribute.
The drive isn’t bad, since Dr. Radley is just in town. But it does take me a few times of circling the small downtownroundabout before I see the building where her office takes up space on the third floor, and another circuit before I actually figure out where to park.
By then, I’m nearly late, so I bolt out of my car once it’s parked, hoping I’m in the right place. I jog down the sidewalk with my phone and keys in hand, silently wishing I’d been able to sayno thank youto more sessions with Dr. Radley.
Whirling around the corner of the building, I stumble to a stop, however, when I almost run into a woman coming my way.
Or…so I think until I take a better look at her. She isn’t walking at all, just standing there, and her dark eyes watch as I try to regain my balance instead of hitting the sidewalk without offering to help.
“Sorry.” I’m not sure I mean the apology, since it feels strange that she’sjust standing there.The woman only tilts her head the other way, her black hair like a shining curtain in the afternoon sun.
Yet again, she doesn’t say anything. She just stands there,lookingat me. A shiver goes up my spine at her weirdness, and I tell myself it’s leftover from everything that’s gone on. Some people are just weird.
Maybe she’s drunk.
Or on drugs in the middle of the afternoon in town, surrounded by businesses and people.
Drunk is a little more likely…but she’s probably just weird.
I watch her as I walk, not being particularly subtle about it, and I feel the need to give her a wide berth as I circle around her on the sidewalk. Still, she doesn’t say a word. It isn’t until I’m at the door that she speaks, and by then, I’m trying to focus on anything else.
“Good luck.” Her voice is a little light, a little soft. But when I look up at her to ask if she’s talking to me and why I would needluckto go see a therapist, the spot where she stood is empty.
It’s just me, and the couple arguing down the block in front of one of the two diners in Whippoorwill Gap. Arguably the better one, too, and part of me really wants to reward my therapeutic efforts after this with a grilled cheese, onion rings, and a dreamsicle ice cream cone.
The building smells a little musty with age, but the too-sweet smell barely affects me, given that I’ve lived in old towns most of my life. It’s a common smell for places like this, and I double-check the directory before heading up the stairs, deciding this is one of the few times I’d rather work out my excess energy by abusing my knees than taking the elevator and having the extra few seconds to panic.
