Page 68 of Change
This wasn’t like the past, when I first escaped and stern-looking men in black suits questioned me in almost-empty rooms. Dr. Kohler had put a stop to that fairly quickly, but things were different now.
Back then, they said I needed to talk. They wanted details.
I couldn’t do that.
Just like I could never talk to Dr. Kohler.
I knew it’d be one ofthosesessions before she even said a word. It was during those times she looked especially tired, and she’d set her papers to the side before she kneeled on the floor in front of me.
I hated that sad face of hers. Though, looking back, I wasn’t certain if it was because she was pitying me or if I was afraid of the conversation.
I never considered myself to be a prideful person—but maybe it was a bit of both.
“Bianca.” She’d say my name before anything else. Her stress pressed in around me, making it hard to breathe. Because whether I trusted her or not, she’d come to be a source of solidity for me. “Can we talk about Mr. Richards today?”
The question always hit me like a ton of bricks, as did the follow-ups: “What did you do every day? Where did you sleep? Did anyone ever hurt you?”
I couldn’t answer—I could never do anything other than stare at her, unable to move under the weight of her doe-like eyes. Sometimes she’d offer me dolls to play with, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch them. It was the two of us, alone in her cluttered office, and there was no escape. And I suffocated, until she’d finally sigh. She’d reach for me then, only a quick pet on the arm, and the fear that’d left me tongue-tied would vanish.
By the time I felt normal again, we’d already moved on to other topics.
Talking—even thinking—about Eric Richards had been impossible.
But now things were different.
“I-I think I’m o-okay.” My face grew hot as I stuttered despite my conviction.
“Are you sure?” Bryce stepped closer to me, and his arm brushed over mine. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll take you out for ice-cream right now if—”
“Can we not?” I interrupted, focusing on the crumbling frame of the building some feet away.
My stomach cramped as my attention lingered on the right side of the house.
The kitchen. The refrigerator and oven still stood; I could glimpse them through the missing planks. However, they’d never be used again.
“Well, can I still take you anyway?” Bryce asked. “No pretenses, just so we can get to know each other?”
I gasped, the nightmare of my past momentarily forgotten. “What?”
My mouth was still open, and I remained unable to shut it, before, finally, I shoved my gloved hands in my pockets, and tore my gaze from his first. I’d let him win this time—I didn’t have the energy to rise to his challenge right now.
The silly thing, though, was that it didn’t feel like I’d lost.
“Okay,” I muttered, stepping toward the house. “I’m sorry, by the way.”
I’d forgotten to mention this during our last conversation.
“What?” Why did he have to sound so shocked? He fell into step beside me. “About—”
I hunched my shoulders against the cold breeze but did not bother to adjust my scarf. “You were right the whole time. I didhave to see Dr. Kohler.”
Despite how it’d happened and the uncertainty of what I’d been told and what the future might bring, Ididfeel better after going to the hospital. Somewhat speaking to an actual medical professional about my concerns alleviated a lot of anxiety I’d been harboring since puberty.
Bryce grabbed my hand, pulling me to a stop. He stepped in front of me, but I refused to raise my eyes past his chest. “Isthere something wrong?”
“It’ll be fine.” Eventually, right?
I looked back at the house, and the corners of my vision faltered. Wasn’t I making progress? I should be making progress.
