Page 3 of Rectify

She herself is a young, petite brown-haired woman, who looks like she’s too young to offer you advice, but too nice for you not to sit down and give it a go.

Recommend to me by my General Practitioner, I figure I’ve got nothing to lose by trying.

Dropping my bag to my side, I awkwardly manoeuvre myself on the pile of foam. It’s unusual, but it does the job.

The room and counsellor are not all what I expected. The rest of the space is set up like it belongs on a hipster commune. Candles, incense, tribal music, I'm almost surprised there's no massage table in the middle of the room. Dr. Kingsway has gone out of her way to make everything seem less clinical and much more friendly.

“You must be Sasha.”

“Hi.”

“You can call me Claire. Dr. Kingsway makes me sound old as hell.”

I nod. “No problem.”

She flicks through my recently filled out paperwork before looking back up at me. “Ok, so the form asks for you to list five significant life events that you believe have impacted your life the most.” She scribbles on her papers while she’s talking. “This is my idea of getting to know you. The rest, as you’ll see, will just fall into place.”

“But before I start, you need to know that these sessions are confidential unless any of the information you provide me leads me to believe you would harm yourself or others. Then their will be third parties involved.”

“That sounds fair,” I acknowledge.

“Perfect. Now there’s a colouring book beside you. Pick it up and start.”

My eyes narrow together, and she just gives me a knowing smile. “Trust me, yeah?”

I choose a few colours and lean the book on my thighs. I guess there are worse things.

She waits for me to be halfway into the drawing and doodling that’s taking place before she says another word.

“You’ve got here you fell pregnant at fourteen. By the looks of it, you kept the baby, so tell me about that.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you’re willing to share.”

I think back on when I was finishing up school, and how unprepared I was, and how hard life slapped me in the face. Unlike what I preach to Dakota about thinking of her future, I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. Not only did I think that a broken heart was my only problem, but I thought I had time. Time to apologise. Time to forgive. Time to grow up.

“I was fourteen and I was in love with my best friend. He was perfect. Literally, in every way a young girl wanted the boy she’d dreamt about, to be.”

She continues to furiously move the pencil over paper and I get distracted by what she could be writing. Realising I’ve stopped, she notices my gaze alternate between what’s on her lap and her.

She picks up what’s in front of her and shows me a sketch of a cat.

“I’m just listening, Sasha. There’s no right or wrong here.”

I exhale loudly, ridding myself of worry. Who cares what she thinks of me anyway, it’s not her opinion that matters. I’m here to heal.

“So,” I continue. “What do you do when you and your boyfriend are the envy of all your friends? You break up with him.”

“Why?”

I give her the simple version. “I didn’t feel like enough for him.”

“And what happened after you broke up.”

“I went on a very creative, and memorable path of destruction.”

Breaking up with literally the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, seemed like my biggest mountain to climb. Wearing rose coloured glasses I never really understood the meaning of the saying ‘actions speak louder than words’ until I fell pregnant with a baby that wasn’t his.

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