Page 8 of The Rowdy Ones
I reach to where she indicated and take her dainty hand in mine. “Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure is all mine.” She pulls her hand away and then I hear a chair squeak as she sits. “Are you comfortable with your family present or would you like to speak alone?”
“Uh, maybe with them present this time?”
“It’s your decision. Are you saying that because you think they want you to say that?”
Rowdy grunts in disproval. Uncle Atticus softly sighs as though she’s being unreasonable with her direct questions.
“No,” I say firmly. “I want them to be here this time. At least until I know what to expect.”
“Great,” Gwen says, a smile in her voice. “Though I have ‘doctor’ in my name, I’m not a medical one or even in the field of ophthalmology. I’ve gone to school for years and years to earn it in specific studies, mainly specializing in transition for low vision and blind youth.”
My heart sinks. “So you’re not here to fix me?”
“Fix you?” Gwen scoffs. “You’re not broken, my dear. In fact, part of my job is to help you see that. To empower you. I’m here to help you build confidence in a literal dark world, provide mentorship and emotional counseling, show you cool tools and independence skills, and most importantly, introduce you to a supportive community to help you navigate through this journey.”
Oh.
There are others like me? A whole community?
“But what about her eyes?” Rowdy cuts in. “Aren’t you even going to try to find out what’s wrong with them?”
I recoil at his words. She just said she’s not here to fix me.
“Part of this journey will require some medical diagnosis, yes,” she says coolly. “However, her diagnosis doesn’t define her.” Then she speaks to me in a gentler tone. “This is about education and improving your quality of life, Destiny. All aspects and in whatever capacity that will mean.”
It’s strange, but I feel a connection with this woman. She treats me like a person. Not just one of Mom and Dad’s many, many children. Not the girl who was raped and lost her rapist’s baby. Not the girl who’s going fully blind and requires assistance with nearly everything.
I want to be useful and valuable and enjoy my life. I certainly don’t enjoy it now.
“I want to do this,” I tell her, nodding. “And the next meeting, I’d like to come alone.”
Rowdy, though silent, lets his feelings on the matter be known by the cracking of his knuckles. I can tell he’s angry that I want to do this alone, but I don’t care. I’m tired of being suffocated by family who have good intentions but are stifling the real me.
“Wonderful. How about this: I’ll text you a schedule that’ll include some testing, a diagnosis to discover your actual condition name, therapy sessions, and even a meetup with some of the other teens we treat. Sound like a plan?”
“I’d love that,” I murmur, “but I don’t have a phone.”
“That was on my to-do list today,” Uncle Atticus interjects, shame in his tone. “Since my niece and nephew will be staying with me for a while, I know they’ll need them. They can’t get service where they live, so they never needed one.”
Gwen rolls her chair over to me, once again gracing me with her scent of flowers. I bet she’s a beautiful woman. Confident and sure of herself. It’s an aura I can feel radiating from her.
“I’m about to open up a whole new world for you,” she says softly, meant only for me. “I’m so happy you’re trusting me with your care. I won’t let you down.”
A smile tugs at my lips.
Finally, something in my life to look forward to.
I’m still pissed.
It’s been hours since we made it back to the cabin, but I can’t stop thinking about the way that woman spoke to me. As though I were an abuser or trash or like I was holding Destiny captive somehow. And instead of balking, Destiny took Gwen’s side.
The anger surging through me is hot like molten lava. Stewing in the RV while pissed as fuck feels like torture. I need to leave.
I rip open the accordion door and Wild’s eyebrows hike when he sees the feral expression on my face. Before he can ask and unfairly get my wrath, I shake my head. After pulling on my coat and gloves, I slip out of the RV, grateful for the bitter cold on my exposed face.
It’s dark out now. Perfect for a walk to clear my head.
