Page 29 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

The stillness in his expression tells me he isn’t amused. “So, your lab work came back. Everything looks good.” He scribbles something in my file and then closes it on his lap before looking back to me. “How are you feeling?”

“Like this is entirely unfair. I did nothing, and now I’m locked up against my will.”

“You make it sound like a prison sentence.”

“Isn’t it?”

He crosses his legs and leans back. “I see it as an opportunity for self-reflection and growth.”

That is so easy for him to say since he isn’t the one stuck here and being told that he’s not normal enough to be free.

“Do you understand why you’re here?”

I fold my arms defensively across my chest. “I understand that you and my mom are against me.”

“No one is against you. I’m in your corner, Harlow.”

If that were true, he would’ve seen straight through my mother.

“That’s a load of crap. You took my mom’s side without even hearing mine. I mean...it’s so obvious what she’s doing.”

“And what’s that?”

“I catch her cheating and in less than twenty-four hours, she sends me away. How can you not see through her?”

“I don’t feel like these two situations are linked.”

“Of course they are!” My voice pitches up a few octaves. “My mom only cares about herself.”

“I understand that you’re angry with her right now, so why don’t we shift a bit?” he suggests. “Why don’t we talk about the journal?”

“You mean the oneyousuggested I keep and then used it against me?” I bite.

“What concerns me most is what I saw in that book. It doesn’t reflect what I’m seeing and hearing from you in our sessions. I realize now that there are things you haven’t been telling me, and in order for me to help you, I need you to be honest at all times.”

“Why should I bother? You lied to me! You told me that I could trust you!” I dig my nails into my arm, trying to scratch the itch beneath my skin. “I did everything you’ve asked of me, and for what? For you and my mother to twist it all around and lock me back up in this place! Why? Why would I bother talking to you about any of it now?”

“I still stand by you using the notebook to express yourself. But it would be negligent not to address what you’ve put in it. This is something we should talk about because, if those drawings and poems are a reflection of your thoughts, then it’s important that we discuss it.”

“I’m not talking to you about this because I don’t trust you, and I don’t need to be here,” I fume as I push off the couch and stalk over to the window that overlooks the entrance to this black hole.

I continue to claw my skin, but the irritation crawls far beyond just my arms. It’s my whole being that radiates with angry tingles, which drives my agitation even further.

“Have you even called my dad? Does he know I’m here?”

“Isn’t he out of the country?”

I pace a few steps as I grow anxious to talk to my father. “She did this behind his back, I know it.”

“Regardless, you’re here now, and we should use this time to your advantage, don’t you think?”

My left palm prickles in throbbing annoyance, and I shake it out, but it doesn’t wane. I want to rip the skin off my bones. It’s as if my veins have become electrical wires that are zapping against exposed nerve endings. I quicken my pace and start scratching again, but the irritation becomes too much, and I snap, “I want my dad! Let me call him!”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now.”

“This is bullshit!”

“Why don’t you sit and take a few deep breaths?”

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