“Clara?”

“Hmm?”

“Clara.” She placed her pencil over the notepad. “Can you tell me what happened this time?

She got my attention. Her brown locks swayed from the push of air conditioned air. 

“Clara, can you tell me?”

She had white blinds on the right corner of her office. I could see the city below from them, but never the full picture. From chair number two I could see the pointed top of the mall. I always choose chair number two.

“Hmm.”

“Clara, you have to work with me on this. Please?”

She was right across from me, as usual, but she was distant enough. Her iMac covered half of her body and the keyboard seemed to only be there to serve as a table for the notepad. Little owl figurines decorated the cramped shelf to her left. I recognized the biggest one — Jane. 

Jane was more interesting.

“Ok then.” She clicked her tongue slightly before looking  down at the notepad. “Your mother mentioned you sit sideways from him now. That’s new.” 

She paused. “Can you tell me why?”

I focused on her nose. It was easier than looking at her intrusive eyes. “I get scared.”

She inched closer. “Because of last time? Because of the bowl of fruit?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She scribbled on the notepad. “Do you still remember what happened six months ago? Why he wanted to chuck the bowl of fruit at you?”

This time I did look at her eyes. How ridiculous. How could I forget? How could she? “I defended mom. He didn’t like that I used my voice.”

“And how did that make you feel?” She asked curiously. Disingenuously. 

“What?” My fingers dug into chair number two. “Um.” I looked at Jane. She was calm. She was really calm. Just standing there next to Alex, Lyla, and Fiona. I breathed in with Jane. “Scared. I was scared.”

“Ok. Did you scream or cry o —”

“No.” I turned to the pointed mall. “I just looked at him.”

“Ok.” More scribbles. “And how did he react to that?”

There was a hotel next to the mall. ‘Four Points.’ It was much taller than the pointed top, but I liked the Starbucks below better. The green looked good amid all the greyness of the building and the road.

“Clara.” She beckoned.

“Hmm?”

She tapped her pencil on the notepad. 

“Oh um. He got really angry, but not as angry as usual. And mom stepped in front of me. He smashed his glasses first. When he took it off he slammed it on the table.” I paused. I looked at Alex this time. “Then he threw the green dining plates on the floor and shoved the cups hard enough so they’d break.”

She seemed content with my answer. “I see.” She scribbled on the notepad again. “And you managed not to cry that one time. Why?”

“He gets even more angry if I show emotion, remember? If I cry, or yell, or even try to protect mom from the knives, it fuels his anger. Arthur was near him, so I just looked. I didn’t want him to get hurt.”

“Arthur your cat?”

“Yeah.” I looked at Lyla. 

“Ok.” She inched closer again. “So now you sit sideways because you’re scared. Are you scared of him specifically or something he might do?”

The air conditioner whooshed. I stared down to my toes. I was wearing the same black shoes I did to school two hours ago. They were black laced Adidas with white bottoms, greyed from the dirt.

“Clara.”

“Ugh all of it. I’m scared of all of him.” I turned to her. “I have this impending fear that he’s gonna throw something at me. He reads the newspaper across from me because that chair is his newspaper chair. When he’s ready to eat, he’ll sit on the chair to his right, but all of the food is already laid out for him when he reads. A bowl of fruit, a plate of oatmeal, and a cup of coffee. I’m terrified.”

I stared at the back of her iMac, tracing the curvature of the apple with my eyes. “I hate the sound of his voice when he talks to mom in the morning. It’s not his fault. My brain imagines he’ll scream any second. I know what those words sound like when he’s yelling them. I know the names of the workers he’ll curse. The first item he’ll reach for. Where on the table he’ll bang with his fists. I know the sound either chair makes when he gets up in anger.” 

Her brown locks swayed again. “I just try to listen to all of that with one ear instead of two.”

She nodded. “I can understand how you feel.” She relaxed slightly on her chair. “Yesterday was different though, right? He didn’t yell too long, throw anything, or break anything?”

She said that as if it was an achievement. “No.”

“Then why did you break down?”

I remembered the scene in my head. The weight in my chest grew. “I just can’t. I couldn’t um. I-I could hear him yelling again.”

“You were at your grandma’s house right? He wasn’t there?”

“No.”

She wrote some more on her notepad. “So he’s back in your ear.”

I nodded. “He’s back in my ear.”

“Ok. It’s ok.” She said calmly. “Your mother mentioned you didn’t answer her repeatedly, then you started laughing. Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” I could barely see Fiona. She was so tiny. “I wanted to answer her but I couldn’t. And the laughing… I don’t know, I just felt all tingly inside. Maybe it was dehydration. I didn’t drink enough after you know, the crying.”

“I see.” She wrote on her notepad again. This time it was longer. “Ok Clara. I’m going to prescribe you 50mg of Sertraline. Take it once a day after a meal.”

“No. No pill. Last time I threw up three times at school.”

“Well, this one’s different, dear. It won’t make you throw up.”

“No, please. No pill.” I almost reached out for her hand. 

“Clara, we’ve tried hypnotherapy, cognitive processing and prolonged exposure therapy, stress inoculation training, and nothing’s worked as good as the pills so far.” She put the pencil down. “Clara. You have to want to get better. You have to decide to help yourself.”

“Doctor, I can’t. Please, I can’t.” 

“You need to meet me halfway.” Her voice reeked of sympathy. “You need to decide you want to survive.”

Her words rang in my head. Survive. Surviving. Is that what I really wanted? Is that it?

No. 

I didn’t want the pills. I didn’t want the pills. I didn’t want the pills!

“Clara.”

“Well what exactly can your pills fix, doctor?” She looked shocked. “Can they erase the scars on my wrists, the screams from my head, the pain from my chest? Can they soothe my 8 year old self when she emerges crying at 3 am?

“Can they remove the memories? The sound of my mother begging for mercy? The bitterness when a family member says ‘but he doesn’t hit you, right?’

“Can they help me when he’s kind? When he confuses me by being nice?! Can they warn me before he explodes?! Can they persuade my mother’s catholic self to divorce him?! CAN THEY HELP ME? CAN THEY HELP ME?! CAN THEY HELP ME WANT TO LIVE AGAIN?!” I looked at Jane, the pointed mall, my shoes. Nothing could stop the anger. The fear.  “I-I can’t. I can’t…” 

The air conditioner whooshed again. The room filled with the echoes of my rage. I stared at the greyness of my shoes. The grey had consumed the white. They were tainted. Like me. 

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY!” His voice exploded in my ears.

“Wha..” I looked up. The oatmeal, the coffee, the bowl of fruit. They were all there.

He knocked his chair down as he got up and shattered his glasses on the table. “YOU LITTLE BITCH! YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT! WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY? SAY IT AGAIN! SAY IT YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

“No, no, no, please…” 

“SAY IT AGAIN! SAY IT AGAIN! YOU WEAK LITTLE SHIT! I’LL BANG YOUR HEAD ON THIS TABLE RIGHT NOW!” He smashed the plates on the floor, hurling and breaking everything in his path. 

“YOU’RE WEAK! YOU’RE WEAK! JUST LIKE YOUR BASTARD OF A MOTHER!” The oatmeal crashed to the floor.  “STOP DEFENDING HER! SHE’S MY WIFE, SHE SERVES ME EVEN WHEN SHE’S SICK! I MARRIED HER FOR THIS SHIT! LEARN YOUR PLACE! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOUR MOTHER!”

The coffee splashed across the table. “I AM YOUR FATHER! YOU SHOW ME SOME RESPECT! SHOW ME SOME RESPECT! YOU UNGRATEFUL BITCH!”

“Get out of my head… get out of my head!” My hands couldn’t stop the noise.

“YOU’RE WORTHLESS! I’LL KILL YOU!” He slammed his fists on the table. “FUCKING TRY AND STOP ME!” 

And there it was. The bowl of fruit. Ready in his hand to be thrown at me.