Make Me Believe

by Karen Ferry

  I’m turning into such a sap.

  Resolved to get this first meeting over and done with, I square off my shoulders and walk the three steps up to the front door and ring the bell. As soon as I’m let it, I hurry up the three flights of stairs. I don’t want to risk changing my mind about what I am about to do, but maybe it would’ve been wiser to take the lift instead because my legs are killing me right now. When I reach the top, I find a door slightly ajar and glance at the letterbox to be certain I am at the right place, and I take a deep breath before knocking lightly.

  Light footsteps draw nearer as I wait to be let in -- my mum taught me some manners, at least -- and I don’t have to wait long. A woman in her forties with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail greets me, hand outstretched to shake mine.

  “Hello. You must be Emma. I’m Katherine McGregor. Please come in.” She takes a step back, and I follow, a bit hesitantly, because there’s still a slight chance that I’ll regret coming here and bolt out and leave whence I came.

  I follow Katherine along a short, narrow hallway and through a door to the left that opens up into what appears to be a living room. The light, hardwood floor is bare apart from a few rugs placed here and there under the furniture, and what looks to be a comfy sofa is placed up against the wall to my right, with a small, rectangle coffee table opposite it that is filled with different types of magazines. I turn my head to my left where a white shelf filled with books is situated against the wall and some fancy light bulbs in the ceiling shines down on them. Even though I can’t exactly make out the titles, it makes me less nervous, somehow, to find that Katherine appears to be a book lover such as myself. The sunshine from the huge windows directly opposite me gives the room a welcoming air of sorts, and the tension in my body dissipates slowly. In the middle of the room, there are two black leather armchairs with high backs that look very inviting, and there is a small round table with glasses and a few water bottles placed upon it between them.

  Katherine moves to one of the windows where, just below it, stands a lovely vintage desk that, despite its beauty, appears to be so out of place considering the fact that the rest of the furniture is more modern. She pulls out one of the drawers and takes a pen and notebook before turning back towards me once more.

  She smiles briefly at me and takes a seat in one of the armchairs, and I guess that is my cue to do the same. I shut the door behind me first, though. I don’t want to risk anyone eavesdropping on our session.

  “Is this your home?” I ask her and sit down opposite her, holding on tight to my clutch in my lap. Anxiousness flares up again, and I can’t seem to relax despite the softness of the leather.

  She nods. “It is, yes. I have worked from home the past few years but have recently let offices closer to the city that will be ready for me in a few months. I have come to realise that separating my home from my business will be best for me and my family.”

  I don’t know how to proceed and we stay silent for a bit, while I try not to stare too much at the woman before me. She’s dressed in a flowy, white summer dress that falls below her knees and some peep-toed flat white sandals. Very classy, yet casual; I like that.

  “Emma,” Katherine says, and I tense. “Seeing as this is the first time you’re here, let me tell you the same thing I tell everyone who comes through my doors, okay?” Her smile seems genuine, understanding even, and I nod.

  “Anything and everything you say stays here. That means that our conversations are confidential and that I am bound by law to not reveal anything you divulge to anyone. Unless, of course, you give me permission to do it. That’s the first rule. The second one is that I am not a psychiatrist, meaning that I am not able to nor will I prescribe any kind of medicinal drugs. And the third rule is that if you do not feel that I am the right ‘fit’ for you, or that I simply can’t help you, please tell me so that I can refer you to a colleague.” She lets her words sink in, and I am, once again, reassured by her words. Then she goes on. “Do you understand?”

  I exhale and while I still don’t feel entirely at ease, I sit back in the chair and relax my shoulders a bit.

  “I understand,” I say. “Do you mind if we speak English?” I blurt out, and I cringe a bit. Me and my mouth!

  Katherine smiles widely before answering, “Not at all. In fact, it’s not often that I have the chance to speak my native language, so I’d like that. And,” she continues, leaning forward to take a bottle of water and hands it to me, “if it makes you feel more comfortable, then by all means, let’s do that.”

  Hearing my own language leaving her lips makes me smile lightly, and I shrug. “I just think that it will be easier for me, coming here I mean, if I don’t have to worry about the language barrier as well.”

  She chuckles slightly and pours some water for herself. “True, I understand that.”

  We sit back and sip our water, and I wonder what I am to do.

  “You should also know, Emma, that you don’t have to tell me every single detail of your reasons for coming here today,” Katherine says, her tone of voice soothing, and I nod, lost in thoughts.

  “So do I just start . . . talking about whatever I want?” I ask her, a bit confused.

  “Why don’t you start by telling me a little bit about what prompted you to contact me? You didn’t give me many details over the phone when you rang the other day. And we’ll take it from there,” she answers and opens her notebook on a blank page.

  Unable to keep eye contact with her yet again, I turn my head to look outside the window. The leaves on the trees outside sway slightly, giving in to the warm breeze, and their movements come close to hypnotising me.

  “I have nightmares . . . ,” I say quietly, my eyes caught in the light shining through the leaves.

  Katherine’s voice filters through the images in my head as if it’s coming from somewhere far away.

  “How often?” she asks me quietly.

  “Almost every night,” I whisper, a lump forming in my throat.

  “I see. Can you tell me a little about them?” she asks me, her voice low, gentle, and it gives me the strength to do just that.

  I tell her about the little girl on the bed...about the looming shadow . . . about my desperate wish . . . no . . . the need to go to her but how I can’t move . . . and that I can’t speak. Not until the very end when it’s already too late. Without even realising it, the more I tell her, the details pour out of my mouth. I even mention his name, but only briefly. While it feels cathartic, invigorating even, to finally share my deepest, darkest secret with someone, the nausea returns, holding me captive, until I can’t go on.

  Placing a hand over my mouth, I gasp, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Not missing a beat, Katherine tosses her pen and paper to the floor, stands up and grabs my hand, pulling me up from my seat. Briskly, we walk out of the room, turn left and, lucky for me, there’s a door that opens up to a bathroom right next to the living room. I release Katherine’s hand and rush to the toilet, and just barely manage to fall to my knees before the sickness overtakes me. Fuck this shit!

  I can’t keep the tears from falling while I throw up, and even though I appreciate Katherine’s soothing voice behind me as she pulls my hair back from my face, and rubs my back in gentle circles, I want her to go away at the same time. I’m so embarrassed and angry at myself; why am I so weak? It disgusts me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I cry after the ordeal is over. “I hate this!” I want to smash something, anything . . . The rage inside me builds and builds until I scream, “Make it stop! Please!”

  Anguished, I put an arm to the seat and put my head down, shaking and sobbing, nose running, and I don’t think I’m completely present anymore. The images run through my head like a loop, never ceasing their torments on my heart and mind, and I wonder how long I can keep going on like this.

  Is it time for the loony bin?

  I feel a gentle but firm grip on my arm and slowly lift my head to find Katherine
kneeling beside me.

  “Emma, try to calm down,” she says firmly. “Take a deep breath in. . . and let it out. Come on, do it now.”

  I follow her instructions, not knowing how long we sit there, but ever so slowly, the tears subside and although I’m left completely exhausted, I am calm once more.

  “Are you feeling a little better now?” Katherine asks me, and I nod. We stand up and she hands me some toilet paper.

  “Now, wipe your nose, wash your face, and then join me in the living room once you feel more settled, okay?” Thankful for the chance to have a few moments of privacy, I nod again, and after smiling reassuringly at me, she pats my hand and leaves me alone. As soon as I hear the click of the door closing, I turn to the mirror above the sink.

  Ugh. I look absolutely disgusting -- again. My hair is matted from sweat, my eyes look puffy and swollen, and my complexion is deadly pale, causing my freckles to stand out even more. Not to mention that all my makeup is no longer on my eyes but have fallen to my cheeks and neck. Sighing dejectedly, I wash my hands and face, quickly redo my hair, and I take a deep breath, praying for courage, as I leave the comfort of the bathroom behind me.

  I hurry back to the living room and find Katherine scribbling in her notebook. As I walk closer to her, though, she looks up and asks, “Better?” She pours some water into my glass and hands it to me. My throat is parched, and icky with the aftertaste with vomit, and I hurry to drink every drop, still standing.

  Finally, I sit down and answer, “Well, yes. Pretty embarrassed, though, and I’m almost certain that I’m rather crazy. ” I look down at my lap, unsure of what to do with my hands so I end up sitting on them so as to prevent them from fidgeting.

  “Let me ask you something . . . Is this the first time you have recounted your nightmares to anyone?”

  Clearing my throat I raise my eyes to hers, and again only find them to be filled with interest and kindness.

  “I haven’t told anyone, not even my parents,” I answer her and sit back in my seat.

  She closes her notebook and smiles at me. “Well, in that case, let me reassure you right away: you are not crazy, Emma. It is only natural that telling me, a stranger, about them would cause you to have a mild anxiety attack, notwithstanding the fact that you have kept your silence about them for so many years. You are dealing with haunting memories, and while they may seem as if they have the power to take over your life, I will do my best to help you overcome them. That is, if you feel comfortable with continuing to see me?” She raises her eyebrows, and I consider her words for a few seconds. So far, Katherine has been wonderful, and while I don’t know her at all, a sixth sense tells me that I really do believe that she is able to help me.

  Nodding, I say, “I’d like that.”

  She beams at me. “Excellent. I’m glad you think so. It’s really important that you trust me and my abilities, Emma.” She sets aside her things and picks up her water.

  “I can guess that you feel rather spent now, so would you like to stop for today? We only have fifteen minutes left anyway.”

  Wow, where did the time go?

  “I don’t mind continuing,” I answer, and it’s actually true. I don’t. There’s something about Katherine that makes me relax, despite the serious nature of why I’m here . . . In a way, I’m also rather impatient because I am desperate for these nightmares to go away.

  “Okay, then,” she replies. “Aside from those nightmares of yours, is there another reason you have chosen to seek counseling?”

  “Actually . . . ,” I start to say, and then shut my mouth firmly. Katherine waits patiently for me to go on, but the words are difficult to come by.

  “I’ve never had a boyfriend,” I blurt out and hurry on. “I mean, I’ve had sex, of course, but I’ve never wanted to experience that kind of relationship. I don’t want some guy to declare his everlasting love to me, or to get married and have ten children, or something like that. Isn’t it weird?” I ask her, watching her hide a smile with her right hand.

  She shakes her head. “No, not if your nightmares are a reflection of past experiences, and you’ve already said as much; and even though I haven’t got all the details yet, I’m inclined to agree with you. But we’ll get to that part later in our sessions. Why do you think it’s so unnatural? Plenty of people don’t want that type of relationship, especially not when they’re as young as you are.”

  “Well, because . . . ” I open and close my mouth, frantically searching for the right words. I feel a blush creeping over my cheeks from what I’m about to tell her. “Because I have never kissed a man, either. I like sex -- heck, good sex is the best -- but the thought of kissing? It’s always made me feel sick to my stomach. Until recently . . . ” My voice trails off, and I take a large gulp of water. The thought of Daniel’s full lips and bright, green eyes makes my belly dip pleasantly.

  I really need to have sex soon . . .

  She frowns at the ‘no kissing’ part, and tilts her head a bit to the side, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

  “Why do you say ‘until recently’? What’s happened?”

  “I’ve met someone, and even though we barely know each other, I have this almost unbearable wish to feel his lips on mine.” She has to be able to hear the need in my voice, but I am no longer embarrassed about it. This is part of the reason why I’m here, after all.

  “And he’s really gorgeous, you know? He’s so not my usual type, though - in fact he’s so far from it that I’ve wondered if I needed my head examined based solely on this fact instead of my other issues!” I exclaim, so confused and, to be perfectly honest, truly annoyed at myself right now.

  Katherine laughs and immediately puts up a hand. “I’m so sorry, Emma, but the way you’re recounting all this is a bit funny.” Her laughter dies down, though the corners of her mouth remains tilted upwards.

  “Let me ask you something,” she continues. “Why does it sound like you want answers all at once? Why can’t you just let the questions rest for a bit and see where this attraction takes you?”

  I rub the back of my neck and reply sheepishly, “Because I need them now so that I know I’m not mad as a hatter.”

  Katherine shakes her head a bit. “I can’t tell you all you want to know right now, Emma, because I don’t even know those answers. I don’t have all the facts yet. But one word of advice . . . ” When she pauses, I lean forward in my seat, eager to hear what she has to say.

  “If meeting this man has forced you to view new, positive emotions regarding sex and all it entails, then I would say that exploring them might not be such a bad thing. However -- and this is important, Emma -- you are in a vulnerable state of mind, so don’t rush into things. Granted, I do not know you all that well yet, but I have a feeling you have a tendency to act before you think. Am I right?”

  There’s a twinkle in her eyes, so I’m not offended at the least by her words.

  “True,” I concede and sigh. Pondering her words we sit in silence for a while until the sound of a low bell pulls me back to the present.

  “Our time’s up,” Katherine says and stands up, so I do the same. “How often would you like to see me?”

  “I can only meet once a week because of my job,” I reply regretfully. Now that I’ve taken the first step, I just want this process to hurry up.

  “Okay then. Same time next week works for you?”

  “I think so, yes. But I’ll ring you if something comes up,” I inform her, and we walk out of the room. I put my hand on the doorknob of her front door, but hesitate and look at her.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, all of a sudden feeling shy.

  Smiling gently, she stretches her hand out, and we shake hands. “Try to be patient, Emma. I know that you’ve reached the stage where you’re tired and anxious and just want to move forward in your life, but these things take time. And until we meet next week, try to take things as they come without overanalysing them. You’re too young for that.” She opens the door for me a
nd I smile in thanks, walking slowly down the stairs.

  I stand outside for some time, taking in the sun and thinking back on the past hour; while I still don’t have all the answers that I had hoped for, I feel . . . lighter somehow. As if this is the first time in a really long while that I am able to breathe properly. Darkness doesn’t cloud my thoughts, not right now at least . . . And I take comfort in that. The road ahead may still be long and winding, and I’m sure there’ll be plenty of times when I’ll feel lost and confused again...but at least I’ve taken the first step to move forward, and that’s what matters for now.

  Chapter 25

  The rest of the week passes in the same way, and a pattern forms: either I walk to Daniel’s door or he comes to me, and we go to work together before coming home to study. I suppose it should bother me to work so much, considering it’s our summer holiday and everything, but I like the routine. In fact, I rely on it. I may be wild and spontaneous when I’m clubbing, but that’s definitely not the case when it concerns my day-to-day life. The routine relaxes me, keeps me centred, and I confess that gaining small titbits about Daniel and his sisters every day is quite interesting. Hearing his stories about what it was like growing up with four older sisters, I can’t keep a small touch of envy from working its way through my system. Because I wish I’d had that instead of Steven . . . Maybe things would’ve been different if I’d been blessed with sisters instead of a brother?

  I know there’s no sense in dwelling on such things, of course, but I can’t help but wonder if -- had my parents chosen to have more children -- life would have been so much different for me then it turned out to be? Would I have dappled in drugs if I’d had someone to talk to?

  Daniel doesn’t talk much about his dad, though . . . or why, exactly, he hasn’t started in university before now. As far as I can tell, he isn’t nearly as bad at reading or writing as he thinks he is. In fact, now that we’ve completed “The Canterbury Tales”, I’m kind of in love with his brain. I have also been so knackered from our studying sessions that I have not even suffered much from my usual nightmares.