Drop Dead | Sam Fender

Chapter Sixty Four

TRIGGER WARNING: TALK OF EATING DISORDERS AND SELF-HARM

Aurora

"Hello, Aurora," Harriet smiled as I took a seat on the sofa opposite where she was sitting.

"Hi," I muttered. I was still getting weekly therapy sessions, even now, although. They had a massive impact on my mental state and how I perceived myself but after Sam told me he wanted to take a break, the hourly sessions seemed trivial and futile.

Harriet raised an eyebrow as she studied me. "How are you today?" she asked, her notepad perched on her lap ready with her pen held loosely in her left hand.

"Alreet," I shrugged. I really did not have the patience for this nor did I want to take a deep dive into my thoughts and feelings. I had been doing that internally for over a week now and I had grown tired of it very quickly.

Her lips pursed together in a tight line as she twirled the fountain pen clutched in her hand for a moment before subtly scrawling on the paper. "Hmm, would you like to tell me what's happened since I last saw you? I know it's been a while since our last session got cancelled."

"I dunna, not much like," I mumbled, averting my eyes from hers, her gaze feeling as though they were boring into me, trying to uncover my secrets. She seemed unbothered by my closed-off-ness. To be fair, I was way worse when I first started therapy and way more defensive. This was probably a walk in a park.

"You turned seventeen since I saw you last," she pointed out. I nodded. "Happy birthday for then. Did you have a lush day?"

I snorted sarcastically. "You could say that." It wasn't a lie. I did have a good day. It was the day after that wasn't so good.

"What did you get up to?" she inquired.

"Had breakfast with my dad, went to school. Nothing special like," I grunted.

"Are ya having driving lessons?" she grinned. Annoyance burned in the bottom of my stomach. What relevance did this have to anything? It was futile. I nodded. "I remember when I first started having my driving lessons. I was so excited."

"I bet," I spoke emotionlessly.

"Did you do anything with your friends?" she questioned. I shook my head no. "What about that boyfriend of yours? Sam." I took a sharp breath inwards at the mention of his name and shook my head once more. "Oh. I would've thought yous would've planned sommat. Did he get ya anything nice?"

"We broke up," I blurted, although there was a lack of shock on her face which surprised me. I wasn't stupid. I knew her line of questioning was an interrogation technique, her prodding into the possible causes of my moodiness.

"I'm sorry," she said sympathetically.

"I don't need your pity," I muttered.

"Would you mind if we used the session to talk about... you and Sam?" she asked cautiously.

"S'not like I've really got a choice, have I?" I grumbled.

"Don't be daft, of course, you've got a choice," she frowned. "Aurora, if you're not comfortable with talking about it or if you simply don't want to, then we can move on. Yes, therapy is about stepping out of your comfort zone but that has to be of your own free will."

"It's fine," I sighed as I fiddled with my fingers in my lap.

"How about we start with what happened?" she suggested.

"I don't really know," I whispered. "I thought we were good. Great, even. We stayed up until past midnight the night before my birthday, 'cause he wanted to be the first person to wish me a happy birthday." I smiled bitterly as a stray tear fell from my eye, one of my hands reaching up to wipe it away furiously. "Got me the sweetest present for my birthday - a charm for me mam. Called him later that day when he was on his break but it got cut short, his boss gave him a row 'cause his break had ended. I didn't hear off him 'til the day after when I rang him but he was really moody. Said I was suffocating him and that he needed a break."

"And you don't know what happened between then?" she questioned. I looked at her meekly through my eyelashes and shook my head. "What's your relationship with him like usually?"

"Well," I began, letting out a bitter laugh, "When it's good, it's great..."

"And when it's not?" she inquired.

"It can get messy pretty quickly," I told her.

"Sam's the one who recognised your bulimia, reet?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," I replied shamefully. Even months into my recovery, it still seemed like my dirty little secret, one only known to my dad, Sam, Harriet and my doctors, my friends still none the wiser. Maybe one day I would tell them but for now, it wasn't something I was willing to share.

"Tell me more about that," she instructed me, her pen positioned at the ready. It wasn't new material to the session. It was something we delved into not long after I started therapy, so I was a little confused as to why she was asking again but didn't question it.

"Uh, I'm not really sure when he started getting suspicious. I know he knew sommat was wrong for a while. He said I wasn't myself for a long time. When he confronted me about it, he said he knew I was skipping meals and overexercising... making myself sick. I think he caught me once... I... purged after we ate dinner at his. He was standing outside the bathroom waiting for me. I just don't think he realised it at the time. He noticed the scars on my knuckles too," I explained, trying to swallow the thick lump that had planted itself at the back of my throat. Even after so many therapy sessions, it was still hard to talk about my condition, especially in so much detail.

"And what happened when he confronted you?" she questioned as she scribbled on the notepad.

"I denied it, obviously," I shrugged. "I'd never heard about bulimia before. The only eating disorder I had heard of was anorexia and I definitely didn't fit into that category. I didn't see anything wrong with what I was doing, I was just committed to my 'diet'."

"So, why did you deny it?" she interrupted.

"What?" I frowned.

"Why did you deny making yourself sick?" she rephrased her words.

My mouth fell open but no words followed, opening and shutting like a fish. "I-I... I dunna. I think I was just ashamed. It's just... dirty... making yourself sick," I spluttered.

"What happened after that?" she asked.

"I told him to leave... He must've run into my dad and told him. He told me when he got home. Didn't believe him, of course," I relayed.

"And how did you feel about him telling your dad?" she pondered.

"Angry. Scared. Betrayed," I listed. "I ended things that day. I felt like he broke my trust. I was hurt."

"And how d'ya feel now, looking back?" she inquired.

I paused, not expecting the question. I hadn't really thought about it. "I-I don't really know. I can see where he was coming from. He was only looking oot for us," I muttered. "I've long forgiven him for it like."

"Have you had any harmful thoughts since you and Sam split?" she asked seriously.

"Harmful thoughts?" I gaped. "I'm not gan start cutting myself if that's what you're asking."

"Harmful thoughts as in purging," she verified.

Suddenly I felt like an idiot, letting my mouth slip a quiet, "Oh."

"Although it's assuring to hear that," she smiled.

"I've not really thought about it..." I admitted truthfully.

"I'm glad," she replied.