The Girl Who Said No (GirlxGirl)

6.0

I plop onto the couch, melting into the cushions and tilt my head back to stare off towards the ceiling, contemplating the whats, the whos and the whys.

Why would Brooke be seeing a dermatologist? Is it a business relationship or a friendly one?  Who else is involved? Why might someone see a cardiologist, dermatologist and psychiatrist? The dermatologist is important somehow, otherwise she wouldn't have kept it a secret. But then, who sees a dermatologist at the same private practice as their other doctors? It feels so out of place in the scheme of things. It could mean nothing. Maybe she just has a rash or a suspicious looking mole. In reality, I know it could be any number of things, but I can't help but suspect it is a larger part of the puzzle. I have to ask about it. Just to be sure. No stone can go unturned. 

I tap my ball pen mindlessly against my knee, troubled. No case is easy. How could it when humans are involved? Humans have a nasty habit of making a mess out of things and acting unpredictably. And yet, there is something about Brooklyn that just feels different even though I can't seem to put my finger on it. Despite her reservedness and her inclination towards secrecy, she's more closed off than you'd expect. She isn't here, getting therapy, because she wants to be here. It's obvious that she comes here out of obligation. It could be that she feels guilty that her parents are spending thousands of dollars for her to see me or she could feel like she owes them to get better. But in the end this is all speculation. If I wanted to I could try to imagine Brooklyn's story life before coming here and why she stays but in the end I'd never be able to tell for sure. I want the truth, not fiction. 

At the moment, to Brooklyn sharing is a strict no-no. I feel fortunate that she even comes to her appointments to begin with so I try not to worry about the cold-shoulder she's given me here and when I saw her last-the gym. Every now and then, my mind drifts to the fitness center and how badly it seem like she wanted to the butcher the punching bag to a million little pieces. I can't help but feel like I saw something I wasn't supposed to. Even though she was aggressive towards me, a break in her mask made it appear like more than anything she felt exposed-cracked open for the world to see. Thus far, I've never seen her so vulnerable. 

I sigh. The time between sessions are the most agonizing; you've closed a case for a day only to have to refocus on someone else. It's a vicious cycle of connect and disconnect, volleying me back and forth like a lifeless rag doll. Despite the inner turmoil, there's a euphoria to helping others, a sense of empowerment. On the flip-side, we're not always successful in helping others or detaching from their issues at the end of the day. We crash and burn. We fail. We fall short. Its a lot like surgery in that sense. Success isn't guaranteed and getting therapy isn't a smoking gun. Certain surgeries have specific requirements like being on an empty stomach for at least eight hours before surgery. For psychiatry, trust or at the very least talking is crucial. Convincing Brooklyn to allow me into her world is a lot like trying to pry an iron door open with toothpick--in vain. 

Most of the time the patients I've had in the past wanted to share. I'd be lying if I said Brooklyn was unique in that she's less than willing to engage. But I can't deny that a part of me-a very loud and persistent part of me-is dying to uncover the mystery that shrouds Brooklyn Robins. I'm not sure what I expect to discover or accomplish. Seeing a genuine smile, I think to myself, would be reward enough.

There are five minutes until the dull analog clock above the door reads 2:00 pm. 2:00 pm isn't a special time in the work day or even a normal day, though lately I can hardly distinguish between the two. I won't get paid and I'm not waiting for pizza that's due to arrive at this time. I make a mental note to myself that pizza does sound good. 

If it wasn't already obvious 2:00 pm is when I am expecting to see Brooklyn for her next appointment. Assuming she arrives on time today I'll get to spend an entire hour with her. The nerves in my hands twitch at the thought. Digging and kneading into my hands, I rub them away.