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Was this a thing with all shrinks? Did they go to school for nearly a decade just to learn how to answer a question while giving as little information as possible? If that was all they could do, then every teenager on the planet could be a shrink.
Her palms unlocked to twist her forearms across her chest. "Avery, I am going to come right out and say this: I don't think you're a very good influence on Angel."
I sighed. "Well, fuck you very much."
It was nothing new, this you-are-no-good gag. Most people actually felt that way. I, myself, felt that way most times. It was not just with Angel. It was with everyone I came into contact with. And it was no secret to me as to why others would think that.
We were very close, Angel and me. Maybe, when we first met, the relationship was need based, but the friendship evolved. It had become symbiotic. Out of that interdependence, our needs were met. It was beneficial for both of us, but very few people understood it. Jake didn't. He barely even acknowledged me, except when he wanted something. But he was a guy and guys were dicks most of the time, so I didn't care.
Doctor Williams, to her credit, didn't miss a beat. "And what is it that you do for Angel, aside from keeping her secrets?"
"Give her advice, help her with homework, make sure she eats her vegetables," I hoped I sounded as condescending as was intended.
"Like a mother would?"
I cleared my throat. "Hell no."
"I have a few more questions, if that's alright."
"I will certainly help in any way that I can." My sarcasm was so thick, it sounded sincere.
"I appreciate your being forthcoming, Avery. Angel is always very careful about what she says to me."
I shivered inside, wondering over what she'd just revealed-if Angel had been telling the truth when she said she didn't talk about me anymore-or if the doctor was just trying to get a reaction. But psychiatrists weren't supposed to lie, were they? Maybe I'd brought it on myself with that 'metaphorical' remark.
I wasn't sure how to respond, so I didn't.
"Angel has told me that you have always been very good to her."
This woman is ignorant, I thought, but answered, "I try, but under the circumstances . . ."
"Which circumstances?
"Any and all things inconceivable; I try to protect her from it."
"How do you protect her? From what?"
I wanted to spit at her; at the entire line of questioning. It was ridiculous and obvious to anyone who really knew Angel. "From her life-from circumstances beyond her control, from the assholes that live in this world-the dicks that attend her school. I'm sure you've heard of them, Doctor. I'm sure, as a psychiatrist, you have seen your fair share of assholes that make it their business to go around inflicting pain.
"They leave these indelible marks on her life without even asking. Angel is more scarred, more susceptible, than anyone I know. She needs protection and what use are you-or me-if we don't give it to her?"
Doctor Williams leaned in, searching me with a keen gaze. I stilled.
"Perhaps we've gotten off track." Doctor Williams softened, leaning back placidly into her chair. "I've summoned you here to specifically discuss your relationship with Angel."
I smiled wanly at the oddity in her tone.
Doctor Williams nodded. "Are you aware that I consider the relationship toxic?"
Before my mind could conjure a way to make her sorry for what she said, I took to my feet and walked out the door, through the hallway, down the stairs, out the lobby and into the street.
The way I had always tried to look at mine and Angels' relationship was like this: we all have problems. I had a lot of problems. A shit-ton. But that didn't mean I wanted to be defined by those problems, so I kept them to myself.
I never told anyone how I ate too much. Way too much. So much that I felt like my stomach lining may tear. I'd go through bouts where I could eat so much, so often, that I'd start to feel comfortable with being over-full. I wouldn't notice right away, but then my body would do this betraying thing: it would start to think that just because I didn't feel over-full that I must be hungry and then, I'd keep eating.
After a while of everyday feeling so full that I could bust, my stomach would stretch. Around the time my jeans were feeling too tight, I'd start to feel sick from all the food and then decide to make myself throw up because the fullness was tiring and overwhelming and I only wanted to feel better.
That pattern would carry on for a while: eat too much and throw up. Then, I would actually start losing the weight I gained and I'd feel better about myself. So I'd keep going. More and more often. And then, maybe, people would start noticing that I was losing weight, and some of them might say that I did it too quickly. No one would actually say it directly or out loud. But I knew what they were thinking.
