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We’re sitting in one of the small guest offices, and it’s going to be the room we use going forward, when he comes to the house. It’s not homey enough that it feels weird, but also not clinical enough that I’m uncomfortable.
The room’s got a few different chairs, a bean bag in the corner, and a large colourful rug. The walls are covered in paintings, and there’s a large coffee table in front of us, but that’s pretty much all that’s in here.
Hm, now that I think of it, it seems like one of my mates has set this room up deliberately for this purpose.
I don’t even flinch at George’s words, having expected the confiscation of my tablets. “Yes.”
He nods, jotting that down on his stupid clipboard that’s filled with such cruel, judgemental words. Or, you know, the truth. “If you’re willing to take them, then I will leave them in the hands of your Alpha, and let him be in charge of giving you one.”
I sigh, and shrug. “Maybe.”
But, then again, to have to ask Atticus for something with the way he’s feeling? I’m not sure I’ll manage.
I’ll do without.
“Maybe is better than last time we talked,” George says with a soft smile. He places the clipboard on top of his crossed knees. “What’s changed?”
“Well, I tried to kill myself, and my wolf decided that she wouldn’t let me.”
He nods. “I’ll be frank with you. In a matter of minutes, I got a call from your mate, and a call from my son. Of course, I answered Atticus first, but he just demanded I get here as soon as possible because you tried to hurt yourself.” I frown, not liking a few things that he said just there, but he keeps talking so I can’t interrupt. “And then I called Fin back, knowing why he called, and wanting to reassure him. But, he was a lot calmer than Atticus, and explained the situation to me. I expected you to be in a very different mental state when I arrived.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, and I’m too afraid to ask.
Instead, I offer him something else, a distraction, maybe, but another bit of truth.
“I’m not sure what’s happening in my mind,” I say, messing with a loose thread on my t-shirt so I don’t need to look at him.
“Well, what do you know?” he asks gently.
“I know that I’m alive.”
He nods, jotting that down. “And how do we feel about that?”
“I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not,” I whisper, hating myself for revealing that—hating myself for even thinking it. “I’m angry at my wolf. I’m angry at Atticus. Hell, I’m even angry at you.”
“I’m used to that,” he says, good-naturedly.
“I’m annoyed at myself,” I continue as if he hasn’t spoken, “I’m sad, too. I’m upset that I could’ve had years feeling this at peace within myself, and I didn’t get to live that kind of life.” I wipe away the tears from my cheeks. “I’m even so fucking jealous that David, my baby brother, gets a big fucking ceremony to celebrate his mating, and I got nothing. I’m feeling so fucking negative about everything in my life, and, yet, I’m still alive, and I’m not ready to kill myself again.”
“You sound confused about that.”
I nod slowly, because he’s right. “I am. Before this latest depressive episode hit, I’d wake up on days where I slept nine hours—a full night of rest—and as soon I woke up, I’d already feel like killing myself would be the best thing. The best way to spend my morning would be to try and hurt myself. Nothing would’ve happened, I wouldn’t even have anything stressful happening that day, and, still, I’d be like, yeah, it’s time.” I sneak a peek at George, and he’s still pensive, not judgemental at all. It really helps with opening up about how I’m feeling. “But now… now there is so much anger within me, so much hatred, so much disgust, so much—”
“Negativity,” he finishes, and I nod. “And you don’t understand why you’re not feeling the urge to harm yourself.”
“Exactly.” I say, gesturing between him and myself as if he’s just answered the mysteries of the universe.
“Unfortunately, Nora, I can’t answer that,” he says, and I blow out a huff of air as I throw myself back into my chair. “But I can talk through things with you. The first thing worth noting, Nora, is that you’re mentally ill.”
Oh, great, thanks.
“And that means that sometimes, there’s not going to be an actual trigger that you can see. Sometimes, the trigger is just that there’s a chemical imbalance within your brain, and you work on a different frequency to everyone else.”
That actually makes sense. Even if it’s so fucking annoying.
“You mentioned earlier that you’re upset that you haven’t had peace like this in the last five years,” George says, keeping me on track.
“Six,” I correct, and he nods as he jots that down. “But yeah. I mean, with my wolf, though, not within me.”
