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Problem is, my body and my brain aren’t always on the same page. And the page could flip without even a second’s notice, especially when people come at me too fast and too strong.
Most of the time, though, it’s for no other reason than just a gut feeling. One I can’t reign in and fake my way through, even if I tried.
It doesn’t make sense. And people don’t like to listen to things that don’t make sense. So I’ve long since stopped trying to explain in order to change their minds.
The social worker’s saying something, I realize, so I force myself to tune back in.
“…legal department, but it probably won’t be much help at this point, unfortunately. They’ve already gotten a professional to rule you as incapacitated on account of chronic mental illness and now, subsequently, addiction as well as a failed suicide attempt.”
Failed?I think, my forehead wrinkling.Doesn’t the word attempt imply as much?
She pauses as if waiting for me to say something, but I don’t know what she’s looking for, so I say nothing.
“I’m so sorry, Skyler. I wish I could be of more help.”
Frowning, I look up at her, and this time, I do meet her gaze.
Her eyes widen, like maybe she’s taken aback.
Like touch, this too is hit or miss.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, blinking probably far too fast than is normal. Dragging my nails down the inside of my fingers, I add, “I know it’s out of your hands.”
And I do know this.
I’m not stupid, despite what people like to assume about me just ‘cause I’m awkward and can’t always control myself when I get upset.
My parents have enough money and influence over the people on their retainer to get away with pretty much anything. They always have. I’ve heard enough over the years, between the house staff, and angry phone calls carrying through the walls…
At the end of the day, I’m a liability.
Simple as that.
The social worker—her badge reads Anna, I notice, and I relax even more—says nothing. She looks about as lost as I feel, or maybe I’m just doing that thing a therapist once said—projecting? Mirroring?
Who am I….
“This might be good for you,” she says gently. “For no other reason than it gets you a whole ocean away from those idiots you have for parents.”
I blink hard.
Looking up through my lashes, I find her giving me a small smile and shrug.
Anna.
Hebrew origin.
It means grace.
“Don’t let them bully you,” she says in a hush. Her mouth tightens. She’s young, probably only a few years older than me. “Prove them wrong. But foryou,not them.”
And with that, she nods, turns on her heel and leaves, arms wrapped tightly around a closed binder.
Wide-eyed, I stare at the empty doorway, not really seeing anything as my thoughts overtake me.
Prove them wrong…
My father’s final words play back to me.
