So basically I'm months too late with this, but I decided I'd have a bash at writing (part of) one of Carla's counselling sessions. Apologies for the fact that it's basically shit, I very nearly smashed my laptop to pieces several times in a fit of writers' block-induced anger/depression.
"Well, this is awkward." Her front teeth grazed the top of her mug absent mindedly, an uncomfortable half-smile beginning to form. "I'm sorry, it's not a reflection on you. I don't usually do talking, y'know? I don't…" She pulled the mug from her mouth; the sensation of the china grating on her teeth wasn't a pleasant one, and she had visions of tiny fragments of china chipping away if she continued.
"I understand.". The woman's tone was soft, almost too soft. In Carla's head it sounded put on, patronizing, fake.
There was a long silence as this apparently wonderful therapist's eyes seemed to burn into her. This was going to be harder than she'd thought.
"I'm surprised they trust me with um, china mugs." She grinned, tapping the side of the cup, as though to prove she wasn't lying. A lame attempt at deflection, but she had to do something to break the painful silence.
The woman smiled in a manner that others may consider warm.
Carla's eyes circled the room as though looking for inspiration. She shuffled her feet, waiting for the woman to say something, but she didn't. Finally she could take the atmosphere no more, adjusted her position in the chair and opened her mouth to speak.
"I suppose you know why I'm here, right?" She started. "Y'know, what happened and…." She didn't have an ending to that sentence, so merely looked up at the woman instead. When she still didn't respond, she sighed and continued anyway. "I mean, I'm guessing they've briefed you. You've got notes and stuff on me, right?"
"I have a three line description on a referral form, if that's what you mean". The woman finally broke her silence.
"So you know what he did and… what I did?"
"To an extent, but I'd like to hear it from you, really. I never trust these things."
Carla smiled to herself. She knew this game. What she really meant was: I want you to say it so I can prod you and poke you on every aspect until you don't even know who you are anymore. But she'd promised herself she'd do this, she knew she had to, so her skepticism was going to have to take a back seat for the moment.
"Ok well, last night I was… feeling very sorry for myself and had all these crazy, stupid ideas in my head and… I dunno. Long story short I chased a bottle of sleeping pills with a bottle of vodka." The sharp, matter-of-fact way she delivered the line momentarily stunned Carla, and she reminded herself of a character in a film she'd seen, the title of which escaped her.
"Why?" The woman sat up now, seemingly going into robot-therapist mode. Here we go, Carla thought.
"Why did I do it you mean?" She looked upwards momentarily, a self-depreciating smile creeping over her face. "Ok look. I know what you're thinking. Cry for help, right? I mean why else would I have phoned Peter, why am I here now, talking to you?"
"But it wasn't?"
"No." She bowed her head as she turned the now empty mug over in her hands, remembering now why she'd refused counselling in the first place. She spoke slowly, her tone unsure, like a child who had been sent to the headmaster's office. "At the time I… I literally rang him to say goodbye; I owed him that much. I didn't expect him to come running round…"
"But he did".
What was this, a running commentary? Carla adjusted her position in her chair, reminded herself that she had to do this.
"Yeah…"
"And how do you feel about that?"
Boom! 5 minutes in and here comes the cliché. If she didn't feel so shit she'd probably have laughed.
"Um… I 'spose I'm grateful… No, I… I know I am, um… Sorry…" She put the mug down on the pine coffee table between them; scared she'd drop it her hands shook so much. There was a burning behind her eyes like she wanted to cry, but everything was frozen and nothing seemed to work properly. She bit the nail of one finger gently as she tried to compose herself, knowing she was probably failing. "It weren't a cry for help but it was a mistake… I mean… it's what he wants in't it?"
"What he wants?"
"Yeah. Frank, I mean. The one who… y'know".
"Mm". The counsellor spoke softly, but held her gaze, as though hoping this might lead her into talk about what she was no doubt here to talk about.
The burning returned again, and Carla found it impossible to make any eye contact. There was a box of tissues on the table, but she felt oddly scared to take one. She knew that if she started crying she'd never stop, and she was desperate to avoid that.
The woman clearly picked up on this, because she leaned slightly further forward and nudged the box of tissues an inch with her forefinger. So quietly she was barely audible, she told her, "It's ok to cry, you know".
"Ohh" The corners of her mouth curled into the faintest of smiles as she wiped an escaped tear from the corner of one eye. "Please don't tell me that!"
She felt her stomach tighten and churn, fighting the desire to curl into a ball only because it was balanced by a contrasting, yet equally strong urge to run away. Instead she did neither, fixing her gaze on the mug she'd just put down. It took her a few moments to realize that tears were now uncontrollably streaming down her face.
Eventually accepting the tissue in the woman's outstretched hand, she turned her face away quickly, embarrassed. "Sorry…", her voice was almost lost in deep, shaky breaths, "I promised myself I wouldn't cry!"
She tried to force a small, wet smile, before her face fell serious again. "I won't let him destroy me." She turned to face the woman, their eyes meeting, albeit briefly, for the first time. There a sudden anger in her voice, a deep determination that she felt bursting from somewhere deep inside.
"I can't".