Ellie was slightly more subdued the next day. This time, she had been escorted to the psychiatrist's office, which alone made her feel somewhat less trapped. She was still dressed in a hospital gown--or, rather, two hospital gowns--which they had at some point changed her into while she was still unconscious. She wondered what had happened to her own clothes and felt a slight bit of regret, as she had been wearing one of her favorite shirts. It wasn't until she sat down and pulled her hair over her face that she noticed the dried blood in it. It hit her suddenly, and she had to struggle to keep herself from vomiting.
Dr. Cavanaugh noticed her reaction, but didn't comment. Instead she offered a welcoming smile and leaned back in her chair and propped her feet on the edge of the desk, arms behind her head.
"Welcome to my parlour, said the spider to the fly." Ellie wrinkled up her face in vague condescension, and the doctor laughed. "Come on. I can tell you want to be here about as much as Saddam wants to be in American custody. But I have a deal for you. Today, we'll make things easy. I won't ask you the hard questions, and you won't clam up. Just tell me about school, or your pet, or whatever you want. I want you to feel comfortable before forcing the matter."
Ellie hesitated, then nodded. "Okay," she said. She was, although she would never admit it, somewhat relieved that the doctor had given her an out. "Bueller," she said quietly. "Is he--is Sean taking care of him?" Ellie had difficulty saying Sean's name, but to her relief, the doctor nodded. "Okay," Ellie said again. She searched her brain, trying to think of a topic of conversation.
"School," Dr. Cavanaugh prompted her. "Tell me about it. Or your friends, or your aspirations, or your favorite music. Anything."
"I like computers," Ellie said finally. "I mean, you'd never know it, but I'm kind of a computer dork. I'm taking Media Immersion, and I didn't have to. Computer programming, html, all of that interests me. But I don't want to make a career of it or anything. I'd much rather do something with film--direct maybe, or arrange actual shows or movies." She looked up shyly and met the doctor's eyes for the first time.
Dr. Cavanaugh nodded. "Those are good goals," she said. "Go on."
"Um. My friend Ashley. She's going out with a guy who cheated on her last year. I worry about her, but it's not like I can force her to dump him. And Marco--my other friend--he's having a good year, I think, which is nice. He deserves it." She was aware that she was babbling on about useless things, but even talking about her own relationships with her friends felt too personal.
"I worked with Caitlin Ryan last year, which was awesome," Ellie said. "I mean, it was mostly behind the scenes, although she gave me an occasional two-minute segment, but I was more comfortable behind the camera anyway. Well, not really behind it, but behind the people who were behind the people who were behind the cameras. And I even got paid for it. Blew all my money on clothes and gifts and Bueller, but it was a great experience, as cliched as that may sound. It was hard sometimes, but worth it." She looked down, embarrassed. "Sorry. I'm rambling on about myself."
"That's kind of the point," Dr. Cavanaugh reminded her. "You talk, I listen, and occasionally forget my manners and give you some sort of university-induced advice. You're doing fine. I mean, I'd rather you be telling me just why you're feeling so poorly, but it's probably comforting for you to know that I'm not getting what I want."
Ellie cracked a small smile in spite of herself. "It started by accident, almost," she said slowly. "The cutting, I mean. I just, I did it before I even realized it. I don't even know where I got the idea. I'd never heard of it before. Since then, all of the sudden it's become right popular, but I just kind of did it." She closed her mouth firmly for a moment, and the doctor waited to see if she would choose to continue. "I--I can't believe I said that," Ellie admitted with a self-conscious laugh.
"It's a big part of your life," Dr. Cavanaugh said quietly. "Whether you like it or not, the cutting--and now this suicide attempt--will affect every corner of your life for a long time to come. The cutting is an addiction, and the other one is huge. It's life changing, even though you didn't succeed. Think about it, for a moment. Human nature values the survival instinct above all. If you're in a place where something supercedes that, it's pretty major."
Ellie hesitated, absorbing the words, then nodded somewhat reluctantly.
"How did you feel when you were doing it? What where you thinking about?" The question was gentle, and the tone no different than if she were asking about the weather.
Ellie shook her head. "You said no hard questions. I'm not answering that." Part of her wanted to--wanted to get it all out in the open and off her mind. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't talk about how she had had to continually convince herself not to scream or run and get help. She didn't know how she could possibly relate such intimate details to a total stranger.
Dr. Cavanaugh waited a moment and then sighed. "You did fine," she said. "And you're right, I did say that. Therapy is hard work. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Why don't I take you back to your room for a bit and you can rest. You're probably still pretty weak. Maybe in an hour or so we can get you cleaned up, too." Ellie stood up without responding, and as promised, the doctor delivered her to her room. Ellie reached for the remote, flipped through the channels and settled on one of the infomercials that by now, she had nearly memorized.