Chapter 312
“Gianna, look at me,” Mom pleaded, her fingers gripping my wrists now. “You can tell me. He can’t hear you here. Are you still seeing that Doctor. Does he lock you away? I know what kind of man he is. I know the cruelty he keeps behind his desk.”
If I said the wrong thing, if the walls carried my words back to Chicago, the monthly visits would vanish. The fragile bridge we just built would be blown to pieces by my father’s anger.
I forced my lips to move, forcing a small, empty smile onto my face.
“The house is very big,” I said, directing the conversation away, “There are new gardens in the back now. And the cook, she makes those little lemon cakes I like every Tuesday. I spend most of my time in the library. It has windows that go all the way to the ceiling.”
My mother stared at me, her eyes searching my face again. She could see the wall I was putting up. She could see the way my shoulders had gone stiff, the way my eyes flicked toward the window instead of meeting hers. She knew I was deflecting, hiding the bruises that lived on the inside instead of the skin.
“Fine, you don’t have to talk about him,” Mom said, as another heavy tear spilled over her eyelid, tracking down her cheek before splashing onto the dark laminate table, “But look at me, baby. Just tell me one thing.”
I blinked, swallowing hard, “What?”
“Aren’t you exhausted?” she leaned closer, her fingers sliding down to squeeze my hands, “Doesn’t it hurt? Don’t you just want all of it to finally stop?”
A thick knot formed in my throat. I sniffled, the cold air stinging the inside of my nose, and nodded. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I do.”
“But it’s not going to stop,” she said.
I stared at her, my brow furrowing. The letters in my head jumbled up, spinning into a confusing mess. Why would she say that? Didn’t she believe the therapy was working? Didn’t she think the doctor could actually fix my brain so the words would stop moving on the page?
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice dropping.


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