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Pulling strings from her handkerchief, Dwyn glanced again at the therapist's door. It was still closed. She took a deep breath and counted, it was very early. Too early one might say. But if she went home to wait an hour she'd probably have given up and not go at all.
But that was the right thing to do. So she went back to the slow and torturous destruction of the small fabric.
It would have made a huge difference to me if she just let me abort.
The sound of connections breaking.
A huge difference to me if she just let me abort.
Being ripped apart.
If she just let me abort.
Strips falling to the floor.
Abort.
She froze in place, closing her eyes and breathing deeply through her mouth. Dwyn bit her lip and gathered all the things that fell onto the floor. Throwing them in the trash, she needed to find something else to focus on. However, that one sentence had been haunting her for the past days. For the most part, erasing all her worries of other things.
She'd be mindlessly tinkering, petting Viola or drawing instead of doing what she needed to do. But there was no energy, she didn't want to do anything. At least for this week.
“Miss Amaryllis?” Someone called, Dwyn lifted her head and saw someone leaving with puffy eyes and a smile, the person nodded at her and continued their way.
She looked over to the therapist, he gave a comforting smile. “You can come in.”
Dwyn gulped, getting up gently, and averting her eyes from the psychologist as she entered the room, it had mostly dimmed and neutral colors and warm lightning. The cushion in front of the desk had a blanket laying on top, that seemed to be done with patch work.
She hoovered her hand on top of it, touching with her fingertips the stitches, and tracing the embroidery.
“Please, sit.” The doctor said gesturing to the sofa and sitting behind the desk. “Feel free to grab the blanket.”
“Thank you.” Dwyn smiled, placing it on her lap.
“And thank you for waiting,” He placed the folder on the table, and observed her. “Sorry for not calling you by your name, it's quite unique so I was unsure of the pronunciation.”
“Dwyn, my family usually pronounces it more like Dwin instead of Dwayn.” She explained. “But either is fine by me.”
“My name is Taylor, a good thing about common names is that it's easy to say.” He placed a pencil behind his ear. “So, is this your first time in therapy?”
Dwyn shook her head. “Not exactly, I went before with my fiance to their appointment. But I never had one for myself.” She glanced to the side. “My family wasn't keen on the idea.”
“A bit conservative?”
“Very.” She answered without thinking, staring down at the embroidery.
It reminded her of her childhood, when Nanna was teaching her how to decorate small handkerchiefs and bags.
“What made you look for it now?” He asked.
She pressed her lips together, hands freezing in place.
It would be better if you were dead.
I didn't want you.
I wanted you dead.
She was underwater, unable to breath, with pressure on her ears and a hammering heart echoing in her head.
No one is fit to be a mother.
Your kid will hate you.
“You don't need to talk about it right now.” He reassured. “Did you find the office by research or...”
“My best friend is majoring in psychology.” She replied in a low tone. “I asked for recommendations and he said you...” She stopped on her tracks.
Stop with that temper tantrum! Grumpy. Egotistic. You're such a narcissist!
“You have more experience with bipolar disorder...” She whispered, half mumbling.
It had been a horrible idea to come. She should have stayed at home, cuddling her pets and waiting for Ailre to arrive. It was already a bad week.
“Uhum…” He hummed, making some notes. “Oh, getting out of the topic, I really loved your style. Fifties, right?”
“Yes, my fiance and I studied vintage fashion for a long time, they're more keen to modernize it though. Our styles can clash quite often.” She said endearingly.
They were the art deco to her nouveau, the contemporary to her vintage, the countryside to the city, the air to her fire.
“I...” Phantom touches on her belly, the three positives haunting her mind and silence reigned for a minute.
“Well, Dwyn, we already discussed the price through text, but to remind you, this first session is free and if you want to continue, it will be £20 per session, since you are a student.” He began, making more notes. “Also, we have a privacy and secrecy policy. Nothing that you say will leave this room unless you want to. This is your safe space, you won't be judged or scolded.” He smiled. “Now, where do you want to start?”
A safe space. Could she vent everything? Where would she start? What was the thing that made her go there in the first…
“I'm pregnant.” She took a deep breath. “And I'm terrified.” The loud pump in her ears and her throat tightening. “I don't want to abort , but I'm scared to tell Ail how I feel. I don't want them to think that I want to. And... ” She sighed exasperated. “I'm not fit to be a mother. At all.”
Dr Taylor didn't interrupt when she went on about all the implications the pregnancy had to her. The failure, the repetition, the fear. She'd pause to take a breath, think over and then go on.
And then… she got to a point her whole body was shaking, her hand tightened on the blanket for dear life.
“My mom said she'd be better off if she had aborted.” She stared at the doctor. “She said it to my face.” Dwyn gritted her teeth, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I knew that already, I knew she never wanted me but that hurt.” She sobbed, choking on her words and bent, hiding her face from view.
She the creak of the chair turning, a drawer opening. With a quick look, she saw he was extending a hand full of tissues to her. She grabbed them mumbling a thank you and blew her nose.
Since she was little and realized many kids lived with their moms and dads, she asked Nanna where hers were. 'I never met your father, and your mom… doesn't matter' was the answer, rarely her grandma would elaborate, saying Camelia left before Dwyn learned how to walk. And then she appeared out of the blue ten years later, not even getting her daughter's name right.
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Dwyn was sitting on the carpet with her legs crossed, glancing at it from time to time at the instructions, she was already halfway there and wondering if she could use different blocks to make it move.
She'd be doing things faster if it wasn't for the annoying doorbell.
“DWYN, GET THE DOOR!” Nanna screamed from the back, the red headed girl grunted, putting the blocks down.
She put the little stool and tiptoed to check the peephole, there was a woman with brown hair and blue eyes. Dwyn stepped down and opened a creak.
“Who are you?” She asked cautiously.
“Is Angelica home?” The girl frowned. “Your grandmother.”
“I asked first.” She tightened her grip on the handle.
“Humf. Camelia.”
Dwyn nodded to herself. “Wait.” And closed the door, running off to the sewing room.
“Dwyn, I already told you not to run in the-”
“Camelia wants to see you.” She said, and Nanna paled, frowning the same way she did when Dwyn burned the new fabrics.
She was angry. Camelia must be a bad person. Dwyn remained behind her nanna, to see what was going to happen.
“You could have said something, instead of showing up unannounced.” Grandma said right after opening the door, without greeting the other lady.
“I need to grab some things.” The woman walked as if she knew the place by heart. “I hope you didn't throw my things awa-” She froze, staring down at Dwyn in shock, before smirking. “Oh, hello, Diane. You've grown a bit.” Dwyn dodged the hand.
“Don't touch me.” She snarled.
“You shouldn't talk to your mother like this.” The woman said but took her hand back and continued her way.
With that her world changed, because there was a name and face to the person who abandoned her.
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Dr Taylor gave all the time she needed to compose herself before saying anything.
She was grateful for that.
“It's terrifying.” He gestured with his hands. “You have another life within you, and you're still young. Just by your reaction and the way you are worried, I can say you are going to be the best mother you can.”
She let her shoulders slump and smiled softly. “My fiance says the same thing.”
“And he's right. You're already here to take care of yourself, which is just as important as to take care of the baby. So I expect you to see you here at the same time next week. Sounds good?”
“Thank you.”