Читать книгу The New Girl: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist perfect for fans of Friend Request - Ingrid Alexandra - Страница 17

I can’t have come this far only to let the bastard win.

But it’s impossible to think now. Impossible to do anything when my head’s all over the place. I’m running low on meds and have had to ration them. I need my head clear so I can figure out what I need to do, how to make them listen, and that means sticking to the correct dosage. I know I need to book the appointment I keep putting off. I know Cat won’t let it go until I do. But therein lies the dilemma; with the way I’m feeling, seeing someone new – someone that’s not Doctor Sarah – is unfathomable. But if I don’t, I’m going to run out of meds. Soon. And then I’ll feel much, much worse.

Even now, despite everything that’s going on – or is it because of it? – I’m afraid. I suppose it’s natural not to want to have someone peel back your skin and poke around inside with that detached clinical manner some psychs can have. But I can’t help thinking there’s more to it than that. Can’t help thinking, as I sometimes do, that something’s missing. That there was something left unfinished with Doctor Sarah, and it’s putting me off.

I owe Doctor Sarah my life. Just before I moved to Sydney, when we had our last session, I told her exactly that. She wouldn’t accept that, of course. She said I was responsible for my own actions, that it was I who had the courage to leave. But I didn’t feel brave. It felt like I’d dodged a bullet, that it came down to luck, more so than any deliberate action on my part.

It took a lot to get me to her office that day. I was ashamed. Because she’d seen the signs, had tried to warn me, and I’d run into the arms of danger anyway. It makes me determined to show her I can do this, that I won’t repeat the mistakes of the past. I won’t let Mark win this time.

Determination doesn’t stop the fear. It doesn’t make it easy. But that’s what they say, isn’t it? Courage is being afraid to do something and doing it anyway.

We hugged at the end of our last session, even though I know she’s not really supposed to do that with clients. That’s how close we’d become. I know she was proud of my progress, and so was I. She told me that she’d just given me the tools, but I’d saved myself. I know she’s right, but it only feels like part of the story.

Ever since, I’ve had her in my mind. Her voice whispers in my ear when I doubt myself, and I know, I KNOW, what’s true and what’s right. I know to trust my instincts. I know what Mark has done, even if I can’t remember.

There’s so much crammed into my brain it hurts. I know what needs to be done and I know the steps to take, but it’s like my thoughts are scraps of tissue paper caught in an updraught. Every time I reach out to grasp one, they swirl out of my reach.

I think of Doctor Sarah’s last words to me as I left her office, her glasses perched on the end of her aquiline nose, her smooth auburn hair brushing the shoulders of her suit jacket as her eyes held mine.

‘Take care of yourself, Mary.’

She didn’t say it like a friend would, a throwaway line when saying goodbye, ‘take care of yourself!’ And of course she’d have meant it quite literally. I was her patient, and my mental health was her concern. But there was something in her tone that alerted my senses. Something that had me replaying the words in my head for weeks afterwards.

I know she feared for my safety. That’s why there were so many conditions for me moving up here: the alarm, Cat’s protection, seeing the new shrink. Maybe, as an expert, she had a better idea of what Mark was really capable of. Maybe she suspected what he’d done – or at least what he was capable of doing – before I realised it myself. But surely she would have said something if she thought I was in mortal danger … wouldn’t she?

Doctor Sarah didn’t show any emotion in our sessions. She was a true professional and, even though I sensed that she felt for me, ‘getting emotionally involved’ would have been unprofessional. And, for the most part, she played her role to perfection. I never saw the mask slip. But that last time, I felt like she was transmitting a message, something her eyes were saying that her mouth wouldn’t – or couldn’t.

And a part of me can’t help but wonder. What was Doctor Sarah holding back?