41. She Knows
SHE KNOWS
I swallow the lump in my throat with a sip of Fanta.
I don’t know if I should excuse myself and leave or…
I don’t know what to do. She knows everything about me and the darkest secrets hidden in the closet.
She examined every bone from the skeletons in the closet and uncovered why I had maladaptive daydreaming at such a young age. She is the reason I love art so much.
“This is interesting,” Conner muses.
“It really isn’t,” I murmur.
I glance up at her after tugging on my shirt. Those green eyes glance at my arms, then at my face. I bite my lip and take another sip to keep myself from falling apart.
“Can we eat?” Noah asks.
“Let Noya go first,” Mr Jones says, pushing the platter towards me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, taking a rolled-up piece of ham, cucumber, and cheese.
“So, Noya,” Mr Jones begins after handing Charlotte her food. “Fridays are usually family fun nights, and we play Mario Kart. Do you want to take part?”
“I’ve never played that game before,” I answer. “I wouldn’t know what to do…”
“You can join me!” Charlotte declares. “Noah and Conner always gang up on me.”
“It’s not my fault you hit my banana peels!” Noah defends himself. Then, he points towards Conner, this energy and fire within him. “And you, dog! Every time we play, you throw every red shell at me.”
“Stop bum-rushing me, and you won’t get hit,” Conner says with his mouth full.
“Conner, close your mouth,” Mrs Jones chastises.
Conner grunts and snaps his mouth shut. I can tell he is waiting to continue his argument with his brother.
“What have you been up to, Noya?” Mrs Jones asks when Conner drags the platter towards me.
“Uh…” I grab another ham roll and an egg sandwich. “Not much.”
Conner leans into me and says, “She’s modest. Her art has inspired me.”
Mr Jones shoots his brows up and nods. “Wow. Nice going, Noya. He’s been in a slump for a while now.”
I blush at the thought that I’m Conner’s inspiration.
“I’d love to see,” Mrs Jones says. “Do you have any on your phone?”
“Um…” I place my hand in front of my mouth while I chew. When I finish, I say, “My camera doesn’t work. I can receive images, but I can’t take any.”
Her eyes narrow before that smile comes back out again. “I have an older model sitting in storage. You can have it.”
Conner finishes his food and says, “Then you can send me pictures of you.”
“Conner!” Mr and Mrs Jones snap.
“What pictures?” Charlotte asks.
“Nudes,” Noah answers, receiving hard looks from his parents. “What? That’s what he meant.”
“Gross,” Charlotte blanches.
“Noah, prepare the TV for Mario Kart,” Mrs Jones says.
Mr Jones slaps his son on the shoulder and says, “C’mon, I’ll help.”
“Why am I in trouble?” Noah questions. “Conner started it!” Noah sticks his tongue out at Conner, and Conner’s grin broadens, and that smug expression emerges.
I lean into Conner and whisper, “Um… can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure. Do you remember where it is?”
I nod while standing. Then, I glance at Mrs Jones and say, “If you will excuse me.”
I leave quickly, my heart racing until I reach the bathroom. Luckily, the door can lock, and I flick the latch. I stand at the sink, turn on the tap, and wash my face.
The way she looked at me… was the same look she gave me as she analysed me in our therapy sessions.
I shouldn’t have said my camera doesn’t work.
Even knowing it doesn’t, because Dad thinks I’ll record him abusing Mum, which I thought about.
If he ever caught me with a new phone or recording, it would shorten my lifespan, and I’m trying to do everything to prolong it.
I exhale softly and glare at the mirror before looking away at my complexion. This is why I should have asked Conner what his last name was before meeting his parents. Who would have known his mother was my old therapist?
I don’t want to leave this bathroom. Perhaps I can sneak out of the overly large, tinted windows and text Conner later, telling him I wasn’t feeling well
I sigh. That won’t work at all. It would more than likely make me look even more suspicious.
Deciding to face the music, I open the door and close it softly.
“Noya.” I stiffen at her soft, professional, and calm voice. She holds a warm smile, and creases wrinkle around her eyes. “How are you doing at home?”
“Good,” I answer.
Mrs Jones frowns, and I know she knows I’m lying. It can be how I hold myself, the look in my eyes, or my facial expressions. It is tough to hide things from her now.
I remember when I first met her in her office.
I sat on the chair, knees held to my chest, arms wrapped around them—guarded.
She told me I was putting myself in a cage because it made me feel secure.
Then, slowly, she broke pieces of the cage until there was a big enough opening for me to reach out and leave it.
It’s too bad that the cage has shaped once more since Dad and Mum took me out of therapy, believing I was telling lies to Mrs Jones.
If only… but I barely spoke. She got her answers through body language and behaviours.
Not once did I ever speak badly of my family.
Mrs Jones figured it out on her own. And now, I can genuinely tell Conner is like his mum.
“You’re caging yourself again, Noya,” Mrs Jones says.
I raise my brows. Mrs Jones glances down, and I notice that I have my arms wrapped around myself. Sighing, I release my hold and clutch at my shirt instead. Mrs Jones smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes this time.
“Here.” She holds out a box. “There’s a phone in there. My number is on it as well. If you ever need me, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask as I take hold of the box. “You aren’t my therapist anymore.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t be a decent human being,” she answers, catching me off guard.
I blink a few times after I feel the sting behind my eyes. “Thank you,” I murmur.
“Conner doesn’t know, does he?” she asks suddenly.
“No.”
“So, you two moving in wasn’t over that?” She smiles. “When he told me, I thought there was a sort of ulterior motive.”
“None like that.”
“You aren’t pregnant?”
My eyes widen. “Sorry?”
“Is that the reason?”
“No!” I blurt. “Not at all.” I bite my lip and avoid her gaze before saying, “He… uh… saved me… and I l-love h-him.”
“He talks about you a lot,” she says, breathing a laugh.
My cheeks burn.
“When he first mentioned you, I was a little hesitant. Wary of his motives because you’ve been through so much, Noya.
But when he told me you two were moving in together, I knew he cared for you.
Conner was never the type to jump into things unless he cared for them.
” Her face then hardens, and I notice her lip curl in disdain.
“His old girlfriend was horrendous. She would appear at our home, and I know Conner didn’t invite her, but was too kind not to let her in.
He didn’t introduce her to us. It was as if he didn’t want her around, nor did he want to date her. ”
“Oh… yeah, she’s uh,”—I swallow—“interesting.”
“But the way he introduced you,” she says, struggling to keep this conversation lighthearted. “It was as if he were proud to be beside you. Even Milo noticed the way he hovered, as if he couldn’t stand to be a foot away from you.”
This conversation is awkward, but she’s trying to make me comfortable. It isn’t working, but I can see where she’s coming from.
“Now that we’ve met again, I hope our old affiliation doesn’t chase you away. I’d like it if you considered this place your second home. You’re more than welcome to come over, day and night.”
I smile tightly. She’s trying to make me comfortable, possibly because of guilt.
I realise I’m still the same girl trapped in the cage I built rather than a free bird flying off into the sunset.
I’m still in a broken home, and because she knows me, it must hurt her to know that I’m still with the monster who frightens me the most in the world.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I whisper.