Chapter 7

LYRA.

“What can be done about this, doctor?” my grandmother asked, turning back to face the doctor who stood silently, watching us with his arms folded across his chest. “This definitely isn’t a permanent situation, is it?”

The doctor shook his head. “Of course not, madam. But first we’d have to run a series of tests to be certain that there are no physical factors attributing to her speech impediment. If the results come out negative, I can then refer her to a good psychologist for therapy. Meanwhile, I strongly advise that a change of scenery will increase her chances of getting better, as the environment she’s currently in will continue to be a reminder of her tragic and traumatic experience.”

My grandmother nodded slowly, taking a quick glance at me while I stared. “Okay, doctor. That’s not a problem. For the test, how do we go about that? Can it be done immediately?”

“Oh, yes it can. I’ll get the necessary documents ready and ask the nurse to commence immediately. We’ll have her discharged once the test results are out,” the doctor said, and then walked closer to my grandmother, placing a hand on her shoulder. She’s definitely going to be fine, don’t worry.”

I sat still in the car throughout the drive back home, staring blankly as I looked out of my side of the window. The test results had come out negative, and the doctor had had me discharged, after booking an appointment for me with a psychologist whose office was downtown. Almost everything reminded me of my parents, the lavender scent of the car’s diffuser which my mother loved so much, the busy street which reminded me of the times I and my parents had gone on outings with me seated at the back and tears began brimming in eyes without my notice. I blinked rapidly, trying to force back the tears but I failed as they burned my eyelids, rolling down my cheeks in trickles.

“Do you need anything, my dear?” My grandmother asked, turning towards me as we approached the  mall situated a few minutes away from our house. “I could have the driver stop us by so we could get something.”

She was surprised to see me sobbing silently while I still fixed my gaze outside the window, my back facing her.

“No, Lyra, you don’t need to do this, please,” she said, pulling me closer to her and enveloping me in a tight embrace. My emotions heightened and I began sobbing loudly now, sniffing rapidly as I tried to hold back my tears. “It’s alright, it’s alright, Lyra. Everything is going to be fine, okay?”

I shook my head slowly and sadly, still wrapping myself around her bosom. Nothing was ever going to be alright, and even if I had the ability to speak, she was never going to understand if I tried to explain. She detached herself from me and held my face with her hands, tilting my head upwards so my eyes could meet hers. 

“Listen to me, Lyra, " she said, speaking softly and I looked up at her, wiping my tears with the back of my palm. “Listen, I am your grandmother, your father’s mother, and I love you so much. I understand how you feel perfectly, trust me. But I want you to know that you’re not alone. You’ve got me, and I’ll be by your side every step of the way till we walk out of this, okay? Everything is going to be fine, trust me.”

I nodded slowly, sniffing as I wiped my tears once more. She opened her bag and pulled out a handkerchief, passing it to me. 

“Now, we’re going to figure out a way to get you to speak again, alright? But you have to promise me one thing — that you’re going to stop crying, and that you’re going to be strong for me. Is that a promise?” she asked, rubbing my hair tenderly.

I could see the pent up emotions she was trying to hold back in her eyes and then it dawned on me that she had also lost a son and a daughter inlaw, yet was putting up a strong front for me. I nodded in response to her question, and she pulled to herself in a warm hug. I remained that way for the rest of the drive till we finally arrived at the big gates of our compound, while the driver honked the horn loudly, waiting for the gates to be opened.

***

“Hello, Lyra. I am Dr Alison, and I’m going to be your therapist,” said the psychologist as I sat opposite her, staring unenthusiastically. She fixed her eyes on me and I felt her gaze drilling holes into my skull as she smiled warmly at me. I quickly looked away from her, shifting on my seat in discomfort.

“I want you to relax your mind, Lyra, because you’re in a safe space. Now, tell me, how do you feel?” she asked and I shrugged, nodding my head.

“I know you’re fine, but I really want to know what’s on your mind. So here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, opening her drawer and pulling out a notepad and a pen. She flipped the notepad open and stretched it, placing it before me with the pen beside it. “Please jot down your thoughts here and then we can proceed.”

I stared blankly at the paper before me, refusing to touch it. I looked up at the doctor dispassionately, and she returned my gaze, her smile still plastered on her face.

“I’m here to help you, Lyra, but there’s honestly no way I can do that if I don’t know what’s going on in your mind.  And yeah, I understand that I could easily ask your grandmother who’s outside waiting for you, but a therapy session is meant to be a private one where you can air your thoughts without the fear of being judged,” Dr Alison said, looking tenderly at me. “Please help me to help you.” 

Her gaze shifted away from my eyes and settled on my arm and I followed her eyes with mine, checking to see what she was staring at.

“Are those cuts?” she asked, looking at me with concern. “Could you please write down the reason you’ve been cutting yourself?”

My mind drifted immediately to the very first day I’d used a blade on myself. Our school was meant to go for an inter-school competition, and then a trivia was organized to select the very best who would participate and represent our school. At the end of the quiz, I’d surpassed Cassian with barely two points and he had been really enraged. He had ambushed me later with his friends in class where I’d stayed back to study before heading home, and he had abused me verbally, so bad that I felt a deep pain in my chest. I felt the need for a physical let-out that evening by the time I got home and I walked into the bathroom and picked a blade, cutting myself severely till blood dripped out profusely. 

That wasn’t something I was about to share with anybody, not even this therapist who sat before me, looking at me warmly. I shook my head sadly and she heaved a sigh, dismissing me for the day.

After numerous back and forth visits to the therapist without any solid improvement, my grandmother felt the need for a relocation. On our drive home from the very last visit to the therapist, she looked at me, pulling me closer to herself. “I think it’s time to leave America, honey.”

“Finally!” I blurted out, leaving my grandmother and the driver who suddenly looked up at me through the rearview mirror, in surprise.