Addicted to Mr Parks (The Parks Series #2)(53)

“These are tourmaline worry beads.” Nia reached over and handed them to me. “Their main job is to get rid of addiction. I tell my clients to hold them, feel the beads when you’re talking to me, or feeling stressed. I know it’s hard talking to a complete stranger about your feelings, but while you have those in your hand, you’ll focus more on the beads rather than your words.”

I placed the beads into my hands and immediately starting rolling them between my fingers. “Nia? Nice name.” I started talking, but not about me.

Nia agreed. “It’s Welsh. Mam and Dad were born in Wales. We moved to London when I was ten. We go back now and again. Wales is a beautiful place. Ever been?”

“No, it is on my ‘places to see’ list. Along with Paris and Sydney.”

Her features remained impassive. “Any reason?”

“No.”

There was a pause while she studied my demeanour thoughtfully. When she spoke again, she clapped her hands once and sat up but remained cross-legged. “So, Evey. What I do is simple. I talk to you, I don’t judge, and my only goal is to get you better. You won’t see me jotting things down as we speak because I find it too clinical. Today, we’ll just talk, chat, and on the next session, we’ll go into your past and what makes you like you are. I don’t keep appointments, either. I only come when you need me.”

That sounded fair. That way it was more like a chat rather than a procedure. “Like Nanny McPhee?” I humoured. Her bushy brow rose slightly, so I apologised for being childish.

“So—” she rubbed her hands like she was just getting started, “what’s going on with you right now? How are you feeling?”

I looked down at the beads I was rolling between my fingers. “Normally, I say I’m fine.”

She nodded. She already knew. “‘I’m fine’ is something you say out of habit. You say ‘I’m fine’ and the job is done and no more questions are asked.”

“Right.” I nodded, bringing my knees up to my chest to rest my chin on them.

Nia spoke soft and clear, but she knew what she was talking about and how to get her point across. “You know, the healing starts when you talk about it. The suffering begins when you keep it in.”

I stared at her for a moment, and it was only when my eyes dropped from her gaze that I realised what she’d said made an impact on me. I didn’t know Nia from Adam, but she made me feel at a complete ease. She made me want to sit and talk, tell her how I was feeling. And that was refreshing but also scary.

“So we’ll start again. How are you?”

As well as focusing on the beads I kept in my palm, I also decided to focus on her glasses and the TV behind her when I spoke. Speaking was a big thing for me, and to keep eye contact was even harder. “Right now, being in Wade’s apartment, I feel safe, warm, and wanted.” I glanced around it in awe. “I feel like this is my haven and he is my solace. When I’m here, I feel like I don’t want to go out of those doors because out there is—”

“Harsh reality?”

“That’s the thing.” I pointed as I agreed. “My motto was, ‘I’d rather live in harsh reality than with false hope.’ So has that changed for me? Is my hope of mending with Parks false?”

She sighed compassionately. “Hope is never false. Hope is something you desire or crave. And whether it’s ‘false hope’ depends on the outcome, or the expectation of the outcome.”

My eyes were narrowing as she explained. Not maliciously, but out of intrigue.

“For instance—” she waved her hands around, “—some people hope or wish to win the lottery. But that expectation is huge, and the outcome is unlikely, causing false hope.”


I rolled the beads around more vigorously. “My hope was for my parents to love me. I think my father does, but my mother despises my very existence. My hope and prayers for my life to get better, for my parents to act normal, to show me that they cared never happened. My wishes were completely improbable. After that, I gave up on hope. There is none.”

Nia nodded and soaked up every word. Her expression told me she understood, and that was another refreshing feeling. No one ever understood.

“When hope and wishes fail, who do you blame?”

That was easy. “I blame myself for hoping.”

Her curls shook as she disagreed. “You are never to blame for wishing. For hoping. You want that something so desperately, but it never comes, and in your case, the people to blame are your parents. Nobody should ever have to hope or wish for their parents to love them. It should come naturally. Your parents are to blame, not you.” She paused before going into the next question. “Let’s talk about your fears. Tell me them?”

I took my knees down from my chest and crossed my legs again as I fed the beads through my fingers. “Feelings. Happiness. Letting my guard down.”

“Tell me why happiness is a fear?”

Pursing my lips, I got ready to reel off my thoughts. “Happiness is a curse for me. Every time I’m at a happy place, something bad happens to bring me down.”

I saw her nodding from the corner of my eye. “Making you afraid of being happy?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I’m afraid of letting my guard down for the same reason. And I’m afraid to feel because of the fear of getting hurt.”