Unravel(5)

No, I’m not ready. I hate change and I don’t want to start all over again with a new doctor.

“Has Woods given up on me?”

“Naomi…” She sighs and looks away. “I’ve already told you I don’t know why you’re seeing someone new.”

“Mary, if you’re going to lie to me make sure your delivery is right. Make me believe it.”

She gives me a blank look, but one corner of her mouth pulls up. Just a little. “Just come on, will you? You’re going to be late,” she says.

“So… this new doctor. Does it have a name?” I ask as we walk down the hall.

“It’s a She not an It. And her name is Dr. Rutledge. She’s new here and excited to meet you.”

I toy with the ties of my gray sweatshirt, processing this new information. “Will I be the first to suck the hope out of her?”

“No, you’re not the first.” Mary looks over at me, a warning in her eyes. “She’s very nice.”

Being nice means nothing here. I give her nine months before she’s either handing me off to another doctor, or she’s packing up her pretty diplomas and hightailing it out of here.

We stop in front of a closed door. I stare at the bronze nameplate. In black letters is the name Genevieve Rutledge, M.D.

She will be just one more person that will judge me and I’m not ready for that.

“Are you going in?” Mary asks.

I don’t want to answer all the stupid questions. I don’t want to deal with her gaze quietly assessing me.

“Naomi?”

“Yeah. I’m going, I’m going.” I say the words but my legs refuse to move. My hands stay rooted at my sides, like weights are attached to them.

Mary loses her patience. She knocks loudly on the door before she walks away. I watch her, and for the first time, I wish I could follow.

“Come in,” a voice calls out. She sounds happy. Rutledge probably has it all together. If I don’t crush her hopes, someone else in this place will.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, I slowly open the door. Her office throws me off. Dr. Woods’ office felt designed to intimidate. Every time I walked in, I swear I had to walk miles before I reached his desk. It felt like a walk of shame.

But this office is warm. The tan walls are decorated with her diplomas. No shocker there. But there are touches of femininity. Plants near the window, a decorative rug spread out across the floor. Even a candle is lit on her desk. For a second it makes me forget where I am. The moment the small brunette behind the desk stands, I remember.

First impression of Dr. Rutledge? In her early thirties. Pretty face. She smiles, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. She’s way too happy to be here.

“Hello, Naomi. I’m Dr. Rutledge.” She holds her hand out to me.

I look at it like it’s poison. Cautiously, I reach out. My hand is barely in hers before I snatch it back.

She doesn’t blink. “Please, have a seat.”

I sit. My knees bounce up and down as I look everywhere but at her. I can feel her eyes on me. I glance back at her diplomas. Her full name, Genevieve Marie Rutledge is printed in the middle of each certificate.

I picture her being the youngest of a large family. Four or five siblings. Her parents are hard working. And they were just so proud when she graduated medical school. They looked on as she received her diploma with glassy eyes and thought, “She’s going to change the world!”

Her chair squeaks lightly as she sits down. She flips through a manila folder and plucks a pen from her immaculate desk. Papers are organized. A laptop faces her. Everything has a place.

She threads her fingers together and flashes me her million dollar smile. “How are you, Naomi?”

It would be so easy to judge her if she did something to make me suspicious. Dr. Woods always wore a white lab coat. Never a wrinkle, and always buttoned. It was so formal and stiff that it instantly put a wall between us. He was the doctor and I was the f*cked up patient. But Dr. Rutledge doesn’t wear a white lab coat. She’s dressed in navy blue slacks and a cream colored sweater. I can smell her perfume. It smells good. Something I would spritz on my wrist if I weren’t in a loony bin.

“I’m okay.”

She smiles again. It’s starting to make me nervous. Dr. Woods never smiled this much.

“How did you sleep?” she asks.

“Okay.”

Her happy demeanor remains as she asks me a question that no one’s ever bothered to ask me.

“Why do you think you’re here?”

“What?”

“Why do you think you’re here?” she repeats.

My gaze shoots to the ground. The silence becomes awkward. “I don’t know,” I finally say.

She nods and writes on the paper in front of her.

“Have you talked to anyone here?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

When I first arrived at Fairfax, Dr. Woods tried to get me to open up. But I didn’t trust him. His approach was clinical and his voice was void of emotion.

I tell Dr. Rutledge the truth. “I didn’t trust him.”

Both eyebrows lift. “Why is that?”

I shrug. “Because he doesn’t care what happens to me.”

This is the first time I’ve ever said that out loud. It feels good. Dr. Rutledge doesn’t try to change my mind.