FURTHER THAN YOU THINK

CHAPTER ONE

'Lexie, relax. Your knuckles are turning white.'

I look down. Sure enough, I'm clutching the seatbelt so hard my knuckles are changing colour. Weird. I didn't even know I was doing it.

'It's not going to be all bad,' Nancy goes on. 'They'll probably just ask you a few personal questions. A few questions about your childhood, you'll probably do a psychological assessment of some kind.'

They? There's going to be more one psychiatrist? But I don't think I particularly care. I know for sure I don't see the point in this.

I've always been one of those people who have kept their secrets to themselves. I mean, sure, I know there's people who will happily tell their closest friends everything about themselves, their hopes, their dreams, what colour pen they'll be using today in their English workbooks. Blue, black, purple, green.so many choices. Jocelyn does it all the time; it would take suffocation to shut her up.

But I'm not like that. I'm surprised rarely anything about me ever gets through into a paper or a magazine, such as Women's Day or some other mindless dribble. But even if that did happen, they'd never find out my deep secrets and fears and whatnot because I'd never actually say them.

And I have absolutely no intention of saying any of it to the psychiatrist, who my stepmother is making me go see today.

There's no escaping it. I'm in the passenger seat, seatbelt across my lap and chest. My stepmother Nancy is driving, and my half-sister Sarah is asleep in the car seat. I'm currently staring straight ahead, out the window. I don't see why I have to go. Wait, yes I do. It's because they're 'concerned'. They're 'concerned' that I seem to have no conflicting emotions (despite all that has happened.) I agreed to see the counsellor, who was 'concerned' and decided that I should go see a psychiatrist, an idea of which Nancy agreed to immediately.

I personally think it's a waste of time, but hey, what do I know?

Maybe I do care though.

'That's all?' Though I don't want to go, it doesn't mean I'm not curious.

'That's all what?'

'Do they only just ask some questions and hand over an assessment?'

'Well, sometimes they'll prescribe medication, if they think you need it.'

'Antidepressants?'

Nancy doesn't answer. She gives me a confirming look out of the corner of her eyes, then goes back to the road. I do the same.

Antidepressants. Something like Prozac. There's this girl, in my dorm, who takes Prozac. She said that though she was feeling better, she has to take one every day for months. It's a real pain, apparently.

I'm thinking about this in such deep thought that I've not even realized that the car has stopped and that we're now at the psychiatrist's. Wellbeing Psychiatric Group. How ironic. They actually pay people to think of names for places, such uncreative names. If it was up to me, I'd call it 'Fucked Up Minds.'

Somehow, I don't think a lot of people would like that.

We walk inside. I'm quite frightened, actually. There's soft tunes playing, the walls are pink, the television is showing kids' cartoons and there's a few sad, pathetic looking individuals. I'm ready to run.

Instead, I sit in a plastic chair and hold Sarah in my lap while Nancy speaks to a receptionist, a ninety seven year old hag who wears owl glasses that make her eyes look like they're going to pop out of her head.

Nancy comes over, sits next to me, and a lot of time passes before. 'Alexandra Jones?'

I look up. She's got brown hair in a ponytail and friendly eyes, wearing a shirt and pants. She looks young, too young to be a psychiatrist, but she's holding a manila folder in her hands and has just called my name so it must be the psychiatrist. Her next statement confirms it. 'I'm Ellie; I'm ready to see you now.'

'Go on, Lexie,' Nancy says. 'We'll wait here for you.'

I follow Ellie down a corridor and into an office, which I can only presume, is hers. The office has pink walls as well, and it's beginning to get to me, but not in a bad way or anything. Soothing, almost.

I sit in a chair and Ellie sits in a chair on the other side of her desk. She gets out a marker and begins to write my name on the folder.

'It's Lexie.'

Ellie looks up and smiles. 'Sorry?'

I point to the folder, where she's already put down the first 'A' in my name. 'I don't like to be called Alexandra; I prefer Lexie.'

Ellie crosses out the 'A' and starts over. 'No problem.' She finishes. 'Being on informal terms, I'm just Ellie to you.'

'Don't doctors usually go by their last name?'

'Yes, but I like to be on first terms with my patients.' Ellie leans back in her chair. 'I believe it's better that you speak to me as though I'm a friend, rather than your doctor.'

I say nothing.

'So, Lexie, why are you here?'

I blink. Shouldn't she know? 'My school counsellor sent me here.'

Ellie's quiet for a moment. 'You're Robert Terrace's daughter, aren't you?'

I run my tongue along the top of my teeth, like I always do when I'm nervous. 'Yes.' I smile slightly, to make humour of the situation I've grown not to like, 'I can't exactly get you an autograph, sorry.'

My slight smile is shared. Ellie gets out a pad of paper and starts tapping her pen lightly against it. 'You've been through a lot in these past few weeks, haven't you?'

Her tone is gentle, but her eyes are meaningful. Her eyes are a lot like Dad's, and when I look into Ellie's eyes, I realize that just like with Dad, I can't lie. 'You could say that.'

'I could.' Ellie's stare is intense, and my tongue is running across my teeth again. 'Would it be more adequate to say that your world has been tipped upside down?'

Pass Go and collect 200. I don't think I need to respond. Instead, in moments of recollection, I bury my face in my hands. I can hear Ellie getting another chair and pulling it beside mine. She puts an arm around my shoulders but I refuse to move my hands away.

I didn't cry at the funeral. I didn't cry during the session with the counsellor and I'm not going to cry now.

I move my hands away and tip my head back. 'I'm sorry.'

'No, you're not. You've gone through an incredibly hard time and you need time to work out how you're feeling. Just talk when you feel ready.'

TBC