She took out her diary. “Shall we agree to meet at the same time next week and come back to this?”
I couldn’t believe it. All that work, I was so close, so close now, and she was throwing me out on the street again?
After everything I’d shared, all the things I’d uncovered, was about to keep uncovering?
I threw the tissue on the floor. “Go to hell,” I said quietly.
Anger was good, she’d said, while I was putting my coat on. If I was finally getting in touch with my anger,
then I was starting to do some important work, unpicking and addressing things that I’d buried too deep.
I hadn’t thought about it before, but I suppose I’d never really been angry before now.
Irritated, bored, sad, yes, but not actually angry. I supposed she had a point;
perhaps things had happened that I ought to feel angry about.
It wasn’t an emotion I enjoyed feeling, and it certainly wasn’t fair to direct it toward Dr. Maria Temple,
who was, after all, only doing her job.
I’d apologized profusely straight after my outburst, and she was very understanding, even seemed quite pleased.
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