Chapter 17

Cami

I saw very few teens in my practice. For the most part, my partner worked with teens while my patients were younger children. We both preferred it that way. Amelia was one of my few exceptions. Marcia had asked me to see Amelia, hoping that my love of music would help her open up to me. Marcia was Amelia’s fifth therapist, and she’d refused to work with any of them. So far, I’d had eight sessions with Amelia, and things were going reasonably well. She also saw a psychiatrist once a month to monitor her medication.

“How has your week been going?” I asked. She was quieter than usual. “Did anything interesting happen?”

Amelia’s long blonde hair had been dyed black since our last session. It fell forward to cover half her face, likely in an attempt to hide her new eyebrow piercing.

“It wasn’t like the last time,” she snapped without looking at me. “I just wanted the piercing.”

Amelia had a history of self-mutilation, ranging from cutting to self-piercing. Any new piercing was a cause for concern since they often became infected. She rarely used sterilized equipment or took care of them.

“When did you decide to do this one?” I asked.

“After I got home from school on Friday,” she grumbled.

“Was it a rough day at school?” I asked.

It took another fifteen minutes of gentle probing to get Amelia to open up about what had driven her to pierce her eyebrow. After that, we discussed her coping mechanisms, including calling me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” she mumbled as she looked at her lap. “Are you angry at me?”

“No,” I assured her. “I just want to help you. I can only do that if you let me. Are you thinking about hurting yourself?”

I waited for her to respond, and I could see her struggling with the truth. She was considering lying because the bigger part of her didn’t want me to stop her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “If I go home, I’m going to cut myself. I’ve been thinking about it all day. I want to do it so much.”

This was one of the more difficult aspects of my job. I needed to remain detached enough to focus on getting Amelia help. I was supposed to meet Xander, but I already knew there wouldn’t be time. On my way out to the waiting room to speak to Amelia’s mom, I sent him a quick text.

Cami: I’m stuck at work. I’ll text you later. Sorry.

After that, I spent the next several hours working on details. With the help of Amelia’s psychiatrist, I was able to get her checked in for a seventy-two-hour evaluation. It wasn’t her first time, so Amelia was calm when I left her. Still, she looked fragile as she mumbled a goodbye to her mom. Despite my exhaustion, the day was a success. Any time a patient told me they wanted to hurt themselves rather than just doing it was a success for me.

As I slid into my car, I grabbed my phone to read the text from Xander.

Xander: Sorry to hear that. Let me know when you want to reschedule or if you’d like me to drop off dinner later.

I had just the one message from him, and it made me smile. Xander’s reaction was what I’d always hoped for with boyfriends. I’d had some who were understanding about my work, but there were others, like Mitch, who weren’t. With Mitch, I would have had a minimum of five messages demanding a response. I don’t work a typical job with consistently regular hours. There are times when I have to cancel plans or cut people off in the middle of a conversation because of an emergency. It doesn’t happen often, but it definitely happens.

As frustrating as that aspect of my job is, I still love what I do. I make a difference in the lives of children. Amelia had trusted me enough to let me know she needed help.

Cami: Thank you for the offer. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. It was a busy day. I’ll call you when I get home to reschedule if that’s okay.

Xander: Sure. I’m up. Have you eaten?

Cami: Not yet. I’ll probably fix a sandwich. I’m about to start driving, so I’ll talk to you later.

Putting my phone back into my purse, I headed home.