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Authors: Stephen Leather
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conversations we've had, I've come to know a little bit about what goes on inside your head, your thought processes. But you've only told me so much.'
He nodded at her, encouraging her to pull the second doll apart. She did as he wanted. Now there were three dolls on the table. 'But as you can see, there's more to be discovered inside the second shell. And it goes further than that. Keep on going.'
Mersiha unscrewed the third doll. There was a fourth inside. And a fifth inside that. By the time she'd finished there were seven dolls standing on the coffee table in front of her. Only the smallest was solid. Dr Brown picked it up and held it between a finger and thumb. 'This is you too. This is the real you, at the heart of all the shells.' Mersiha stared at the wooden doll. The face seemed to be staring back at her with wide eyes. 'You've surrounded yourself with shells, Mersiha. You've protected yourself by putting layers and layers on top of your real feelings.'
Mersiha pulled her eyes away from the doll. Dr Brown was giving her his earnest smile, trying to put her at ease. It looked artificial and his eyes were as cold as the painted eyes of the Russian doll. 'I'm not doing it deliberately,' she said.
'No, I know that,' the psychiatrist said. 'It's a defence mechanism. You're frightened of being hurt again because of what happened to you when you were younger. That's why you find it difficult to make friends. You've told me that yourself, haven't you? You've lots of acquaintances, but no real friends. Perhaps you're worried about letting people get close to you.'
'I love my dad,' she said. 'And Katherine.'
Dr Brown smiled, and this time there was more warmth in it. 'I know you do. And they love you. And you know they'll always love you. No matter what you do.'
'I guess,' Mersiha said. She knew that the psychiatrist was trying to get some show of emotion from her. She concentrated on the blinds on the window behind him and counted the slats. Once, soon after she'd started the Wednesday afternoon sessions, Dr Brown had almost made her cry until she'd seen something in his eyes, a look that made her realise that he had wanted her to break down. She'd only been thirteen at the time but she'd vowed that she'd never give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Her tears would be his trophies.
'Why do you think you don't have many friends?'
'I don't meet many people I want to be friends with.'
'Even at school?'
Mersiha snorted. 'Especially at school.'
'What do you mean?' Dr Brown asked.
'They're just kids,' she said.
He smiled. 'They're your age,' he said quietly.
Mersiha thought for a while before answering. 'They haven't been through what I've been through.'
The psychiatrist studied her for a few seconds. 'Would you like to tell me about it?'
Mersiha stared at the blinds, still counting. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. 'No,' she whispered. 'No, I don't think so.'
Mersiha sat in the front passenger seat of Katherine's Toyota Corolla. It was an automatic and still had its new-car smell, despite the half-filled ashtray. The car had been a birthday present from her father, but Katherine seemed to treat it with contempt. It hadn't been washed since the day it had arrived outside their house, wrapped in a huge red bow. There was a paint scrape on the rear left side and the back seat was covered with old magazines.
She sighed and leant back, pushing her hands against the roof of the car. The time she spent alone in the car while Dr Brown briefed Katherine was often worse than the counselling sessions themselves. It didn't seem fair. Mersiha wished that psychiatrists had the same sort of client confidentiality code that priests and private detectives had. Katherine insisted on the post-session chats with Dr Brown, despite Mersiha's protests and pleadings. In a way Mersiha was glad, because it gave her an added incentive to keep her secrets locked deep inside. There was no way she would open up to Dr Brown if he intended to
He nodded at her, encouraging her to pull the second doll apart. She did as he wanted. Now there were three dolls on the table. 'But as you can see, there's more to be discovered inside the second shell. And it goes further than that. Keep on going.'
Mersiha unscrewed the third doll. There was a fourth inside. And a fifth inside that. By the time she'd finished there were seven dolls standing on the coffee table in front of her. Only the smallest was solid. Dr Brown picked it up and held it between a finger and thumb. 'This is you too. This is the real you, at the heart of all the shells.' Mersiha stared at the wooden doll. The face seemed to be staring back at her with wide eyes. 'You've surrounded yourself with shells, Mersiha. You've protected yourself by putting layers and layers on top of your real feelings.'
Mersiha pulled her eyes away from the doll. Dr Brown was giving her his earnest smile, trying to put her at ease. It looked artificial and his eyes were as cold as the painted eyes of the Russian doll. 'I'm not doing it deliberately,' she said.
'No, I know that,' the psychiatrist said. 'It's a defence mechanism. You're frightened of being hurt again because of what happened to you when you were younger. That's why you find it difficult to make friends. You've told me that yourself, haven't you? You've lots of acquaintances, but no real friends. Perhaps you're worried about letting people get close to you.'
'I love my dad,' she said. 'And Katherine.'
Dr Brown smiled, and this time there was more warmth in it. 'I know you do. And they love you. And you know they'll always love you. No matter what you do.'
'I guess,' Mersiha said. She knew that the psychiatrist was trying to get some show of emotion from her. She concentrated on the blinds on the window behind him and counted the slats. Once, soon after she'd started the Wednesday afternoon sessions, Dr Brown had almost made her cry until she'd seen something in his eyes, a look that made her realise that he had wanted her to break down. She'd only been thirteen at the time but she'd vowed that she'd never give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Her tears would be his trophies.
'Why do you think you don't have many friends?'
'I don't meet many people I want to be friends with.'
'Even at school?'
Mersiha snorted. 'Especially at school.'
'What do you mean?' Dr Brown asked.
'They're just kids,' she said.
He smiled. 'They're your age,' he said quietly.
Mersiha thought for a while before answering. 'They haven't been through what I've been through.'
The psychiatrist studied her for a few seconds. 'Would you like to tell me about it?'
Mersiha stared at the blinds, still counting. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. 'No,' she whispered. 'No, I don't think so.'
Mersiha sat in the front passenger seat of Katherine's Toyota Corolla. It was an automatic and still had its new-car smell, despite the half-filled ashtray. The car had been a birthday present from her father, but Katherine seemed to treat it with contempt. It hadn't been washed since the day it had arrived outside their house, wrapped in a huge red bow. There was a paint scrape on the rear left side and the back seat was covered with old magazines.
She sighed and leant back, pushing her hands against the roof of the car. The time she spent alone in the car while Dr Brown briefed Katherine was often worse than the counselling sessions themselves. It didn't seem fair. Mersiha wished that psychiatrists had the same sort of client confidentiality code that priests and private detectives had. Katherine insisted on the post-session chats with Dr Brown, despite Mersiha's protests and pleadings. In a way Mersiha was glad, because it gave her an added incentive to keep her secrets locked deep inside. There was no way she would open up to Dr Brown if he intended to
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