The Break-Up Retreat(47)

Leyla doesn’t move, at first.

But then she slowly shakes her head.

“No. I’ll stick around.”

“Are you sure?” I ask her.

She raises her face and finally looks me in the eyes.

I think I see something there, shifting; a glimpse of awareness. Of struggle.

“Seriously,” I say, trying to make sure no one else can hear. “I can get you out of here. I’ll make up a story.”

“Hey, I was sitting there,” Clara pipes up behind me.

I turn; Clara is standing right behind our chairs, the corners of her mouth turned up but her eyes hard and flinty.

“I don’t think there are assigned seats,” I begin to argue, but Leyla surprises me by putting her hand on my arm.

“It’s fine, Isobel,” she says, her voice slightly stronger, now. “Just . . . go back to your seat.”

I look back to her, searching for something to say, some way to break through to her. But I find nothing.

So I get up, and I sit back down, one seat over, as Clara happily sinks back into the now vacated chair.

A surge of irritation rushes through me, and I breathe out hard through my nostrils, trying to contain it.

The room feels smaller now than it did, the walls pushing in. Like this clean, bright environment is a cover for something.

Something with teeth, trying to eat us whole.

“I hope you all had a nice break,” Martina greets us as she steps through the door.

There are high, bright spots of color on her cheeks that weren’t there before, and a cup of tea in her hands as she makes her way back into the circle.

She pushes the whiteboard out of the way and sits down.

“I want you all to know,” Martina begins, slowly stirring her tea, “that it’s okay to ask questions. It’s okay to question the methodology. And it’s okay to say no. Like Leyla just did.”

She smiles at Leyla, as though at some private little joke.

“I want to check in with all of you,” she continues. “I want to make sure that you all feel good with what’s happening in here. That you feel safe. With me, and with each other.”

“Of course,” Clara hurries to say. “This is amazing.”

“I’m glad to hear you feel that way, Clara,” Martina soothes her. “But I want to hear from everyone.”

She turns to me.

“Isobel?” She folds one long leg over the other. “Do you have anything you’d like to say? You look upset.”

Before I came here, I would have thought myself the kind of person who would speak up, in this kind of environment. The kind of person who would speak out in defense of others, or myself.

I can blame wanting to keep my cover. But it wouldn’t be the whole truth. The weight of expectation feels crushing over my chest.

Despite my suspicions, despite what I’ve heard, some part of me wants desperately to . . . please her.

Wants her to be proud of me.

“I don’t even understand why you’re here,” a voice breaks the silence.

I jerk in my seat and look around.

Pernilla’s cut-glass syllables seem to still be ringing through the air.

I open my mouth to defend myself, but then I realize she’s not talking to me.

She’s looking at Clara.

“What is your problem?” Clara asks, shock coloring her face nearly as pink as her hair. “I have every right to be here.”

Pernilla rolls her eyes, making an extravagant show of it.

“Puh-lea-se,” she says, making a three-syllable meal out of the one-syllable word. “You’ve never even been in a serious relationship. You’ve come to this clinic without even the most baseline need for the help it offers. The seat your parents paid for could have gone to someone who actually needed it. But instead, it’s taken up by you.”

Clara looks over at Martina, ostensibly searching for help; but Martina remains quiet, still stirring her cup of tea.

“Is that true?” Katarina asks Clara.

“I mean, yeah.” Clara is immediately defensive. “But I’m trying to be proactive. I want to fix my attachment style and everything before it becomes a problem. I want to be a life coach. I can’t do that if I’m making a bunch of mistakes in my own personal life. I need to learn from the ground up.”

“But how did you even get a referral to come here if you haven’t gone through a recent break-up?” Katarina has an inquisitive little frown on her face; trying to understand, trying to figure it out.

Pernilla cackles.

“Come now,” she sneers. “She went to her parents’ private doctor and asked for one. Anything is possible as long as you have money. Or access to your father’s credit card.”

“I don’t know why she seems to have a problem with me,” Clara says, addressing it to Martina, her voice shaking with barely held back anger. “But this isn’t fair. I don’t know why I’m being accused of anything. I’m just trying to take care of myself and my health.”

“I have a problem with you,” Pernilla announces, raising her voice further, “because you are a spoiled child, and you are playacting at feeling things you have never experienced.”

“You’re just attacking me because you’re angry you fucked up your life, and you’re mad I’m here to try to make sure I don’t end up like you!” Clara yells.