“So
how are you feeling?”

It is a new week,
a new session
and Amy is once again
mirroring me.
We are not sat cross-legged this time.
We are curled up
in the corners of our respective sofas,
feet tucked under us.
I have my arms folded
across my chest
in a very intentional act of hostility
and I am staring past her,
out the window.
She is a lot more open,
fiddling with her anklet
while she waits for me
to acknowledge her existence.
I don’t want to acknowledge her.
I don’t want her here.
I don’t want to talk to her.
I don’t want to think about him.
I want to shrink down
and slip down the back
of the sofa cushions
to live amongst the pennies
and sweet wrappers
that have long since
been lost and forgotten.
Eventually, I grant Amy
the privilege of a half-shrug,
still refusing to look at her.

“You know,
I didn’t drive
all the way the way
out to your home
for you to ignore me.”

That gets my attention.
My eyes snap to her with a cold glare.
She copies my expression
so closely
I may as well be looking in a mirror.

“Never asked you to come to my house.
You lot decided I was too
‘high risk’
to travel to your offices.”

I wish I could hold her stare,
but I am already on the brink
of crying under her gaze.

This is going to be a long session.