She ran to the car before I even had it in park. I felt relieved that I didn't need to go knocking on doors until I found hers; she was outside and waiting for me as I pulled in. Normally, I would have taken that as impressive punctuality, but after my revelation the night before, it made me wonder if she even lived there. It wouldn't have surprised me if that had been a lie, too.
"Where are we going?" she asked in a quiet yet scared voice. She noticed we weren't heading in the direction of my office and that seemed to have worried her. Good. I had other things planned for our evening.
"Have you eaten yet?"
She shook her head slowly as if she debated her answer. It was a simple yes or no question. Either she had eaten or she didn't. So her slow reaction made me question her even more. Why would she need to think if she's eaten or not? Did she not remember eating? Was she hiding something like an eating disorder? Or was she simply worried about my change of plan?
"Good. We're going to eat. I'm starving."
I expected a response, but I didn't get one. She just sat there, staring out the windshield in silence.
Surrogate dates never happened that early in therapy, but ours wasn't a date. No. The entire reason for going out to eat was to get some answers from her. If she wanted to act like a scared little kitten, then that was exactly how I'd treat her. How do you catch a scared kitten? You corner them. You trap them.
The hole-in-the-wall sports bar was rather crowded for a Tuesday evening. I could feel Ivy tense up next to me as we were escorted to a booth against the wall. I made sure to keep a close eye on her, watching for anything she might subconsciously do that could tell me something about her.
"Do you suffer from social anxiety?" I asked as soon as we were seated.
"No," she answered with a shake of her head.
"So being in a crowded room doesn't bother you?"
"Not at all."
I thought for a moment, pretending to look over the menu. "Do you go to places like that often?"
"Sometimes." Her answers were short, noncommittal, and quiet as her eyes moved quickly around the room. It was almost as if she were searching for something. An exit maybe? Her tone was convincing as she answered my questions, but her body language conveyed something completely different. Everything she did, every action she made screamed social anxiety, so why not just admit to it? Maybe she had never been diagnosed with it. Maybe it wasn't something she had ever given any thought to. The explanations were endless; I knew I had to continue my pursuit in order to find the answers. She wouldn't easily give me any and if she did, I couldn't trust that she was being honest.
"With Ben?" I pressed, testing her on her lies from the night before.
Her eyes landed squarely on me. "Sometimes."
I decided to lay off the questions as the waitress came to take our orders. Ivy didn't order anything, which only made me question her more. She was a very small woman, and it concerned me that she may also have an eating disorder as well as whatever else she was battling.
I looked at her from across the table and really took her in. Her chest wasn't simply on the small side; it was small. I could tell that by the way her shirt hung flat against it. I rationalized that it could have something to do with her fear of being looked at. Maybe she had a distorted self-image; that would explain an eating disorder. Most people that dealt with eating disorders had a distorted self-image, where they saw something completely different when looking in the mirror at themselves. It was something else to add to the list of possibilities.
As we waited for my food, I tried to get her to open up more. I asked about her friends, which were answered with short stories, all of which I had read the night before while studying that book she seemed to have taken over as her own life. I wanted to confront her about it so badly, but knew I had to wait until the food came.
Once my spicy chicken sandwich arrived, I played my cards carefully. I cut it into two pieces and placed one half on a plate, sliding it in front of her. She stared at it as I waited, watching her movements very carefully. Her breathing turned erratic and her shoulders slouched forward.
"I don't want this," she finally said.
"You should eat. You said yourself you hadn't had dinner."
"I have stuff at home to eat. I'll be okay."
I picked the pickle spear off my plate and held it out to her. "Well, here, at least eat this. I hate pickles and I remember you saying you loved them."
She stared at the pickle in my hand, not looking away from it. Her small chest began to heave up and down, imitating the onset of hyperventilation. Before I could react, she was out of her seat and running for the door.
I had to act fast before she could get too far away, so I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket as quickly as I could and grabbed out random bills to leave on the table. I threw the money down and ran after her, feeling panicked on the inside. I more than likely gave the server an overly generous tip, but I didn't care. I had to find Ivy before she got too far.
I found her racing down the sidewalk. I wasn't sure where she was going, and she more than likely didn't, either. It was clear that she was running without a care as to where she'd end up. With the look of fear she had on her face, I worried where she might've gone. Anything was possible with Ivy, especially since I had no clue as to who she really was or what she was capable of. So I ran after her, not even bothering to get my car first.
"Ivy … " I breathed as I finally caught up with her. She was a fast runner, but still no match for me. I ran every morning. It had only taken me a few strides before I was standing in front of her with my hands on her shoulders, stilling her movements.
Tears streamed her face from the corners of her eyes to her chin. I was wrong. There was something deeply troubled inside of her, and it went beyond social anxiety and a lack of self-worth. It was something that I desperately needed to know. It was almost recognizable to me.
"I'm sorry, okay?" she cried.
"That's okay. It's all right. Why did you run?"
"I wasn't hungry and I started to feel like you were shoving food at me. Like I am just a charity case and you feel the need to feed me. I didn't want to eat and you were pushing that pickle in my face. I didn't want it. I didn't want to be there and I didn't want the damn pickle!" Her words rushed out of her mouth, sounding as if she were on the verge of a panic attack. Her eyes once again never met mine as they quickly jumped around at our surroundings.
"You didn't run away because you weren't hungry or because you didn't want a pickle. Now tell me. Why did you run?" I wanted her to look at me, but she didn't. Instead, her jumpy eyes settled on our feet.
"It's Ben. Those things remind me of him, and he's … he's gone," she answered in a low tone.
I felt something inside of me snap. I had hoped she'd open up to me, share something with me. I hoped she would let me see a piece of her, but instead, she was back to the lying. Maybe she was a pathological liar and I should've let her kept running. Maybe she was beyond help and I should have let her leave the office the day before when she had wanted to. I shouldn't have stopped her, either time. But even with the knowledge of what I should have done, I couldn't let her leave. I couldn't let her go and never learn the truth. She was a puzzle to me and I needed to see it completed. Even if that meant it would destroy me in the process.
"It was a plane crash on his way to Mexico."
"Let me guess," I said in a harsh and deep voice. "He was going there for Jessica's wedding."
That was the moment her eyes jumped to mine. Her breaths became short and shallow, rushing in and out of her lungs. Her red and grey eyes flooded with tears as she tried to push me back. I didn't allow her to, though. I kept my grip on her shoulders, hard and unmoving as she fought with me, screaming. I knew she was causing a scene and I should have walked away. But for the first time in my life, I didn't care what scene we were causing. I didn't care who was watching or what they thought. I wasn't done with her yet.
"I know, Ivy. I read the book last night. I only want to know why you're lying to me."
She finally gave up her fight and collapsed against my chest. I was considerably taller than she was, even though she wasn't short. Her head hit right below my chin so I rested my cheek on it. I didn't know why I had done that, but she seemed so broken, broken much like me, and an overwhelming sense of need took over. I healed people. I helped people overcome their fears. What I did for Ivy was nothing more than that. That's what I told myself at least.
"Why, Ivy? Why did you lie to me? I'm here to help you. I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth."