Chapter 19

19

All About You

Women have never fared well when it comes to pain. Centuries ago, priests believed no relief should be offered to women during childbirth because the suffering helped to reinforce the maternal bond. A necessary self-sacrifice.

Nowadays, paternal views of female pain persist in a different fashion. These days it is more likely to be the medical profession, not priests, who can make the suffering worse. Known as the gender pain gap, research shows that a woman's experience of chronic pain is treated less seriously than a man's. A study from 2003 showed that men suffering pain following an operation were significantly more likely to be prescribed pain relief.

In contrast, women are far less likely to be believed, and even if they request a painkiller, they're more likely to get a sedative. Eva, actually, is the one who taught me this.

I make it to the study door before he does, sit down and fire up my computer.

"All good?"

"Sure." I smile up at him, touch my face, smooth away loose strands of hair behind my ears. I gulp hard. "Although I do have a couple of questions about that last chapter I've been working on."

"Fine, let's get started."

For the next couple of hours, we plow on as usual and if I am a little more silent than normal, he doesn't seem to notice. Several times I change my mind, concoct weak excuses so I can escape back upstairs to replace the journal. But it's too late. I made my decision as soon as Jade left the house and now I'll live with it. Tucked away in my bag, it is shameful evidence, pages that reveal so much more than anyone could really imagine.

I'm a fraud, an imposter, sitting here politely asking him to confess more about his dead wife after snooping in her bedroom, stealing her possessions. The burden of what's in those entries weigh me down, even more so the knowledge of what I now have to hide from Nate. About Eva, about myself...

"Anna?" Nate prompts me and I turn my attention to the screen, nudge the bag with one foot a little farther under my chair.

"Ah yes, right, is there anything else we can add here, perhaps?"

I force myself to focus, fashion my features into a studious smile. "Maybe more of a sense that understanding pain was an emotional journey for Eva? What do you think?"

He makes a face, leans toward the screen as he absorbs my words.

Chapter 15—Life After You

It was only when you died, in the midst of overwhelming grief, I realized how one-dimensional my work had been, how I had turned away from the holistic experience of pain. Thanks to my recent research, we know that someone who suffers from depression and anxiety is more likely to have a lower threshold—mind and body are inextricably linked. An inability to feel pain will impact you conversely on an emotional plane.

No one was more aware of this than you. I was proud of your decision to become a psychotherapist. You told me you wanted to immerse yourself in emotional pain, that you could be truly objective and impartial, to offer counseling and advice from a unique perspective.

Nate lets out a short dry laugh. "I was proud?"

"Why wouldn't you be?"

"How little you know," he muses. "She wasn't interested in people in that way."

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't surprised when Eva decided to train as a therapist. She was greedy for experience. It's not true of all cases, but for her, not being able to feel any physical hurt was linked to her emotions too, or lack of them. She could experience some negative sensations like fever and nausea, but most repercussions of pain, like fear, trepidation, anxiety, were alien to her. I'm not sure I ever once saw her cry." He reflects a moment. "So much human emotion is connected, physically and emotionally. They're intertwined. Eva could understand all that, but not on a cellular level. No single emotion ever consumed her."

"So being a therapist must have been a real struggle for her?"

I play along, but of course I know this not to be true. The words in that journal scream louder, knowing now where that struggle was leading.

"At first, yes. I think understanding emotion, watching someone burst into tears, say, was like learning a new language from scratch and I don't think it ever came naturally. The truth is that a lot of the time I was much more lonely in her company than when I was truly alone." It's as if his whole body wilts under the sadness of this memory.

"That's the worst type of loneliness, isn't it?" I agree.

"I mean, obviously, I'm fine about it staying in, but the truth is I was worried, not proud."

"Really? How can you be so sure? Arguably at least she was trying. Maybe it was a genuine attempt to learn empathy. Is that so unhealthy?"

"Honestly? I believe Eva was incapable of empathy, of ever stepping out of herself," he says, his tone low and quiet. "Her desire to immerse herself in emotional pain, as you describe it, was voyeuristic, not remotely therapeutic for her patients or herself. It was darker than that. Don't put this in, obviously. But it was more about a fascination with what she couldn't have or know for herself. Some sort of thrill even. Even so, in her supervised sessions as a trainee, patients seemed to love her."

"What could be so bad about that?"

"She was very flattered, she lapped it all up, which is never a good sign for therapists," he says, gloomily. "She wanted to be popular. It was always about her. I was fearful for her patients. But there was nothing I could do."

"Why fearful for them?"

"She had no boundaries and that worried me. How would that play out in the consulting room? I wasn't sure how professional she was. Everything was a game to her."

His expression changes quite suddenly and he shoots up from his chair.

"Shit," he mumbles. "I'm meant to be back at the Rosen for an interview." He strides to his desk, distracted. "We're almost finished here, aren't we? I'll text you about times I can make in the next fortnight."

"We're almost there, Nate. A couple more days and it's done."

"Really?" He stops for a moment by the door. "How did that happen?"

We both look at each other, his expression reflects back my own bemusement that soon it will all be over. I follow him upstairs and Jade is there too. It's only as we're about to leave that I realize. As her slim pale hand brushes his shoulder to say goodbye, I see it.

On her little finger, the gleam of Eva's cushion-cut emerald cocktail ring. I glance again and her hand has slipped into her pocket, concealing the narrow band of gold.

But I know I saw it there, she knows it too. She catches my eye, the shadow of her smile meets mine.

Back in my apartment, I go straight to my bedroom and lock the door. Amira is here. Tony's footsteps are in the hall. I can hear the clatter of the kitchen coming to life. I'm not sure they've guessed I'm here yet. I take the journal out and open it again. Nausea spirals in my stomach. It's all there, the details of that night, the way that my father died; these memories finally catching up with me, condemning me too.