Small White

She's a stunner, this therapist.

She is a tall, gazelle-like Asian woman with an overall neat appearance. He watches as she runs a hand through her long, dark hair and the light reflects wonderfully off of it. Her face is elegant, with a delicate pug nose and a smooth, well-groomed brow.

Bram thinks she looks made-up, though. In her ruffly blouse and beige pencil skirt, she's quite unnatural looking. Her smile is pretty, but it's practiced and professional. The woman's thin hands are curled around her clipboard awkwardly, and her legs are crossed.

She doesn't look fit to be sitting in a therapist's office.

He thinks she'd look better sitting Indian-style in a field of dainty little yellow meadow flowers, dressed in old overalls dashed with strokes of charcoals and chalks, sketching abstract blurs of birds and flowers and—and butterflies.

Butterflies. Pretty, translucent white butterflies. Just thinking about them, he feels warm, but he is mindful to remember where he is. Bram's face hardens, a perpetually blank game face that even the greatest poker players would be envious of.

His auntie left just a moment ago, leaving him with this fake-looking woman.

“Hello,” she smiles brightly, “my name is Dr. Evie Lee. It's nice to meet you.”

Bram doesn't like the way she talks either. She sounds just as fake as she looks. It's too forced, too polite. He likes her name, though. It sounds good when he says it in his head. Evie Lee, Evie Lee.

It fits her.

He blinks unresponsively, his eyes never leaving hers. Her smile falters only for a moment and her delicate brow pushes together the slightest. Evie smooths her face out again just as quickly, however, but Bram doesn't let the look go unnoticed. She's confused; uncomfortable, maybe. Aren't therapists supposed to be the masters of body language? Evie Lee is read much too easily.

“Hello,” he says blandly.

“So, what's your name, son?”

Don't call me son.

“It's on your papers, isn't it?” Short, snappy— distrustful. It didn't come as a surprise to Evie. She doesn't miss a beat.

“Yes, but I'd rather hear it from you.”

Evie smiles bigger. She recrosses her legs and leans back into her plush chair. She's getting comfortable; Bram doesn't like that. Bram is the type of boy who likes to have the upper hand at all times. He wants to be in control, and this woman is a threat to that.

“Bram Causey.”

“That's an interesting name you have there. Scottish?”

“I don't know.” He really didn't.

Evie hums and observes the boy. On his file, he is listed to be twelve, but he didn't look even that old. Bram sat against the back of the plush sofa with good posture, fingers loosely curled around each other. His hair is a peculiar strawberry blond and his heart-shaped face still looks to have some baby fat. What catches her attention, however, were his eyes. They are dusky and clouded, almost unnaturally black. They bore confidently into her own, not allowing them to waver for a second.

This kid is going to be a challenge, she has no doubt.

“Alright, we'll start today by getting to know each other, then. Is that okay?”

No, it isn't. I don't know you and I don't want to. I don't want to be here, I don't need to be. He breaks eye contact and stares out of the window instead, unresponsive.

Evie studies him, her lips still keeping a pleasant smile.

“Then how about we make it a game? Have you ever played 20 Questions?”

He grunts.

“You can go first, how's that? And if I ask a question you don't want to answer, just say 'pass'. Okay?”

Bram tilts his head to her, kicking his left foot back and forth. He considers it— he likes games, but he didn't want to play any with this woman. It would supply her with information to put together and use against him, after all. He didn't like that. But on the contrary, he'd like to learn about Evie Lee and break her down like a puzzle as well. Cracking a therapist would be quite challenging, and Bram likes nothing more than a good challenge.

“Okay.”

“Great!” She smiles sincerely, “Alright, ask away.”

Tilting his head up to think, he finds the persisting image of her in the meadow painting invading his mind. Bram blurts it out before he can think to stop himself.

“Do you like to draw?”

She blinks in surprise.

“Actually, I do. I like to draw nature in my off time.”

Nature, animals—butterflies? Does she draw butterflies? He thinks back to that white butterfly, flitting and covered in winter frost. His fingertips tingle and his muscles relax ever so slightly.

“I knew it.” His voice is less guarded, she notices.

Evie sees a ghost of a smile creep onto his face, but it's gone as quick as it comes. It leaves her breathless. He has a cute smile, this one. It's contagious, and she finds her grin growing as well.

“What do you mean?”

His lips pull together, and the Asian woman is disheartened to see the brief sparkle in his eye fading and fading still.

“You . . . just look like it. Like you draw.”

Her neat eyebrows shoot up, one disappearing behind her neat, side-swept bangs.

Genuinely curious, she asks, “Oh? How so?”

Evie watches his once loose fingers intertwine self-consciously, and he fidgets. He probably doesn't realize he's doing it; Bram doesn't seem like the type to let someone pick him apart by his mannerisms, anyway. Evie hadn't missed the sharp, perusing look he had given her earlier.

“I don't know.” He says stubbornly as he lowers his eyes to stare at the fibers in the carpet.

“It's okay, you can tell me,” she says cautiously.

“I don't know.”

That's that, I suppose. Evie doesn't push it further, in fear of making him retreat further into his shell. She'll have to go slow and with caution, if she wants to crack this boy. She backtracks— crack is a rather iffy term, she supposes. If I want to understand this boy, she corrects. Honestly, she'd been speaking too much with her peers, the ones that thought of their patients as nothing more than an obligation; a pay-check.

“Alright, then. Let's see,” she hums, “What do you like to do?”

Bram figures it's a harmless question, but the clipboard in her hand still bothers him. Her hand is at the ready, but hasn't written anything as of yet. Still, he pointedly glares at it.

“I won't write anything if you don't want me to.”

His eyes snap up to hers through his washed-out eyelashes. It's clear to her that he would, in fact, prefer it. She nods understandingly and sets it on the side table, under the lamp.

“Alright. It's just me and you, no clipboard.”

Bram is silent, and the doctor waits patiently.

“I like puzzles,” he murmurs eventually and then adds, “I can solve a Rubik's cube in under a minute.”

“That's very impressive; it would probably take me a week to figure one of those out,” she chuckles easily, “you'll have to bring one, one day, to show me.”

“Maybe.”

Evie smiles nervously. Since he is still a child, she had been hoping to break the ice with that one, but this boy just didn't seem too excited to share his hobby. By the way he tilts his head, he seems confused at her familiarity with him as well, which meant he probably doesn't trust other easily.

The rest of the hour-long session is filled with pointless questions bouncing to and fro, as well as a few thick silences. A light beeping sounds, signaling the end of the session. Evie Lee stands, glad but also kind of disappointed.

“Well, it looks like our time is up.”

“Ah.” He's clearly relieved as well.

“I'm glad we got to know each other a little.” She giggles; it's a light, tinkling sound like the music box his mum used to sometimes play when he had been little, to help ward off nightmares.

He pushes that out of his mind and nods absently.

Bram grabs his plush Browning coat, pulling it over his lighter hoodie. He turns to Dr. Evie Lee, considering her for a moment.

After a moment, he nods in some sort of finality, as he readjusts his nappy beanie, and says firmly, “You would look better with your hair down.”

With that, Bram leaves the flustered Asian woman to wait for his auntie in the bitter cold, feeling triumphant over having the last word.