"He's not involved in Imogen's life. I have legal guardianship."
"Of course, I will correct the forms."
"Please do. Thank you."
"Right, so Imogen, can you tell me what grade you're in? The school you attend…"
The next thirty minutes were filled with Imogen giving short answers to my probing questions, but she was at least answering them. She seemed to be isolated, socially withdrawn, and had no pro-social activities. No clubs, job, or afterschool events. She didn't even attend public school since she was homeschooled by a tutor.
Imogen's hobbies and leisure activities were limited, indicating her range of coping skills to be small. We hadn't even gotten to symptoms or what brought her in yet, but I didn't have a good feeling. She wasn't adequately prepared to deal with regular teenage drama, much less a traumatic one.
"Can you share some of the symptoms you've been experiencing and for how long?" My question was met by silence, not surprising—tactic two time.
"How about if I ask you some things and then you can just answer yes or no? Would that be better?"
"Yes," she answered, a smile of relief.
Smiling to remind her I was safe to share with, I relaxed my face as I started my list, pausing briefly between each one to see if she nodded or not.
"Anxiety? Depression? Poor Sleep? Flashbacks? Appetite change? Impulsive behavior? Poor decision-making? Inability to focus on tasks or schoolwork? Isolation? Withdrawing from others? Feelings of helplessness? Feelings of worthlessness? Self-harming behavior? Any thoughts of wanting to hurt yourself? Others?"
When we were finished, it was fairly obvious she was experiencing PTSD. Never wanting to assume, I also gave her a PTSD scale. As she filled it in, I glanced at the clock, realizing I only had five minutes left.
I started to formulate my diagnostic conclusion while she finished the criteria. Somehow, I'd been able to block Atticus throughout most of the interview. He hadn't needed to share too much, only a few things on family history and some addition to her behavior he'd observed. He'd been supportive and allowed her to talk, even if she struggled, only stepping in when she looked to him for help. I admired him for that. I didn't know their whole story yet, but their dynamic intrigued me.
"Just a few more things to cover, but I wanted to thank you, Imogen, for sharing with me today, and Mr. Masters for being here to support her. I know it's a difficult decision to come here and tell a stranger the scary things in your life, but I want you to look at it as a step toward finding a solution, and you're no longer walking the path alone. I'm here to walk along with you, if you let me."
Imogen gave a tiny smile, but she appeared to accept what I'd said. I covered the aforementioned informed consent and confidentiality, ensuring them both I took it very seriously and ethically, I could only break it for three reasons—abuse, homicide, and suicide. Mr. Masters appeared appeased by the answer for once and I gained a little of my confidence back he'd shaken loose. We scheduled for the following week, and I was hopeful she'd return. It was always hit or miss after the first one before the rapport was built.
"I always offer a treat at the end because I feel like therapy can be like dementors at times, and the best way to treat a dementor attack is chocolate. Hopefully, you're familiar with Harry Potter. Otherwise, I'll probably sound weird."
"I love Harry Potter," she beamed, and I watched the first genuine smile spread across Imogen's face. Doing a victory dance in my head, I felt confident she'd return now. I always found if you had one thing to connect with them on, it increased the odds they would.
It also meant I would get to see more of the seductive man as well. Though, I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. My behavior was throwing me off, but every time he spoke or directed those umber eyes to me, I forgot why I shouldn't be melting into a puddle.
Atticus stood up, smoothing down his three-piece suit that looked expensive, but fit him well. Very well, in fact. Forcibly pulling my gaze back to Imogen, I walked out with her chatting about Harry Potter houses.
Atticus trailed behind us quietly and a stray thought crossed my mind, continuing to surprise me. Please, let nothing be on my ass.
I think I needed to check my brand of coffee when I got home because something was off with me today.