One afternoon, while running wild through the meadow, I tripped and gashed my knee on a rock. I was stilled.

My knee thumped with pain as I sat there, staring at the blood, hypnotized. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

“Mother!” Annabelle screamed, running across the lawn toward the house. She disappeared inside, and I continued to watch as the blood doubled, then tripled in size.

My mother came rushing out with Annabelle following close behind. Kneeling beside me, her brow knitted, Mother asked, “Does it hurt, doll?”

I glanced from the wound to my mother and back again. “Not really.”

“That’s my brave girl.” She smiled, wiping the blood with a wet cloth before opening a tube of antiseptic and applying the jelly, all while humming pleasantly to calm me. She peeled open a bandage, covered the cut, and kissed my forehead.

“Mother, what are these green lines?” I asked, pointing at my wrist.

“They’re your veins.” She traced her finger along my forearm. “They transport blood around your body to keep you healthy and strong.”

My eyes followed her finger, mesmerized by what might be inside of me. “Why are they green, if blood is red?”

“It’s a little trick our eyes play on us,” she explained, crumbling the bandage wrapper in her other hand. “Even though it looks green, it’s actually red. It’s the way light is reflected.”

I tilted my head at her. “Why would we not see something the right way?”

“We don’t always see things clearly,” my mother whispered. “That’s why you have to look closely. You can’t always trust what you see.”

I brought my nose close to my knee, staring with widened eyes as the dot of blood slowly grew, spreading across the nude Band-Aid, saturating the fabric.

Annabelle stood at a safe distance. Her voice came out softly. “Is Gracie okay?”

“She’s going to be fine.” My mother stood, repeating, “she’s going to be fine.”

Lying back in the tall grass, I watched it sway above me and, feeling its pulse, my attraction to blood congealed with the scab on my knee.

Chapter 20

I arrived at the psychiatrist’s office half an hour early, as instructed. They told me I needed to fill out some forms prior to seeing the doctor.

Standing in the hallway, I could see a woman sitting behind a circular desk. Her head shot up as I pushed through the glass doors.

She smiled. “Hello.”

“Hi.” I advanced to the desk, resting my elbows on the counter. “I have an appointment with Dr. Brace.”

“Grace?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” The receptionist began thumbing through stacks of paper until she found what she was looking for. She clipped the piece of paper onto a clipboard, attached a pen, and passed it over the counter. “I’ll need you to fill this out.”

I scanned the form and flipped it over. It was double-sided, containing dozens of questions asking me to rate my various moods on a scale of 1 to 5. Happiness, hopefulness, insomnia, family support, relationship with a significant other, relationship with friends, stress about money, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts.