Free The Delilah Complex by MJ Rose Page A

question, there is no right or wrong answer. We’re here for you to talk about your feelings or your problems expressing those feelings. For those of you who have been in a group-therapy situation before, this isprobably familiar. For those of you who haven’t, please ask me to explain anything that’s unclear. Any questions so far?”
    I waited, but no one spoke.
    “Okay, why don’t we go around the room so you can introduce yourselves to me and tell me a little bit about why you, personally, are here and what you hope we will accomplish.” I turned to my right, knowing I would be frustrating the woman in the red suit to my left who, judging from her movements, wanted, expected and perhaps even needed to go first.
    Before the woman on my right could speak, Shelby interrupted.
    “Dr. Snow, I think we should just introduce ourselves and then I can tell you what the problem is. But first we need the confidentiality agreement I sent you with the videotape. You told me on the phone you would sign it.”
    I watched for reactions to Shelby’s assertion of power: no one seemed surprised by her taking over. Responding to the group, rather than to Shelby, I said, “The entire relationship between us is predicated on trust. Just like any doctor, I am bound by doctor-patient confidentiality and will not disclose anything you say to anyone outside of this room. The only exception to that rule is if I have information that one of my patients might inflict harm upon herself. So if one of you talks about committing suicide and I feel you mean it, I will have to go to the authorities. The same holds true if one of you tells me that you intend to kill someone and gives me reason to believe you mean it, as opposed to just thinking or fantasizing about it. I should tell you, though, that in all the years that I have been practicing, I have never had to break a patient’s trust.”
    Shelby nodded. “We all understand that, but I really have to insist.”
    Nina had known I wanted to work with this group, almost desperately, even if I wasn’t sure I knew all of the reasons. Our talk had prepared me for Shelby’s ultimatum. But it still rankled me. I got up, walked over to my desk, pulled the signed sheet out of a folder and gave it to her. She took it, glanced at it, folded it and put it in her bag.
    I sat down, turned to the woman on my right and said, “Let’s try the introductions again.” I smiled at her.
    Louise M. introduced herself and added, “I’m glad you are working with us. We need help.”
    One by one, we went around the circle. Ginny P., Shelby R., Martha G., Ellen S., Bethany W., Anne K., Liz B., Cara L., Aimee B., Gail S. and Davina C. I didn’t remember all their names right away, but after listening to them for an hour and a half, I would.
    During that initial go-around, I’d discovered the blond, slightly ethereal woman in black, who seemed so sad, was Anne. Liz was the woman in the worn brown blazer who was so observant. Ellen was the red-suited woman who’d wanted to be the first to talk.
    “Do you all keep your last names private in the society?” Even though Shelby had told me that they did, I wanted to get them talking.
    “Damn straight,” Ellen said. I was not surprised that she answered. “We don’t use our last names and neither do the men who join us. Our privacy is as important to us as getting what we want,” she said, giving the last phrase an emphasis and energy that was slightly confrontational.
    Shelby continued to explain: “Our entire organization— all of the chapters around the country—abides by the same rules. In fact, some of us don’t even use our real first names.We know one another only in one way, in one environment. We aren’t friends outside of the society. It would be far too risky.”
    I saw Anne lower her head.
    “How would it be risky?”
    “We have families, spouses, children. We have careers. Some of us have public lives,” Shelby said.
    “But you are all a