“I can’t even fathom trying to describe what happened.”
“Just try and let your thoughts flow. If you can tell someone, it will help you heal.”
“I’ve heard this before, and I have to tell you, you are wrong; so wrong.” The look on her face made my skin crawl with anger. As if she knew how I felt or how I was going to feel. Sure, she’s a therapist, but I guarantee she has never felt real pain; the type of pain that wakes you in the night, the type of pain that enables you to form a decent relationship. I lived it once, why should I have to do it again. She was waiting for me to respond. Her look gave reference to everything I hated. The way her eyes looked blank. I really think she could care less what happened to me. She just wanted the day to be over so she could go home to her pathetic life. She glanced at the clock. The pressure was on. I looked at the clock too and decided I had enough. I got out of my seat. She stared at me and casually asked where I was going.
“I don’t have to be here. You can’t make me stay.”
“You’re right, I can’t’ make you do anything, but you do have to be here. The court has ordered you to take 4 months of counseling. One hour a week won’t kill you.”
“It might kill you.” I sneered a little.
“Do you think that’s funny; threatening someone’s life?”
“What do you care? I’m going to prison!”
“Not if you start talking. Please, just tell me what happened.”
“Never. We can sit here for a whole hour staring at each other. I could care less.”
“Well, you are only hurting yourself.”
“Sure I am.” Her rash comments irritated me. My head started hurting. I rubbed my eye. The pain was growing.
“You’re not helping yourself by not talking. You can sit here, say nothing, and go to prison, or you can talk and free yourself.” She gave me a stern look. It reminded me of my mother. I hated her and this therapist. I wanted to slit her throat. I imagined doing it. I smiled.
“Is something funny?” I said nothing. I wanted to leave, but she was right. I wouldn’t make it in prison. I like space. The clock let us know there was only five minutes left. I had successfully wasted her time. She was truly annoyed. Her eyes rolled every time she looked at the clock. “We haven’t much time.”
“I know.” Did she not see me looking at the clock too? The anger in me started to rise. I scanned the room for something that would kill her. There was nothing. It was a safe room. My eyes came to the door. The chaperone was waiting. His white uniform aggravated me even more. I tossed the nearest table and began screaming. He burst open the door and tackled me to the ground. I violently tried to get away. He was much too strong. I thought of prison again and I knew I’d be dead in the first week. The therapist shook her head.
“Three more months. Let’s hope the next session is more productive.” I screamed again. I only saw her lifeless body oozing blood; staining the freshly vacuumed carpet. I felt a needle pierce my skin and my body fell limp. I was going back to my room. Why wouldn’t they just keep me in there? This was getting annoying.