The Fearful Institute

To Know What It's Like

"What makes you think that you have it worse than others?" The doctor asks me, such a personal question that most of the time can't be answered, usually the individual doesn't know. I'm not sure if I know why I think I have it worse, why I deserve to have what I want and need. Maybe I do know why I have it worse, I just don't want to accept the fact that my life sucks and this entire time of life is a complete and utter waste. Sitting in a doctor's office isn't the most comfortable thing in the world; laying on the long head to foot chair as he looks down at me with his light green eyes, it scares me. The room is so plain and boring, it almost feels like the afterlife; all you have are history books that won't get you anywhere and dusty furniture that will remind you that you're nothing but a memory. Green eyes sink into my soul as they try to read my emotion, trying to scan through all the feelings building up inside me, stacking up as it tries to reach the peak of explosion.

"I know what it's like to get down on my knees and beg for God to take all the pain away, make everything go away." The words flow out of my mouth in a whistle from the dryness of my lips, they felt dead along with the rest of my body, dead. Dr. Harvard raises an eyebrow in question, has he never thought of me as someone who doesn't seek the lord out at times, obviously not. I'm not saying I'm a firm believer in God, but at times a question his existence, if he's a real angel sleeping on a cloud or if he's just a myth like the other worthless Gods. My hands are tightly gripped around the chair's arms, the leather material squeaking and creating sharp sounds as my fingers slide up the chair and as I drag them back down.

"Don't you think other people know that feeling as well?" He asks in a sharp and gently tone as he keeps one eyebrow raised constantly. He doubts me and it's getting on my last nerve; straight face with calm tapping with his pen, the constant twisting squeak with his ankle. The skin is slowly separating from my bottom lip; my teeth are persistent on finding something to nibble on, the brain forcing it to create a habit that will block out the anxiety. I shrug at his question, I haven't really thought about that, I don't know if I care or not. I think when someone is unhappy and hurt, they don't care about the people around them, and they only see themselves.

Where did the time go when I was lying beside Eddie on his bed, when he had his arm wrapped around me and made me feel secure? The time just disappeared after I shut my eyes with my forehead against his chest, humming his name in the back of my mind. I don't even remember what I did after that exact moment, it's like someone forced me to forget, like they didn't want me to remember. My eyes blink out of a burning frustration and irritation of dryness; apparently eye drops aren't a supported medicine in this prison. Dr. Harvard flinches when he hears the last squeak of my fingers tightly rubbing against the leather chair before he grabs my wrists and sets them in my lap.

"Sorry if I startled you with that action, but that noise is so mind threatening." He apologizes as he waves his hands in the air while he explains the reason for startling me. I nod acting like the action didn't faze me; like I didn't care that it happened.

"You're depressed, mild depression I'm assuming." He guesses correctly; I'm depressed, but not so depressed I want to end my life. Death doesn't hurt you; it hurts the people around you that cared. Shivers crawl down my spine as a nurse walks in the room with a needle and a bottle of liquid; have I done something wrong, am I not participating as expected? My eyes wander around the room trying to ignore the needle on the metal tray, dear lord don't inject anything in me.

"Um," I pause and look at the needle directly; the sharp point screaming mutiny into my ears in quiet whispers.

"No need to worry, this was from my last patient...he over exaggerated." He smiles and sets the tray into one of the drawers connected from behind his desk. I nod in a quick pace as he starts to write on his notepad; more notes about my problems...to keep me in this hell. I have been in his office for over thirty minutes and he's only asked me one question, I feel like he just wants to stare at me and think me over. I'm not sure if I want to know what he's thinking about that has to deal with me sitting in a chair directly in front of him. His lips roll into his mouth and his expression looks upsetting, disappointed even.

"Session's over," he says quietly and gets up from his office chair to open the door. I quickly stand up and rush out of his death encouraging office. The halls are filled with other poisoned souls that are just dying for a way out; out of their cold and rusty chains. Their white clothes representing the fallen angles they're soon to become, and the faded color of skin represents the damaged past they once went through and refuse to face again.

People start to move throughout the hall and rush to the sides pretending they're looking for something inside their broken up lockers. My eyebrows rise when I grow confused of the situation I hope to not be in the middle of, but there is a good chance I will because I'm standing in the middle of the hallway. Two security guards are carrying a man with a bloody face through the hall; blood dripping from the inside of his mouth down to his jaw and falling to the floor, one eye sealed shut, and a broken nose. My eyes look between the guards and see Eddie peaking from inside his room, he looks oddly suspicious.

The crowd off people start to direct their attention to Eddie and he walks into the middle of the hall; the same route as I am. They look back and forth; he looks disappointed in himself like he has failed me somehow. Is he the one who just mangled that young man?
My bottom lip quivers until he starts to walk towards me with his hands bunching up his long sleeved shirt into his fists. I remain standing at the same exact spot that my feet have not left. Eddie sets each bundled up fist on my cheeks and presses his lips to mine, my hands curl around his waist and my eyes tightly shut.

My lips separate from his and I look him right in his chilling brown eyes that seem to have lies flaming in the middle. My eyes are wet, but they aren't wet enough, and my heart isn't burnt to a crisp, I'm not going to break down knowing that he's keeping something from me. My eyes still stare into his; broken and ready to shatter like glass. My shoulder gently hits his when I begin to walk away from him to my room and to my bed.

My eyes look around the walls creating my room; chipped and peeling paint dying to be painted over. I have my hand over my wrist covering the scar that will soon form later in the evening; the evidence will remain hidden...along with the pain that covers the silver surface of a sharp blade. Bandages aren't provided to those who don't tell, comfort isn't provided to those who don't let people in. That's what I'm doing right now; I'm not telling anyone about my "accident", I'm not going to let anyone into my heart, through the shield known as my ribs.

Soon I hear footsteps quietly coming down the hall; getting louder at each closing step. My eyes drift over to the door and I find Eddie slanting inside the doorway with two irritated eyes and one devastating expression. I remember him talking to me about wearing a long sleeved sweater and how it scares him, but now he's wearing one. Out of nowhere he starts to break down to tears, they run down his face like a waterfall and he can't hold in the sounds of agonizing pain.

"I'm so sorry for disappointing you Aleks." He whimpers and holds himself on the side of the doorway, he's becoming weaker from all the energy being wasted on his burning tears and suffocating lungs. My eyes lock onto the sad expression latched onto his face and my eyes blink multiple times in a row.

"Come here," I say as I hold my hands out and wait for him to come closer and grab a hold of it, waiting for him to let me bring him comfort. He looks up in shock, his eyes in a squinting manner and his bottom lip constantly quivering.

"I said, come here." I repeat and he gently nods as he takes slow steps toward me, his shaky hands trying to keep control when our hands touch and wrap around each other; warm and soul relaxing. I lay back onto the bed and Eddie crawls on and rests his head on my chest with his legs curled up to his chest. My eyes stare up at the wall as my arms are wrapped around him and he's wiping his agony on my red shirt.

"It's you and me together forever, Eddie." I whisper and I can feel his tears start to disappear, but he's quiet like he's slowly drifting into a deep sleep that he never wants to come out of. I just hope I see him in the morning with his skin still hooked together perfectly.