Just to Feel | Complete

Chapter 2

I watch as the clinic grows smaller, looking out through the back window of the car. It's such a bittersweet feeling. When I'm there, I long to go home, but when I'm at home, I fight to get out. At least at the clinic I have people milling around me who care, even though they get paid to do so. I wonder how long before my next 'visit'? It's the place my father always sends me to, when he doesn't know what to do with me. This stay was only for two weeks. The previous one, six months ago, was closer to three weeks.

Does he really think that sedatives, being around strangers, being watched like a hawk and being locked up in a small room, will make me feel better? Make me stop cutting myself? Really?! It's like I'm a stranger to him. He really has no idea, does he?

I thought that after struggling with my 'problem' for the last two years, he would have understood that I can't be fixed.

I'm broken, Father.

Nothing can fix me. Not medication. Not clinics. Not strangers. I can't be fixed... ever.

My father yet again doesn't come to fetch me himself... clearly too busy. He decided to send one of his company drivers instead. Typical. I'm so disappointed. I make no attempt at conversation with the driver. I don't even make eye contact in the rear-view mirror. He's a stranger, so why should I? I put my earphones in my ears and blast Avril Lavigne on my iPod, shutting the world out. I lean my head back on the headrest and disappear into my happy place. In an hour I'll be home. My surroundings pass by my window in a blur of colours... much like my life.

The driver makes a stop on the way home. Our housekeeper gave him a list of items needed to collect from the store. I stay in the car. I have no desire to walk through a grocery store with a stranger, buying items for home. Items that I won't even eat.

Within a few minutes we're back on the road. Me in the back of the car, with my earphones still snugly in my ears.

We've arrived home, and the car barely stops when I jump out and grab my bags from the boot. I'm luckily not a heavy packer, so I'm able to handle my bags on my own.

"Please, allow me, Miss Tompson", the driver says as I reach into the boot. I can see the surprise and annoyance written all over his face.

"I can get it. I don't need your help. I do it all the time. I'm not a child." I know that I'm rude, but I really don't care. I'm so angry with my father for not coming to fetch me himself. Do I really mean that little to him? Does he even know that I'm coming home today?

I enter the house through the back door, walking in through the kitchen.

Gillian, our housekeeper, is in the kitchen preparing dinner. For whom? My father is hardly ever home, and I'm in no mood for dinner. I'll just grab a sandwich, as usual. If that.

Gillian looks up with a huge smile on her pretty face. The first time I saw her I thought she looked just like Brooke Shields. She tucks her medium brown shoulder length hair behind her ear, and seems genuinely happy to see me. "Welcome home, Mia. It's so lovely to see you. The house is just not the same without you." Gillian is friendly and has been with us for quite a number of years now. Well, to be honest, for most of my life. She's the only other female presence I've ever known in this house. She gives me space and stays out of my business, so that makes her okay in my books.

I don't even make eye contact. "Thanks", I mumble as I head upstairs to my bedroom. My escape pod, I call it.

Our house is rather large. We live on an estate about an hour's drive from the city. My father thinks it will keep me safe, being so far away from what he thinks are bad influences. If only he knew... He thinks that being surrounded by fresh air, nature and animals will heal me. We only have two horses and some chickens, so we're not quite Old McDonald's Farm, yet.

I like the fact that our house is large, it gives me lots of privacy, especially seeing as it's usually only Gillian and me here.

We also have a groundsman, Christian, and a full-time chauffeur, William, for just in case I need to be driven anywhere. So yes, I'm surrounded by strangers. Even in my own home.

My father's always traveling or at the office. He decided that it makes more sense to rent a townhouse in the city, than to commute from the house every day. What was the deciding factor, I wonder? Is it really closer to the office, or further away from me?

Back in my bedroom, my safe haven, I'm unpacking my bags. I don't really have much to unpack. Some clothes, a book and my medication. I spend most of my alone time cuddled up reading a book in my favourite place in the house, the bay window. My double bed is filled with pillows, begging for me to collapse on it. My desk is neat, holding my MacBook, radio and stationery stand.

I had no visitors whilst at the clinic, so I don't have any cards or flowers to fuss with. Not even a phone call from my father. Whatever.

I fall onto my bed, taking a deep breath. Staring at the blank white ceiling. Now what?

Looking around my room, not much has changed since I left. The containers of pills on my side table catch my eye. What were they for again? Oh yes, anxiety and sleeping disorder. I sit up, grab a bottle and read the label. "Valium - Take one at night if necessary. Must be taken after a meal."

How strong are these? Can't be too strong, I guess. I wonder what would happen if I take all 10?

My mind starts wondering, filled with dark thoughts and 'what ifs'.