Sanctuary

Chapter 31 (rewritten) - Hardships.

Alright guys, here is the rewritten version of chapter 31! Be sure to read carefully, ALOT has been changed!

1 2 . 1 5 . 2 0 1 5.

All therapists are fucking idiots.

Especially Dr. Brooks.

The only thing they're good for is sitting, with their legs crossed and stoic faces (a feat that she has fucking nailed) while they listen to their patients sound off about their shitty lives and terrible situations (a feat I've fucking nailed).

An alarm is usually in place, a timer if you will, in order to tell you that they've had enough of being your older, interactive barbie doll and finally respond back to the hours of breath you've put your heart and soul into.

And you know what? That's not even the reason they're stupid (its stupid but that's not the reason I'm focusing on).

After I experienced my whole episode of panicking and anxiety, I gave in to finally go back to Brooks - after all, I'd been avoiding her since H got fired because 1). I hated therapy and 2). Without him in power, the sessions were no longer mandatory.

I drove hours to see her. I went to her office. I ignored her assistant that said she was busy and I intimidated the young, Goth teenager that was already in there to get out and I also offered up money to pay for longer time, which she gave me.

I told her everything from A to Z, I left out nothing. I did not leave one detail out of what had been going on in the past few months, especially since I had no concern of Dean hearing me. He was in Vegas still.

So, I felt comfortable enough that since I'd made it that far, I could spill my guts.

Then, after all of that: after dealing with waking up in his arms, after staring at him for far too long while he slept and I stood at the foot of the bed, after stealing his car to drive all the way to San Diego while the low light guided me, after running through six cups of coffee, after sitting there for hours to bare my soul to her - she blew the session to hell with just one sentence. One question, that infuriated me.

"How dare you ask me that?!" I screamed and jumped up, provoking her eyes to widen as she stared up at me. "How could you fucking ask me that?!"

"I am trying to help you!" She protested and I recoiled my face,

"Help me?! That's not helping me! Helping me is giving me some medication to fucking fix my anxiety!"

She rose up behind her desk. "Blake, helping you is making you realize that you don't need the medication anymore. Helping you is coaching you so that you don't believe you need it and helping you figure out why these attacks are returning. Its internal. And from what I'm hearing, it sounds to me lik-"

"Don't. You. Say. It." I glared. "Don't you fucking dare, Brooks. You don't get to assume shit like that and you damn sure don't get to ask me in order to validate this crazy ass theory of yours. Thanks for wasting my time." I spat and turned to leave.

"Blake." She said firmly and I stopped with my hand on the door. "Please, let me help you. Now, I know you don't like me, and I know you think I'm some stuck up bitch but I've been through life, okay? I've seen a lot, believe me and this, this game that you're playing is going to end terribly unless you own up and tell the truth."

I sighed and shut my eyes as she slowly repeated the question, the words searing into my ears.

I should've sat there and got help and came to a conclusion, but I couldn't; I saw her as being too fucking stupid.