Omens (wattys2016)

Ten.

     Dr. Hughes' office has got to be one of the most uncomfortable places in the entire world. And this is coming from a girl who spent two years in a mental institution.

     The room itself is actually quite large, but the lack of objects in the room makes it seem enormous. The fact that there are no windows, no natural light coming in, makes it seem as if the room is swallowing you whole. Her desk sits against the back wall of the room, large and made completely of dark oak. The plain white couch sits dead center, positioned in front of the desk. Tall lamps have been crammed into every corner. They florescent bulbs light the area, giving over a super creepy vibe.

     Dr. Hughes peers over her thick rimmed glasses, taking in my disheveled appearance. I haven't bothered to change out of my pajamas yet. My hair remains unbrushed, flaring around me in various directions. I know she is making note of the bags under my eyes, the result of hours of restless sleep.

     "Derek told me this morning that Brandon informed him last night that there was a bit of a disturbance in your room last night. Something about screaming and things being knocked over," she states, scribbling in her large notepad. The clock on the wall clicks loudly, marking each passing second.

     I wonder what she is writing. Dr. Hughes has been my psychologist since I got here and never once has she given me a peek into the large manilla folder with my name printed across it. I broke into her office once, two months after I had arrived. Using a bobby pin I had been able to pick the lock to not only her door, but the secured drawers of the desk. I had zeroed in on my file immediately, fighting the urge to read others files first. Back then there were more people here. Most of them were my age and worse off than I ever was. Their screamed filled the halls at night, making it impossible to catch a good nights sleep.

     Back then it didn't contain as much as it did now. Just a few police reports, going into great detail of what had happened the night of the murders. That my whole family had died and I had barely survived the attack. That the attacked had managed to disable to security system and sneak into the house. No evidence had been left behind. The police had no leads as to who had committed the crime. I had read over the medical reports. My mother, father and brothers has died due to blood loss. Mine had stated that I had suffered from blood loss, resulting in a lack of blood flow to the brain. That I had flatlined in the ambulance six times before they were able to stabilize me. That I had spent a full year afterwards in the Intensive Care Unit recovering from twelve stab wounds, lacerations to all my major organs and extreme blood loss.

     The notes from my stay at Charity Hospital were there too. I was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder which caused me go into psychotic fits where I would ramble on and on about how someone had been watching me that night. That I would go into a fugue state where I was determined that I would try and convince the medical staff that my soul had in fact left my body and a guy with green eyes had been there waiting for me.

     "Omera?" Dr. Hughes says loudly, clearing her throat. Crap, I was zoning out again. I tried not to do that when she was around. "Would you like to tell me what happened last night?"

     "I had a nightmare," I lie, "No big deal. It hasn't happened in a long time. I didn't sleep well Friday night and then I worked a long shift at the cafe Saturday. I think it was just my body's way of telling me I should get more sleep."

     She makes a soft "mhm" sound and scribbles more notes onto the paper. She glances up at me once and then places her pen flat on the desk.

     "Other than that, how are things going? I see that you are doing well in school. Still no extracurricular activities but also no reports of bad behavior either. Hm, interesting. I see that you were granted a late curfew Friday night. It says here you attended a party accompanied by one Daphne Matthews." She looks at me curiously through those thick frames. I can almost hear the gears in her head turning, trying to determine whether or not I made up the whole party thing.

     "Yup!" I agree, trying not to sound fake cheerful, "It was actually kind of fun. A little overwhelming at times but I am actually glad I went." That part is not a total lie. I am still on the fence about whether or not I am glad I went. I would have never met Jackson had I not...but on the other hand...I would have never met Jackson and life wouldn't be spiraling into a black hole of crazy either.

     "That's good to hear. I am glad to see you are progress. It is good for you to interact with kids your age. I was hoping the stress of your senior year wouldn't cause you to regress back to your anti-social tendencies. It seems your friendship with Ms. Matthews has been good for you. I spoke with her earlier this morning and she seems to think you are finally beginning to come out of your shell. She informed me that you even managed to interact with a few of your fellow students at this party." I make a mental note to thank Daphne later. She could have told Hughes the truth, that I hung out in the backyard the whole time before barging in on her and Aaron and fleeing the party. I am once again thankful for her relentless need to be my friend, despite the fact that I was beyond rude to her freshman year.

     I smile at the doctor, hoping she won't see through my facade. Hoping she won't see what a mess I actually am. That she suggest that I go back on Zoloft. I cringe at the though of that pale blue pill. The way it stuck in my throat, even after chugging about a gallon of water in an attempt to wash it down. The way my body had felt heavy once it began to kick in. Like someone had poured a bucket of cement over my skin.

     Dr. Hughes closes her notepad, tucking it safely into her desk drawer. Relief flows through me. We are nearing the end of our session and I try not to run from the room so I can start my chores. This whole morning has dragged by and I want nothing more than to be out of this place, with Jackson, hearing whatever impossible sounding information he has to tell me.

     "Do you have any plans for when you graduate?" she asks and I slump back into the seat. I knew this was too good to be true. She has never ended a session early. Why would she start now?

     "Well I will be turning eighteen a few months before graduation, so I am thinking about applying to some colleges. I know I have a year after I turn eighteen to find a place to live and I figure, if I can get into a good college, I might be able to get enough financial aid to help pay for me to live on campus. I was looking into the scholarship program at Everett Community College and if my grades are good enough I might be able to in."

     Dr. Hughes smiles and I know she is pleased that I am making plans for my future. It is all a complete lie but she doesn't need to know that. In fact, I have zero plans after high school other than to get the hell out of this shelter and possibly even this whole state. The thought of leaving Daphne makes me sad but nothing compared to being forced to live in the state where the worst thing that ever happened to me occurred.

     "Well that is all for today. I will be out of the office next weekend so I am going to have to reschedule our session. Is that okay? I can always call in one of my colleagues if you feel as though you will need to speak with someone while I am away. I know how much you like having things set out in a routine." I shake my head in disagreement. Not seeing Hughes next week might be the best news I have heard all week.

    She dismissed me, telling me to have a good day and it takes all my strength not to run from the room singing.