Behind The Masks Of Blood ;hes;

Chapter 49

If you like this story please vote and comment and maybe share it x

[B E L L A] :

               I stood still on my place, blankly looking out of the window, staring at people walking and passing the hospital that I grew to despise from the depth of my heart. I requested to stay alone after they’ve taken me out of Harry’s room.

             From my point of view it was around eight in the morning, that’s what I thought at least. Last night I stayed restless, I could not bring myself to sleep after my panic attack and after seeing Gratte. I felt the blackness of the huge bags underneath my eyes burning holes on my body.

             Few minutes later a knock sounded on the door. “Come in.” I said. Slowly the door cracked open, I shifted my eyes from the window to see who had knocked. A bright–Eyed doctor entered the room. The usual uniform with his stethoscope hanging around his long neck. He smiled.

                “Good morning Bella, I hope I did not wake you up.” He spoke as he moved towards me. “You did not.”

             Weirdly, I did not intend sounding so rude and impolite but I did. The coldness of my emotions seeking further on my voice, and he probably noticed.

                   “How are you feeling today?”

         “Good?” It sounded like a question, I can see he was not pleased with my answer. We both sat at the couch in the white room. I can feel his eyes studying me, analyzing my case.

                “I am doctor Beckham—”

           “Are you a therapist?” I questioned, unable to hold it back. And as much as I hated hearing the Yes I wanted to know if they thought I was crazy. Probably after shouting that I wanted to kill invisible person I must be having mental issues.

               “Who said I am?” He raised his eyebrows. I noticed the small notebook and pen between his fingers and I did not even want the answer anymore.

          “They might’ve told you I am crazy, but I am not stupid.” I muttered as a matter-of-factly. He looked embarrassed as I see his white cheeks turn into pinky color.

         “You are not crazy, I am just here to chat as a friend.” He spoke softly trying to get me to believe his point of view. “What about your notebook?—” I rolled my eyes before continuing. “Friends do not note down their friends’ words.”

           He smiled, unaffected. “Okay, What about I put them away and we can chat friendly?”

               “Okay…” This time I felt embarrassed and to recover I started speaking before him. “What did they say about me?”

               “They did not say anything, what about you tell me about yourself?” He suggested. I hated talking about myself, it was uncomfortable just blurting out stuff unexpectedly.

               “Like what?” I asked. “Your family, your friends?”

               “Uh—Not much of an interesting topic to be hones—” He cut me off sweetly. “I have all the time on the world.”

               “Well, Probably you have met my mum and dad, we do not live here— I live on London. I had a brother—who d-died few years ago. I do not have a lot of friends in fact—”