Chapter One

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 "Tell me something Chloe," Dr. Martin said, "What brings you here, day after day?"

There were so many words I could've used to express my feelings, that would then answer her question. Pain. It was a big reason. Hurt? Same thing. It was useless. There was something that changed within me over the past few weeks. Something unexplainable. I couldn't possess the right words that could have conveyed my emotional state.

So I told her everything she wanted to hear and everything she needed to. Studying her I knew as soon as I walked in, that she would want to try and fix me. Me. A once beautiful, confident blonde, now nothing more than a shady, wasted away piece of human flesh. Once sun-kissed skin now as pale as the moon. Eyes hollow. All of the light had finally gone.

"Thats it?" She asked, eyeing me carefully.

I nodded.

"All of it?" She pressed.

Curiosity lit her eyes. She could see through me. The lies, the pain. Everything.

Smiling through my teeth, I nodded.

It was always the same. Brief sessions, I'd give her all of me. She would wait and listen. Her eyes lighting when she'd catch a lie or a slight twist of the truth. My truth. My version of it, anyways. I'd never give her what she truly wants, although a small part deep part within wants to scream everything. Every inch of my sadness, and all of my grief.

But as I slowly stop talking, and her questions start ending, it would already be over and the ounce of courage I had felt towards the end, that part of me that wants to share my true feelings would die and I'd begin to watch it all end.

"Okay... If that's all, then for today we can end our session."

Breathing in, I nod my head. All the pressure to talk elevating itself from my body and mind.

Relief in all its entirety flooded through my system. I could go home. Breathe, wallow, cry, and grieve.

Leaving was always hard. There was always a part of me that wanted to pause at the threshold, look over my shoulder and tell her everything. First, I'd tell her I was sorry for making her life beyond difficult. But I never could. I don't want her to fix me and take away my sadness because that sadness is all I have left of her. The moment I stop grieving is the moment I acknowledge that she is truly gone, and nothing would be worth acknowledging that.

"Chloe," Pausing at the threshold of her office, I half turned, looking over my shoulder at the ever-trying doctor, "It's okay to let the pain take over. But you also need to remember that letting go isn't the end either."

✖ ✖ ✖ ✖

The walk home was always trying. A part of me wanted to turn around and head in the other direction, too afraid to face what was waiting at home; nothing. Some nights I would wander around LA, immersing myself in all its night-time glory. Following bundles of people to where the buzz was. It was fun for a while, but then I'd find myself drifting to the lowly bars, and empty, shady streets, nowhere close to home. Yet not far enough away.

Here I was walking down Hollywood Boulevard, hands dug deep into the pockets of my woolen coat. What was I doing here?

Then it hit me. I didn't come here for a why or how. I came here because of a who, whether I knew it or not. Trixie. She loved it here. She'd follow the walk of fame till she couldn't any longer.

Dead. Gone.

I can't do this. I can't be here.

Sick. Vomit. I'll puke. I puked.

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