Pause, Replay

Two

Dedicated to @Aasma- for the cover/banner at the side.

[The rest of this short story will be told through diary entries, for the exception of maybe one or two chapters.]

Dear Diary,

I just got you today from a therapist Mom sent me too. I must say I was awfully surprised when Mom and Dad announced that they were sending me into therapy this morning. My parents had always been sceptical of the stuff. She said shrinks were crooks who profited off of a pseudoscience. He said people who went to therapy had too much money to spend.

I didn't have a particular opinion.

I guess they changed their minds when they saw the huge effect Sloane's death had on me versus the minimal effect Mom's cooking and Dad's overbearing protectiveness produced. My grades were dropping drastically, I'd lost friends and when I got home I didn't do much except lock myself in my room and cry while looking at old photos of me and Sloane.

Anyway, my theraphist-Dr.Goodwill-offered you to me as I was about to leave. I asked her what I should do to with you, she said just write. I asked her about what and she said anything really. Then I asked her if she'd be looking at it later and she said no. It was just for me.

So I've decided to write about our session.

I was in the waiting room, waiting (duh) when her receptionist told me I could go in. She was sitting behind her desk in a swivel chair and smiled at me as I walked in. It was one of those rare smiles that made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like you were finally understood. She looked down at the files lying on her desk and then reported her attention to me almost immediately. She looked like she expected me to say something so I said hi.

"Hello. Jaïya, is it?"

"Yes."

I liked the way she said my name, she almost made it sound pretty. Most people pronouced it Ja-eee-ya, which made my ears bleed, but she said it right. 

Jay-ya.

"Have a seat, Jaïya."

I did as I was told and took the seat across from her.

"How are you feeling today?"

Her grey eyes seemed to bore into mine as I shrugged and said fine.

"You wouldn't be here if that were the case," she reminded me.

"I'm fine, really."

She looked down at the stack of notes on her desk again and sratched her head, before taking a swig of water from her bottle and slamming it down on her desk. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

"Okay. Let's say you're fine."

"Okay."

"Who was Sloane?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Who was she? Why is it so important that she died?"

I felt my eyes becoming watery and my vision getting blurry, at my last memories of her. "W-what do you mean?"

She brought her face closer to mine. "Why does she matter?"

I pushed my chair back with so much force, it actually flipped over. Tears streamed down my face and I yelled so hard my vocals chords are still hurting as I'm writing this. "How dare you! Sloane was my friend! My best friend!"

She waved a Kleenex box at me and signed. "See, you're not fine."

I took a few tissues and wiped my nose while examining her carefully. I couldn't  believe her she got me all riled up so that she could prove a point. That was so...mean. Especially since Sloane's funeral was only last week.

(I didn't go, by the way. I couldn't face her family. I was afraid they'd know which part I played in her demise just by looking at me.)

As is reading my mind, Dr. Goodwill, said, "I hate doing this, I really do, but if it's the only way to get you to react, well..."

"I know."

I put the chair back upright and, for the rest of the session, we talked about everything and anything. But mostly nothing. She asked me about my favorite TV shows (NCIS, Friends and Glee, all of which I'd missed many episodes), my favorite hobby (swimming) and what I wanted to be when I grew up (I don't know).

The hour went by fast and then she gave you to me, like I said before.

You're nothing special, just a normal 32-page notebook, but still. You're mine. And that makes all the difference.

Awkwardly, Jaïya.