Secrets Are For Keeping

Chapter Fourteen

"Your name is Nova Carlson."

"Your sixteen years of age."

"You live alone with your sister Olivia who is also your legal guardian."

I tapped my foot nervously on the white tiled floor.

"You have no history of any major diseases...nothing bad...had surgery for your wisdom teeth..."

There was a ruffling of papers.

"Few problems overall. Perfect vision and hearing..."

The tapping of my foot stopped as the doctor placed the clipboard with all my information and papers on it back on his desk next to the laptop. He turned his face back towards me and by his expression, the small crease between his eyebrows with eyes screaming of his faked concern for me, I could tell exactly what he was going to say next. I'd heard the words in different ways millions of times, nearly every time I went to the doctor's for whatever reason. Even though me and Olivia had been living alone, it hadn't prevented us from being able to seek medical treatment with the help of the same family next door who'd provided us with food and had claimed that we were adopted whenever asked about it during an appointment. And in the beginning there'd been a lot of appointments. All about the same thing.

"I heard your parents were killed...," he began talking, in a way that made it sound as though he were trying to step across a field of Legos without getting hurt. He clasped his hands together in front of him, staring at me intently behind his large rectangular glasses, probably judging any reaction so he could write down every last thing he noticed.

"Yes," I replied, not elaborating on what had occurred during the time. I didn't want to think about it again. The doctors had always wanted me to, told me that talking about my feelings and what had happened would help me. It never did. All it ended up doing was force me to relive the pain I'd felt when it'd happened.

"Did this...change your opinions in anyway?" I saw the doctor glance down at my exposed wrist with its eternally typing thoughts that scrolled by.

"I was sad," I replied vaguely.

"That's understandable...but did it...make you unstable? Is there anything you'd done that you regretted?"

Yes.

"No."

I winced, realizing my 'yes' from my thoughts had gone through. The doctor stared down at my wrist and began scribbling down notes on a sheet of paper.

Ignoring my lie, he continued. "What kinds of regrets are you referring to?"

I didn't respond. My mind raced, searching for something to latch on to so that I could avoid the question as much as possible. I forced myself to avoid thinking of it. Of it.

"I...I regretted not being able to say goodbye." The words flowed out unexpectedly, and luckily my thoughts matched. I'd barely avoided being forced to say the one thing I couldn't.

My face and tone must've been convincing enough to persuade the doctor to let it go.

"And your sister...was she okay after this?"

Now my mind was going through memories like files, thinking back to right after it happened, to seeing my sister's face. Tears had streaked her cheeks, eyes red. She'd wrapped her arms around me, and hadn't let go. Not once. More for the comfort of herself than me. And then, she'd disappeared. Not literally, but mentally. For weeks, she'd stayed in her room. She hadn't come out, even when the doorbell had rung and the neighboring family had offered assistance. She only ever appeared for mealtimes, and sometimes she would even evade those.