The sound of knocking woke me. I flexed my hand, stiff from clenching the chocolate bar wrapper. My body was sticky from sleeping in my clothes, clothes I was more than eager to get out of. Another sharp knock came at the door.
"Come in," I croaked, rolling off my bed without a trace of elegance. My mother entered, appearing far from amiable.
Perfect.
"Christine Grace Evans please tell me you didn't sleep in those clothes!" She stood with her hands on her hips, unimpressed I presumed. After considering falling back to sleep to spite her I decided it wouldn't have been a sensible thing to do. Mum pursed her lips and glared at me.
"I've had a bit of a rough night," I confessed, rubbing my eyes. I needed to wake up. A cup of icy water over the head would have done the trick but I wasn't going to offer Mum such an opportunity.
"And you're surprised? You slept in your clothes for goodness sake, what did you expect?" She cluthed the door handle. "Now your appointment is at ten so get your skinny little butt in that shower." She pointed a stern finger in the general direction of the bathroom. I obeyed. "And leave your clothes outside the door; I think they'll need washing." I wondered if the sarcasm had really been necessary.
Once in the bathroom I peeled off my clothes and chucked them into the hall. I could hear faint footsteps walking away and the mumbles of an irritated woman. If I had a penny for every time I'd ever aggravated my mother in my life I would be rich. In the shower I clumsily washed under cool sprays. The jets of water were refreshing after my restless night.
"Man I look awful," I moaned, eyeing myself in the bathroom mirror after my shower. "Still you could be a lot worse off Evans," I admitted. I wrapped myself in a towel and opened the bathroom door.On my way out I knocked foolishly into Ross.
"Sorry," I squeaked.
"Nope it was my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you feeling any better?" he mumbled, inspecting everything but me.
"Yeah I guess so." I diverted my eyes from his face and with my pink cheeks in tow I scurried to my room.
There was really no need to dress up for a session with Dr. Collins. But when checking my appearance in the mirror I noticed how pale I was. Dr. Collins wouldn't hesitate to enquire as to why I looked so sickly. Oh how I couldn't wait.
We took the bus to the hospital, though I slept for the entirety of it. I hadn't realised quite how tired I was.
A sharp nudge in my ribs woke me from my slumber.
"Come on Chris. This is our stop." I looked up at my mum warily, as if I wasn't quite sure I knew who she was. She was never usually so keen to accompany me. With another impatient glower I got to my feet.
The hospital towered over us in all its white magnificence. For a place as gloomy as it was it looked more like a hotel spa. Cars were parked in their hundreds across the concrete car park in orderly lines.
Mum and I walked briskly, heads down, into the hospital entrance. The receptionist smiled at us cheerfully as we entered. I forced a small smile in return. Mum and I carried on down the spotless corridors until we came to the door I dreaded.
Dr. Collins's office was like that of the rest of the hospital, lathered in disinfectant. The furniture was unadventurous but expensive. Books dominated the space; most appearing new and untouched where as a select few had dog-eared corners and wrinkled spines.
Dr. Collins sat behind her desk and gestured at the seat awaiting me. Mum hadn't been permitted to join us after having had a long lecture from Dr. Collins about recurring interference. So there we sat; just the two of us.
From a drawer Dr. Collins withdrew my file and a pen. Silently she removed her reading spectacles from her coat pocket. Then, completing of her routine, she folded her hands delicately.
"Now Christine may I ask you how you are feeling today? It does appear that you seem slightly off colour this morning. Are you managing to get enough rest? The broken arm isn't bothering you too much?" Her voice was patronising. It annoyed me that she saw it as necessary to talk to me like a child.
"I've been better, thanks," I replied. She picked up my file and started jotting down quick notes.
"Better? In what way have you been better?" She paused and looked down on me; her glasses perched on the tip of her long slender nose.
I wasn't sure I wished to tell her of Kieran and the Chicago affair. I didn't want to say anything of Kieran at all. Still, I might as well make use of her time.
"Close friends of mine may have possibly died in the Chicago terrorist attack yesterday. It's difficult to talk about." I had been blocking it out all morning. Dr. Collins nodded understandingly. I could feel my palms sweating.
"Well I certainly cannot force you to divulge anything you aren't comfortable sharing. But would it be at all acceptable to ask if these circumstances led you to suicidal or depression related thoughts or actions?" It shocked me that she could say such a thing with composure. Her pen was poised over the paper, readying itself for something note worthy. "Please take your time; this is all a part of the psychological process."
"Such thoughts hadn't even crossed my mind. What a stupid question." I was taken aback by my own sharpness but glad to have challenged her.
"No, that was a good reaction. The fact you haven't felt the need to consider anything relating to suicide or depression is extremely positive. Your spirit is commendable - even if a little abrasive," she assured me. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.
I took to looking around the room. The pure white interior dazzled me as it caught the light of sun. I cringed in my chair. Unscrewing my eyes, I noticed Dr Collins's window had a perfect view of the city.
"Beautiful isn't it? I picked my office for the view. It's amazing to think there are thousands of people living within those buildings and streets. Every one of them in some way or another has problems; unfortunately there aren't enough of hours in the day to see to them all." She tutted to herself, wiping her spectacles.
"Anyway let's not stray from you, trust me to go on a tangent to myself. Now would you like anything to drink?" She rose from her chair and strode over to the mini fridge in the corner of the room.
"Water, thanks," I replied, shrugging into my jumper. She pulled a bottle of water and a can of lemonade from the fridge and swung the door shut. Politely, she handed me the bottle and retook her position behind the desk.
"Right let's get back to business. In the past week or so have you experienced any hallucinations, blurred vision or spells of dizziness?" I reflected.
Seeing Kieran before the blast wasn't exactly a hallucination and the blurred vision beforehand and afterwards was nothing. The fact I had collapsed wasn't because of any dizziness so denying all three was justifiable. It had been something to do completely with Indigo Boy.
Now there was a whole messed up can of worms.
"I've been absolutely fine since the accident. Nothing unusual has happened to me whatsoever." Liar. Dr. Collins was hardly convinced but scribbled it in the file anyway. I drew a long swig from my bottle and choked as the liquid flooded in my throat. I spluttered, the heat rising into my cheeks.
"Take it easy, there's no rush." Dr. Collins laughed so I could see the skin around her eyes crumple. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and grinned nervously.
"Sorry about that, I guess I'm thirstier than I thought," I said. What an idiot, Evans.
"I can see that." She clasped her hands. "So how is your home life Christine? Are you having any family or friendship issues or even personal problems? This is your time."
Apart from the Indigo Boy I wasn't sure was even human, but had been turning my world upside down for his own amusement?
"Not that it can think of." Or that you would believe.
"Well that's great news. You are making remarkable progress. Not many people who have attempted suicide can recover as you have in the space of time you've taken." She used her hands to try and communicate what she was trying to explain. It was indeed remarkable.
I absorbed what she said but I didn't find it in anyway positive. In fact, I found her words nauseatingly similar to something she'd said to me at my last session and the one before that and the one before that. I continued to stare at her blankly.
"Do you think that because it's been a year since your suicide attempt that you'd feel comfortable sharing with me why you tried to kill yourself?" There it was. No matter how the conversation went it would always come back to that. Why could no one understand I couldn't go back into those months of my life and arrange my memories into something that made sense?
All there was was that faceless person who had faithfully watched over me. The faceless person who was not Indigo. The one who had watched me jump from that bridge. They had let me go. But why?
I crossed my arms defensively not wishing to talk anymore. Dr. Collins removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes irritably.
"I really don't understand Christine how you think I can help you when you won't confide in me. I may be a doctor - a fairly intelligent one at that - but I cannot see how that could suggest to you that I'm a mind reader." She glared at me with piercing eyes. She didn't frighten me so I leant forward to mark her straight in the eyes.
"Dr. Collins you have proclaimed yourself to be intelligent. Why then do you find it so hard come to terms with the fact that I do not, can not talk to you or anyone else for that matter about my reasons for trying to commit suicide? Why would I share something with people I do not even know myself."
I didn't raise my voice to her. I couldn't see the use that would do. Dr. Collins raised an eyebrow and noted down something I'd probably have preferred not to see. I observed her steadily.
"That will be quite enough for today Miss Evans. I'll schedule another appointment with your mother, as well as a date to get your cast removed. I wouldn't want to trouble you with a second journey to the hospital in the same week. If you'd please be so kind as to send her in when you leave, I would be most grateful," she murmured. I rose more than happily out of my chair and left my empty bottle on the spotless desk top.
Maybe Dr. Collins should have stuck to being a doctor; therapy was clearly not her forte.
Mum was seated with a magazine and a cup of coffee in the waiting room. She looked inquisitively at me as I shut the door behind me.
"Dr. Collins would like to talk to you about arranging my next session." Mum placed down her magazine and gave me a gentle pat on the shoulder.
"Watch my bag and coffee please Chrissie," she instructed before disappearing into the office.
I was quite content to sit and wait while Dr. Collins was condeming my difficult behaviour.
An old lady hobbled past and gave me a sweet smile before she continued on her travels. I wondered where she was going.
I tapped my fingers on the arm rest considering with delight what was being said about me behind Dr Collins door.
When Mum returned, unaccompanied by Dr. Collins, she in no way looked angry or disappointed with me.
"Thank you for your time Dr. Collins we'll see you again in a few weeks," Mum said politely, turning back to give the doctor a smile. She took the cup of coffee and magazine and waited for me to join her to go home.
Once we were out of the hospital Mum dropped the facade and allowed herself a hearty rant.
"Well wasn't that fun? What a woman, still demanding an explanation out of you when on several occasions you have clearly told her you're not interested in telling her because you can't remember anything. She herself diagnosed you with amnesia for Heaven's sake." Mum finished her coffee in one hearty gulp and threw the cup into the bin.
"I can sure tell you where she can stick her psychology nonsense. How many times does she need to be told? If I – your mother for goodness sake - can't get it out of you then I can tell you, no one will!" She stormed ahead, her venom spilling all over the tarmac.
Honestly, I loved my mother very much and it was at times like those that she made it clear. Those were the times I wished I could turn back the clock on my transgressions. However, that was impossible and all I could do was keep moving forward, treading on the delicate tightrope of a relationship I didn't know how to fix.
~*~*~*~
This relationship is no way based in anyway with the one I have with my mother. In fact, I am damn grateful for the love and support she had given me. Anyone who knows me, knows my teenage years weren't exactly smooth sailng and through it all my parents were there. So I want to take this opportunity to thank them both for the good genes and the bad and all you have done for me.
Bekah x