Love, Dahlia // B2

[5]

Dahlia's P.O.V.

Group therapy. One of mankind's many, many terrible ideas for finding solutions to mental health disorders. You sit and stare at each other for anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours. Most people don't talk, or they just mumble and rock in their chairs. Personally, I prefer to sit criss cross applesauce and fidget with the velcro straps on my shoes.

"Dahlia?" I hear a soprano voice chime. I look across the circle to see Dr. Fran staring me down. "How about you share with the group?"

"Uh," I uncross my legs and sit up straighter. "Sure. I -uh- guess I had an encounter with some spirits."

"What about the part of the encounter where they kidnapped you and one of them traded their soul for yours?" A boy blurts, with a small laugh.

I grip the edge of my chair in anger. I want to say, "What he did was selfless and brave. He cared about all four of us and he was willing to sacrifice himself for the ones he loved." But the words never leave my lips.

"Jake," Dr. Fran turns her attention to the boy. "Dahlia is being very brave for sharing with us today."

Jake leans back in his chair, hunching his shoulders forward apologetically. He looks embarrassed, like he didn't mean to say what he did.

"Dahlia," Dr. Fran looks at me again. "Is there anything else you would like to say?"

I shake my head and drop my eyes to the floor. I loosen my muscles and relax my fists. I don't need anyone here thinking I have anger management issues on top of the thirty other things they think is wrong with me.

"Now," Dr. Fran gently folds her hands in her lap and smiles at the group. "Who would like to go next?"

*****

"Hey, -uh- Dahlia, right?" A familiar voice says from over my shoulder. I look up from the letter I was buried in to see Jake standing next to me.

"Yeah," I say quietly putting my attention back on the letter. "What's up, Jake?"

"Look, I just wanted to apologize for my outburst during group," he says. He sits down on the bench next to me and fiddles with his thumbs. "It's not something that I do on purpose. I know, that's no excuse, but it's just how I am."

I look at his wrist, where the white band with his name is. There is a blue clip attached to it. I look down at mine, it's also blue and to the left of it a pink one. Jake's second one is green. He sees me looking at it and lifts his wrist up.

"The different colors stand for different disorders," he explains. "It's so that the guards know how to deal with us."

"Deal with us?" I repeat, raising my eyebrow. 

"Yeah," he looks over his shoulder. "Like when someone gets in trouble. They know that the red clips means that those people can't be pushed around to hard because they're frail from anorexia. Or the orange clips, which means they have to approach with caution because they're the kids who stabbed people with pencils when they were kids and they'll fight any and every one if they get the chance."

"What do mine mean?" I ask, showing him my wristband.

He points to each of them. "The pink one means you have some sort of bipolar disorder, maybe anxiety? Depression? But it means that when you get in trouble they'll probably just send you to the psychiatrist."

"And blue?" I ask, examining my wrist.

"That," he wiggles his wrist. "Is for the voices. Guess we're both schizophrenic crazies, huh?"

"I'm not schizophrenic," I say quickly. Jake gives me a questioning look and glares from my wrist to me.

"Okay," he says in a way that reminds me of Alex.

"What's green for?" I ask, looking at his wristband.

He quickly puts his hand over it, "Childhood trauma that I would rather not talk about."

"I'm sorry," I apologize, turning my body toward him. "Jake, I didn't know."

"How would you?" He shrugs. "I don't talk about it. Especially at group. And this is the only time outside of then that we've actually talked."

"That's not-" Jake gives me a look that screams don't say what you're about to say. "Okay, maybe it is true."

"I know, you probably don't want to tell me," he says. "But I actually wouldn't mind hearing your ghost story. I mean, the whole abduction one, the actual thing not just the snippets I've heard in group or in the halls."

I fold the letter from Alex that's in my hands and give Jake a serious look. "You really want to hear it? You're not going to call me crazy?"

"Well," he smirks. "We're all a little crazy."

A.N.

Scared. I'm home alone. Not okay miss. (Literally almost an adult and I can't spend the night alone✌😋🙄)

That's all❤

Lmk how you feel about this story so far (and your opinions on Jake? Sketchy or sweet?🤔)

-Redd

💫🦋🧔🏼👁👄👁🤠💕☠🌟👹🌲😤🤷‍♀️🐰🌵