Tranquil Falls

Finley

"Gatlin. Gatlin," Rouche said with a sigh. I turned away from the window I was staring out to look at her. She sat in a chair with a notebook on her lap, pen poised to write down whatever glimpse of my life I gave her. "Would you like to sit down?"

"I'm good," I replied and turned back to the window.

Her office was paneled in a dark wood, the floor a matching wood. She was an older woman—older than my mom, but not old enough to be my grandmother. Normally she was all right, but today she was just pissing me off.

"Can we at least talk about what happened at school yesterday?" she asked.

I shrugged. "You guys ambushed me and I wasn't prepared. You were the one who told my parents to be careful of any triggers. Guess what? You found one."

She stood up and walked over. I glanced at her to see the notebook still in her hand. I turned away, watching as kids ran around the playground across the street. What I wouldn't do to go back to that age of innocence.

"Let's talk about why it's a trigger, then."

I snorted. "You want to talk about what triggered it?" One of the kids fell off the swing. I watched as the mom rushed over to him, scooping him up in her arms. "You all tell me to do what works the best for me and to make the necessary changes. That's what I'm doing. When I do, everyone suddenly jumps on me and accuses me of doing something drastic or out of character."

"I'm sure that's not true," Roche said calmly. "There have been a lot of events lately that everyone has been concerned about."

"Concerned?" I snapped, turning to look at her. "I'm a fucking teenager. A teenager who is just four months away from graduation. I'm allowed to cut class or sneak out or get pissed off and moody and drunk. It's what we do."

"You're not a typical teenager, Gatlin," she said softly. "You know that and I know that. You are in the process of healing."

I stared at her. The process of healing. From what? Did she know? How did they know that I was in the process of healing? The walls felt like they were closing in on me, but I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to the playground. I watched as the mother led her son to the car as the first snowflakes began to flutter to the ground.

"Gatlin." Rouche put her hand on my shoulder. I flinched under her touch, but she didn't drop her hand. "We just want to keep you from going down the same dark path you were on before."

Before. Before they knew that there was an actual problem and it wasn't just grief. They still largely believed that it was grief, but I was slowly coming to realize that wasn't the only factor playing a role. Taylor and I had a complicated relationship. It couldn't be put into a nice box and tied with a ribbon with the label of what was wrong with us. It was complex and challenging for both of us. We were both lost until the day that he died. Now, I was lost alone.

They all said that they knew what I was going through or knew that I was going through a hard time. They all said that they wanted to help. Maybe they should have tried to help Taylor before he died. Maybe they should have tried to help me before I tried to kill myself. Maybe they should have all been more present, taken more notice. Maybe now they should have been doing those things. Took notice that things were not okay and were a long way from ever being that way.

"Time's up," I said, flashing Rouche a smirk as the timer went off on my phone.

"We'll pick this up tomorrow," she said with a sigh.

"Yeah, maybe," I replied as I turned and picked my hoodie up off the back of the chair and pulled it on.

"What does that mean?" she asked as she followed me to the door.