Little Witch

Chapter Seven

The next days go by without many surprises. At the university I catch the Maths professor staring at me a few times, but I don’t think much of it. It is probably a demand of the vampire father.

At the day of the Convent meeting, I am nervous, still not deciding if I should attend it or not. I has always been my dream to be accepted by people like myself, but after the comments of the vampires I’m not sure if I want to take the risk.

But before making my final decision, I have to deal with another upcoming problem: I have my first therapy session since me walking out. Dr. Hutton must have gotten my letter a few days ago, surprising me that he didn’t call me as soon as he got it. I suspect he wants to talk about everything in person; something I am even more afraid of than talking on a phone.

After my university classes, I take the usual bus to Hutton’s office. I fidget with my necklace as I imagine the upcoming conversation. Will he introduce me to a nice friend of his that later turns out to be an insane asylum employee? Will he even think I will show up, already giving someone else my spot in his calendar? Or will he ignore all I wrote in my letter or even last weeks session and it will be like always?

When I talk down the street of his office, I already see him standing outside, possibly waiting for me. Confused and nervous I approach him.

“Hello.”, I say shyly, unable to look him into the eyes.

“Nice to see you, Raven.”, he answers, “I was wondering if you would come today.”

We stand for a moment, then he says: “I wanted to show you something. I think it might interest you.”

I follow him into a small forest behind the office. If it wasn’t the middle of the day, I would think a second longer about going into a forest with someone, but he is Dr. Hutton, a man I have known for years now.
We don’t talk for long until my therapist shows me a strange symbol on one of the biggest trees in the forest.

“What are you think about this?”, he asks in a serious manner.

Is this a sick prank? Does he want to show me how delusional I am? I look at his face, which expresses nothing but honesty. Then I take a look at the symbol. There is a circle carved into the dry wood and on either side in is connected to each one half-moon.

I have seen his symbol before. Without thinking, I get out my book, the same one he took from me not too long ago, and skim through the pages until in find something.

“It is called the Goddess.”, I explain, “It is typically drawn around a location of a convent meeting or ritual shrine.” The address the witch gave me for the meeting today is not too far away from here. They could have done this for preparations. I take a second look at Dr. Hutton, making completely sure that he wasn’t deceiving me. He still seems completely serious.

“I heard strange noises last night when I closed up the house.”, he tells me as we talk back to the office, “And when I looked for an injured animal or something similar in the morning, I just found that.”

I want to ask him if he believes me now. But I don’t want him to say ‘no’, so just imagining that he does believe it makes me happier than actually knowing the truth.

Afterwards we sit down in the usual room and start our session. As soon as I see my letter in the couch beside my therapist, my throat gets dry and I feel dizzy. I am extremely unprepared to talk about this. A bit ironic, if you think about it; I don’t want to talk about my problems with a therapist. Objectively, who could be a better person?

“I read your letter.”, he says, clearly trying to find the right words to avoid me storming out of his office once again. I just look him straight into the eyes, unable to look at my letter and think about his content. I don’t answer, I just can’t.

“I find it really interesting how you are able to express your feelings in such a descriptive manner when you are under emotional distress.”, he analyses my behavior, “And I was surprised you send this letter and I am honored you decided to send it to me.” I nod, still unable to talk.

He takes the letter in his hand, making my breathing rate increase and my hands turn into fists. It’s not like I want to punch him; more myself. Why did I send this letter? I was stupid and emotional while doing so. I don’t want to talk about my feeling right now, or ever.

“You wrote how much it hurts you to see that I don’t believe you.”, he says with an honest expression on his face and he seems like the letter had a strong impact on him; stronger than I expected. I nod. I know he want me to talk, but my throat is still not functioning.

“Do you want to take a small break?”, he then asks, noticing my extreme discomfort. I nod, start up and walk outside to get some fresh air.

Even though it is cold, the coldness of the air on my skin and my lungs gives me new life force. It wakes me up from a state of panic and allows me to feel every inch of myself. As I stand perfectly still, I close my eyes, structing my thoughts for the conversation, in which I will have to speak. When I open my eyes again, I can swear I saw something, or someone, moving incredible fast from behind the corner of one street to a dark alley at the other side of the street. From the tingles in my fingers I know it must be another vampire. Why do they have to know where I am at all times?

Nevertheless, I turn back and go inside, slightly more ready to talk about my feelings with my only friend.

When I come back inside, I’m shivering and my skin burns when confronted with the warm room. I sit down opposite to Dr. Hutton, wondering if I should tell her about the confrontations between me and other magical creatures.

“For the last years I was on the brink of thinking I was crazy,” I explain, “but in the last week my ‘delusion’, as you call it, has been confirmed as real, which doesn’t make me so desperate for you to believe me. I know I’m not crazy and that’s all I need right now.” I try to say these words with confidence, but I don’t know it full worked, because Hutton looks at me with a worried expression.

Have I said too much? He takes a look at the letter, letting his fingers move smoothly across the thick paper and black ink I used.

When he doesn’t say anything, I decide to ask him a question: “Was the story with the symbol on the tree real or was that part of your mission of showing me how wrong I am about everything?” Normally he doesn’t like me asking question and to day is no different. But the reason is no the same. Usually he tells me how patients don’t ask therapists question, but that it only goes the other way around. Today he seems offended, as his expression implies.

“Of course, it was real.”, he says, “I would never lie to you in that way.” If he wouldn’t lie to me in that way, in which way would he lie to me? I simply nod, waiting for him to ask me why I suspected he lied to me and then he would write down in his notebook how my distrust could be traced back to my childhood or/and my delusion. You get to know someone when you watch them so frequently as I see Dr. Hutton. Maybe I know him better than I initially thought I did.

“You wrote how you are totally okay with being alone, but that you also look forward to sleep at night and dream of interacting with people.”, he then says, again with his usual professional voice. Any hint of being offended has disappeared again. “Isn’t that a paradox?”, he finally asks and looks at me interested.

Before answering, I take a quick look at the clock on the wall behind my therapist. We have so much more time.

“I like being alone, because every interaction in reality has a real consequence that I cannot hide from in any way. In a dream, however, I can do whatever I want, not worrying about consequences.”, I explain.

“For me that sounds like you don’t want to regret anything in life and instead of accepting that that is normal life includes making mistakes and regretting things, you just don’t do anything in life.”, he analyses.

“I always hear people say that you should do whatever you want because later in life you will only regret what you didn’t do and not what you did do.”, I reply, “But I feel the exact other way around.”

Dr. Hutton writes something down in his notebook. How often I wished I could read everything he wrote in these over the years. One day I will steal it from him, I’m sure of that.

We walk about the letter for the rest of the session. After the hour is over, I feel like the therapy has been taken to a next step, trusting Hutton more than ever.