The Calling | The House of Voices #1

Twenty Nine - Walls

Walls

Darren:

The girl’s wide hazel eyes regarded him thoughtfully before she answered. “I’m okay, thanks.” He couldn’t help but notice the way she studied him, as if she was determining whether or not she should answer him; whether or not she could trust him.

The knot in his gut was a clear sign that he wanted more than anything for her to trust him. It was irrational; he shouldn’t care too much about it, but he did, nonetheless.

“Good.” He answered simply, clearing his throat as he gestured for her to sit down. She sat as he pulled out a small tape recorder, pressed the record button and set it on the bed next to her. “How have you been keeping yourself busy in here?” He asked, making idle small talk before he had to get to the heavier matters.

She made a face. “Making like a goat.” He felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion and, seeing this, she laughed. “Ruminating. Thinking. Posing philosophical questions that require hours of deep thought.” She explained, waving her hands about as she spoke. “Not much else to do here besides.”

Darren couldn’t help but laugh. “Good point.” She smiled, but said nothing as she plucked at an imaginary stray strand of thread on the sleeve of her t-shirt. He studied her for a few seconds, noting that even though it wasn’t really the color for it, the peach hue of her shirt brought out the swirls of green in her eyes. They were usually more brown than green, but not today. Maybe it’s not the shirt, he thought after another glance at her face. He couldn’t help but notice that she seemed, somehow, lighter than she’d ever looked before.

“What?” She asked self-consciously, noticing his scrutiny.

“Nothing.” He shook his head and pulled out his notebook from the breast pocket of his jacket. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

She nodded apprehensively.

“Have you been having any more nightmares?” he asked, flipping to a blank page.

“No. No new nightmares.” She said, shaking her head. He felt her eyes on him as he scribbled a few notes onto the page. “That’s a good thing, right?” She asked; he didn’t look up. “It means the medication’s working, doesn’t it?”

He paused and looked up at her. “Do you think it’s a good thing?”

The warring looks of uncertainty and sadness flitted across her features. After a few seconds of mental battle, she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“They’re tricky.”

“They?” He asked before understanding what she was referring to. “Oh. The voices?”

The girl nodded. The steely look in her eyes told him that she’d heard the skepticism in his words. Rational about everything except the voices, he wrote neatly on the blue-lined yellow paper. October truly believes the voices are real and not a figment of her imagination; yet she displays no other symptoms of Schizophrenia.

“You’re talking about the time just before the accident?” He asked.

“Yes.”

If her short answers are any indication, October still refuses to bring down the walls she’s built around her. I’ve only had three sessions with the girl so far, so it’s possible that I’m expecting too much too soon. She seems to trust me enough to be honest about what’s going on in her head, but not enough to willingly talk about her problems without being urged.