AROUND THE BEND

1. The Psychiatrist

    
     I limped into the institution, pulling out my phone to check the time.
     9:30 AM
     Five minutes early.
     I ran my fingers through my curls, slipping the phone back into my coat's pocket. I suppose it's not that big a deal.
     Pressing a small white button on my car keys, I locked my car.
     The woman at the front desk gave me a warm smile. It's funny; I've been going to this place for the last five years...yet I still don't remember her name.
     "Hello, Mr. Peterson." She looked down, her lashes fluttering at the motion as her fingers danced across her keyboard. "You're a bit early, no?"
     "I guess." I shrugged. What was I supposed to say? I was never been a fan of small talk.
     Her smile softened, "Well, Ms. Pierce is with a client right now so you just wait in the lobby, okay?" "Have a good day, Mr. Peterson."
    Good. I suppose she isn't a fan, either.
    "Yeah, you too." I nodded and limped my way toward the lobby.

     Resting my crutches on the arms of the chair, I slowly lowered myself onto the leather chair.
     There were indents in leather from where many people before me had sat here...waiting.
     Just to talk to someone about their feelings and get some petty advice on what to do about it.
     I'm only doing this for her, honestly.
     After a couple minutes of spacing out, the door opened. I snapped my attention to her, our eyes meeting.

     There stood Natalie Pierce...my psychiatrist. Her hair was a light brown with blonde highlights, curled in gentle beach waves.
     Her eyes were a chocolate brown, her nose and cheeks were sun-kissed, and a tint of pink was shown through her light makeup.
     It seems as though every time I see her, she becomes more captivating with every glance. She cleared her throat and adjusted her plaid skirt. "Mr. Peterson," She smirked, "It is time."
     I nodded, grabbing my crutches and making my way through the door. She followed a good distance behind me—but quickly passed by before arriving at her office, to which she opened and held the door for me.
     "Thank you." I limped past her.
     "Of course, it's common courtesy." She smiled.
     I just turned my head away.

     She took a few steps towards her chair, her heals clacking against the hardwood floor with every step.
     She stopped halfway there, and turned to me. I had just began taking my seat...
     "Mr. Peterson."
     I slid my eyes up to meet hers. "Yes?"
     "Can I call you Jamie, or would that be unprofessional?" She tucked her hair behind her ear, taking lighter, gentle steps to her seat.
     "Sure, I don't mind...or you could call me James." I could tell she noticed the slight tint of pink in my cheeks, because as soon as her eyes locked onto me, she smiled.
     "Well..." She cleared her throat, "James." She crossed her leg over the other and straightened her back, clutching her notebook to her chest and setting the small alarm clock beside her on the coffee table for sixty minutes.
     "This session is going to last about an hour, so please, take your time."
     I nodded. It's not like this isn't the first time she's told me that.
     As the alarm began ticking, she asked, "We talked about your fathers...mistreatment towards you before, correct?"
     "Yes, I believe that is so." My voice weakened.
     She narrowed her brows and blinked slowly. "Yes, I see." Inhaling sharply, she switched her legs, changing her sitting position.
     "Now, explain to me the episode you had the following night. When it began."
     I froze. I had never told anyone of that night...should she be the first to know?

     "Well," I let out a small chuckle, "I'm not quite sure I should mention that information."
     She set her notebook on the coffee table and leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. "Mr. Peterson. Do you know how dire the situation you're in right now is?"  She cocked her head to the right and examined the ring on her left hand.
     My heart nearly skipped a beat, but just as soon as my panic coursed through my veins, I realized the diamond was on her index finger.
     Overwhelming relief.
     "With progression, these episode will get worse...if not treated with the best possible care." She placed her hand back onto her knee, sliding it down to her mid-thigh, glancing at her notebook.
     "As of right now, you're showing symptoms of psychosis and schizophrenia." She slid her eyes back to meet mine.
     "So please, Jamie..."
     Hearing her velvet voice whisper my name ran chills up my spine, giving me goosebumps.
     How many times does this woman wish to fluster me?
     She stood and approached me, resting on one knee in front of me. The lump in my throat got harder to swallow.
     "I want to help you...but I can't do that if you don't tell me what happened that night." She shot me a pleading look that tore straight into my soul, digging into my bones, and pulling at my heart.
    
     Finally, after five minutes of silence I gave in.
     I guess there's no helping it. At the very least it'll prove to her that these "episodes" aren't fake...or at all in my head.

     I'm...not...crazy. I needed to show her that.