The Psychiatrist

I knocked on the door.
'Come in', I'd been putting this off for weeks, the idea of seeing a psychiatrist is crazy. Crazy people need psychiatrists. Not me.
I walked in and sat down. The psychiatrist sat in a worn, leather armchair, he was well-fed with neatly-flattened greying hair; on the end of his nose he had a pair of glasses and was using them right now to inspect my clothing - clearly too informal for his taste because he wrinkled his nose and said, 'How can I help? It says here you've been having trouble sleeping.'
'Last night, I had this dream. I was-'
'And have you had this dream before?' He interrupted.
'Yeah. But it's never gone this far before.' He nodded for me to go on, 'I was getting ready, and it was the morning and I was in my house and I... I wasn't, because it was exactly like her...'
'Yes?'
'I wasn't there any more, I moved without actually going anywhere - one second I was in the house, then I was in the car', I ran my hand through my hair, it was greasy but my appearance had lost all importance to me recently; my skin covered by layers of grime, my hair sticking up in tufts, held there by grease and my clothes hanging off me, I'd lost almost two stone since this had started.
'In the car? Interesting. Now, were you driving? Or were you a passenger?'
'What difference does that make?' My question came out rudely and I felt bad but I hadn't had a proper night's sleep in weeks, this dream had kept my mind distracted all day and whenever I finally drifted into a shallow sleep, I would be jolted awake by the dream.
'If you were in the passenger seat it could be you feel your life is being controlled by someone or something, if you're in the driver's seat then there is probably a deeper meaning which we would need to look further into', my rudeness didn't throw him so I didn't apologise.
'I'd be in the driver's seat but the car moved by itself, I'd not touch the wheel or I couldn't, as if the idea of touching the wheel scared me or something. So I'd sit there with my hands in my lap and my feet on the floor and I see the same things every day, this street-'
'Is it a real street?' He asked seeming to take a sudden interest, 'Does it exist to your knowledge? Have you been there before?'
'Yeah. It's near my house', I was growing more and more annoyed by the second and I began to wonder, what relevance this could have to anything but I continued. It was actually the route I'd taken home for several years, but I changed my route home - it was a longer route but it was much, much safer this way. It had been almost ten years since I'd driven down that road.
'Do you drive down it often?'
'No'
'Have you ever needed to drive down it often?'
'No'
'Hmm...'
'Don't you believe me? Do you think I'm lying?' I was annoyed he had sighed so patronisingly. I had stood up and was trying to stand over him menacingly while probably looking like a hormonal teenager.
'Are you?' He simply peered over his silly little glasses, unblinkingly, until I answered.
'Yeah...' I relaxed back into my chair, 'but that isn't the point. It's- it's the principle, you didn't trust me enough to believe I would tell you the truth', I knew my logic was completely flawed but I couldn't back down now.
'Yes.' he sighed, 'but you were lying?'
'Well, yeah but', I racked my brain for a good enough retort and nothing came, 'so I was lying. I used to go down the road all the time'
'Why do you not any more?' I opened my mouth to lie but he spoke again, 'Do not think of telling me it was something trivial like a job change, because you've made a big enough deal out of it to show it is not something small. This sounds like a PSN'
'A PSN?'
'Post-traumatic stress nightmare, it often happens in people who have refused to acknowledge a significant life event has happened. It is not healthy. Now, tell me about the road.'
I inwardly cursed my short temper, 'Something happened on that road.' I muttered then hastily added, 'I don't want to talk about it'
'As you wish', he looked back down at his notebook, 'continue'
'I'd be driving and then the car radio would come on full volume'
'What song?' he interrupted.
'It's just a song, I don't know.' And he nodded allowing me to continue, 'then the car jolts to a stop in front of a', I pause for a moment unable to calm my emotions, 'a broken heel.'
'What?' The psychiatrist sounded lost.
'The heel. From a woman's shoe.'
'Right, continue.'
'I fly out the windscreen', I sighed, 'Then I'd go up to Heaven, and it was Heaven; it had pearly gates and Saint Peter and everything. I'd wait in line and then, this was the new part, I reached him and he said 'name?' I told him, he looked at his list, when he looked up his eyes were bright red and everything seemed darker and then he said 'we've been waiting for you' and I fell, down to Hell, then I woke up, sweating and out of breath like I'd been somewhere hot.'
'What happened on that road?' the psychiatrist looked at me, knowing what was coming.
'I was driving home. I wanted to listen to something, I tried to push the right button but the car was new and I hadn't worked out how it worked yet so I bent down to work it out, the radio came on full volume, by the time I'd managed to turn it down she was already there, she fell, her heel had broken, on her shoe and she couldn't get out the road but I'd looked too late to stop in time and she... she died. I killed her. The court said it wasn't my fault but I'd looked away from the road, I'd not been able to stop but I killed her'