Hit By A Truck

Pierre

I sat in my office, scratching my head. I was absolutely perplexed. There was the perfect motivation, right in front of me. Yet, I couldn't use it.

When the perfect car crash appears on the news, I use it, but... when someone actually gets hit, right in front of me... it's kind of hard to use something like that for work.

I was there, in the front seat when it happened. My father was driving, but I was in the seat next to him, and I watched as my father's face filled with horror and fear. I didn't watch Robin. I caught one glance, but who would want to watch that kind of gore put into real life?

I sighed, remembering my father rushing out of the truck, but I just awkwardly sat on my hands.

When something like this happens in real life, to someone who seems like a good person, to someone who people will miss... it's kind of harsh to use it as a drama story.

I hate myself for passing up a perfect opportunity, but I also hate myself for even thinking about taking advantage of this "opportunity". It's honestly nothing harsh, but people say I have too much of a self consciousness.

Maybe I do.

After work, I headed to the hospital. I would have gone straight to Louisa's like I usually do every Friday, but I remembered that Ron had promised to go to therapy with me.

During the car ride, we filled the awkward silence with small talk.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Hm, so am I. Do you have a job?"

"I'm a part time author."

"Wow... never thought I'd ever just casually meet an author. I don't have a job. I still live with my parents. I'm planning to get one soon, though."

"So do I."

"Wait, you do?" Ron looked at me, genuinely curious.

I frowned. "Is that a crime? Why can't I live with my parents?"

Ron went red, and I found myself smirking. He was quite a blusher, and I found that amusing. Especially for a boy. "That's not what I-" I'm sure Ron knew I was just playing around with him, but he tried to explain himself anyways.

My father stopped the car right then, and Ron turned to open the door. When we both stepped out and closed the door, my father asked, "Are you okay alone, or should I come with you?"

"I'm fine alone." I said. Technically, I wasn't fine alone but also technically, I wasn't alone.

As we walked towards the big building Louisa worked at, Ron continued talking, and for a second I wondered if he was trying to annoy me on purpose. Then I realised he was just a talker.

When we got to the door, I paused and turned back to face Ron. "Don't talk too much in there. If you and Louisa get along too well, I swear you'll waste all of my appointment time talking together."

Ron shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry?" He offered.

Her room was large and dark blue. When I came here, I loved to close my eyes, and imagine what was behind the lids of my eyes. To take in the beauty of my imagination. It was a calming exercise, but we did other stuff, now.

Louisa sat at the small table, with her legs crossed underneath it. I sat across from her, and Ron sat next to me. "This is a small table." He commented.

I gestured to Ron. "This is Ron, Robin's friend."

Louisa nodded. "Wow, thanks for coming."

Ron smiled. "No problem. So, what do I do?"

"You can just sit there." Louisa then turned to me. "You want to start from the beginning?"

"Sure." I muttered, and lifted up my sleeve. There were many rashes and cuts, curled up and jagged in a cursed way. I pointed to the one farthest up my sleeve. "This was my first time, three days after Roland died..."