"Alright, Soda. Today we're going to do a little test." She looks at him expectantly over her notebook, she's already written a few things down but he can never quite peek to see enough.
Soda glances up anxiety already pooling in their gut when they turned to the door the pair had stopped in front of. Bastards. They blocked the window from the outside.
"We're going to walk in and I'm going to close the door. All you have to do is tell me what you're feeling." Her tone is light but controlled, it only makes the thick feeling of anxiety heavier for soda. If they didn't know better they would've thought the ac turned on.
When she doesn't speak Soda realizes she wants them to make the first move. Steeling their resolve Soda reaches for the handle and keeps his eyes to the floor as they step into the room. Dr. Rain closes the door, it feels like a gunshot.
He looks up and tries not to shake he feels terrified, if they weren't frozen in place Soda would be ripping the door off it's hinges to leave. He knows it's not logical, to be this afraid of a stranger just sitting there.
"Soda, what are you feeling right now?" Dr. Rain's voice cuts through the tunnel vision. Soda swallows dryly.
"Fear." They want to peel their skin away when their voice cracks.
"Is that all?"
"Guilt."
"Guilt? What's making you feel guilty?"
His hands clench at his sides, fighting in their mind forcing themself to talk through the lock his head puts on his voice.
"I-I'm assuming the worst at a glance about them. I-it's not th-their fault I'm so afraid."
"Who's fault do you think it is."
He manages a shrug unsure of what Dr. Rain is looking for. They can tell she's holding back a sigh, this isn't the fist test and it certainly won't be the last, they're going in loops.
"Soda, do you know why you're here?"
"I told a mandated reporter I was going to kill myself." She blinks at the complete lack of emotion, there was no trace of panic or guilt.
"If you understand mandated reporting and knew you would end up with us so we could help, what's stopping you from accepting the help in front of you?" They smile in a wobbly, cracked sort of way. The kind of smile that makes Soda feel like the word 'trauma' was drilled into his front teeth.
"I didn't think it would work."
"Didn't think what would work?" By now the stranger had been urged to leave by a staff member, this test wasn't going to plan. Soda didn't even notice her accidental brush against their side as she left, he was too deep in their head to notice.
"That I'd ask for help and get it. This feels like a sick joke."
"Why did you think you wouldn't get help, Soda?"
"It never worked before." The smile was back. "Ever since I can remember it's never worked."
"Hey! I'm soda, I'm this many, my favorite color is pink! I don't like being at home."
"Hello! I'm Soda, I'm 8, my favorite color is hot pink and I'm so sorry I was talking in class I don't deserve recess cause I'm a bad kid I can't do anything right."
"Hi! I'm Soda, I'm 10, my favorite color is black and I pick at my skin until it drips."
"Hey, I'm Soda, I'm 13, my favorite color is black, and my hero just called me a predator because my 38 year old girlfriend posted my nudes online."
"Hey, I'm Soda, I'm 15, my favorite color is black, and I'm actively self harming I didn't think I'd still be alive this long."
"Hey, I'm Soda, I'm 17, my favorite color is orange and I think up new suicide plans daily."
And the last one "Hey, I'm Soda, I'm 21, and I'm not going to make it to 25, I'm self harming again and I'm going to take every pill I can find and hope I don't wake up."
