As It Was (COMPLETED) (wattys2023)

Picked Up Every Piece

"Do you want to talk about what happened last Friday night?"

I tore my eyes from the Doctorate Degree hanging over Dr. Bellecourt's head. "No."

"Everly, I see you, I'm here for you. I—"

"I don't want to die."

The words escaped me without enough time to filter them. Dr. Bellecourt straightened hearing the interjection to her response, but I went on before she could open her mouth.

"But I don't want to live like this either. I can't."

Dr. Bellecourt types something into her Mac, eyes flickering from the bright screen reflecting off the lenses of her glasses to me on the couch opposite her. "Can you elaborate on that?"

"Garrett told me the other night that taking my life wasn't the answer." I said quietly. "But I. . . when I can't even blink without seeing the bodies. Seeing Miles and his. . . him all over the floor, and Frankie. . . how can I believe that? Every time I turn a corner, I have to throw a hood on and cover my face so nobody will recognize and terrorize me. Is that a way to live, Dr. Bellecourt?"

She remains stone faced, but I could tell my words affected her because her eyes glistened just the slightest with sympathy. "Your prescription—"

I jumped to my feet, throwing my arms up in exasperation. "I don't need more meds! No amount of medication is going to take away the memories, the gruesome images, the screams I hear late at night!"

Dr. Bellecourt set her computer on the small round table beside the left arm of her recliner and leaned forward so her elbows were pressing into her large thighs.

"Please sit, Everly."

I lowered myself back on to the edge of the couch.

"I cannot put myself in your shoes. I can't even begin to fathom what you are going through. But I do want to help you, honey. And I can't do that unless you help me help you. I need you to let me in."

I bit down hard on my lip, diverting my eyes to the Persian rug. "So you can run off and tell my mom?"

The psychiatrist before me is quiet as she answers, "You turn eighteen in less than two weeks, Everly. At that point it will be your choice whether you still want to allow your mother access to your information."

"I hate her." I mumbled, barely audible as I retracted my legs back on to the sofa so they were tucked behind me.

"Your mother?" Dr. Bellecourt confirmed.

"She. . . she acts like nothing happened."

Dr. Bellecourt nodded, "And why do you think that upsets you so much?"

"Because she's still mothering him. That monster. That sick piece of crap that murdered my friends, my boyfriend, that tried to kill me! She spends more time running off to visit him every morning than she does checking in on me and seeing how I'm coping." I threw both of my hands flat against my chest, choking on my words, "I'm the one that almost died at his hand! I'm the one that has to relive that morning every fucking day. And she coddles him?"

Dr. Bellecourt's poker face wavered for long enough for me to catch a look of sympathy before it contorted back into the friendly, professional mask she was forced to wear.

"Have you spoken to her about these feelings?"

The laugh that escaped me was cold, hoarse, and bitter. "Of course I have. She says that he's still her baby, despite all that he's done. That I surely wouldn't understand it as I'm not a mother. She's right. I won't ever understand it. Because she's sick too! It should be common sense to not run off and play Mommy to someone who tried his hardest to take out an entire school full of people!"