The Pain That Grows Us

Chapter Six

"Why don't you tell me why you are in Dr. Jeffery's House for Recovery?" the therapist- I guess my assigned therapist asks me.

I could answer his question, I could give him all the information he wants, but what would be the point? I know he has a file on me that he has probably read a thousand times over in the last twenty-four hours. What more could he want to know?

Instead of answering his question I stare at his bald head the shines with the late morning sun. It's funny how the only bit of sunlight in this dark office is highlighting the fact that he has little to no hair on his head. You would think he would invest in something to cover his head up, or maybe just shave off the rest of the hair altogether, but no. Instead he is sitting here reminding me of the therapist of Monk. Damn it, I hate that I can make that connection in my head.

I could blame Alice, and think she is the only reason I can make that connection, but I would be lying. She might have gotten me hooked on it when we were younger, but I was the one who rewatched them when we got older all on our own. Fuck.

I never thought in a million years I would be regretting that decision, because honestly who would have thought I would be here, in a therapist's office for one. Then to be sitting across from a guy who is almost a spitting image of the second therapist. Unfuckingbelieable.

"This will be more beneficial to you if you answer." he comments, jotting down notes. Fuck he even has the same book. Is this even real? Is this a prank or something?

"This is the easy part. This is where I get to know you before I help you." he keeps talking. As if that will make me want to open up and share all of my problems.

God I hate this.

I hate all of this.

I should be...

Actually scratch that. I don't know what I should be doing right now, all I know is that I shouldn't be here.

"We can sit here in silence, week after week if you want, or you can talk to me and get the help you need. The choice is yours." His voice is starting to piss me off, and people go to things like this willingly? "Although personally I believe talking would be beneficial."

No fucking shit.

"Fine. If you aren't going to talk, then I am going to do other things for the remaining forty-five minutes." he sighs, taking my silence as the answer he needed.

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"How was your session with Dr. Fuck face?" Talia asks when her sister rolls me next to her.

"He talked, he listened." I tell her glaring at the bland wall in front of us. I want to get out of here.

"Sounds about right." she sighs slouching in her seat.

"So what's the deal here? We talk and then go back? Or what?" I ask.

"Something like that." she picks at the hem of her shirt, "The more you talk the more they diagnose you. The more they diagnose you the more freedom you get." her brows draw together like the thought sickens her, and if I am honest deep down it sickens me.

"Why am I always trading away pieces of my soul?" I mumble more to myself than to her.

"What they don't tell you, is that you only talk when you are ready. Being forced to talk only makes things worse." I want to tell her that she's wrong, but she is right. Damn it. I hate that she's right. I don't want to agree with anyone here, I don't want to make friends.

Damn.

I need a drink.

"Recovery isn't a race." Talia's sister joins the conversation, "They just try to hurry up the process."