•𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂• ☣︎

Chapter 1

"Y/N?" A nurse asks, coming from around the corner. "Dr Crane is ready for you now."

I sat and rotted in solitude on the playground watching as a group of eyes turned to my direction. The group of girls laughed to themselves staring in my direction. Their eyes held disgust, piercing through me. I glanced up and down at my little pink sundress, then at my hair and then at my hands. I couldn't figure out what was so wrong about me, and why they laughed and stared.

As I made eye contact with one of the girls she began to approach me. Her hands clenched in fists and her friends standing alongside her. I felt the blood begin to drain from my face. My hands and chest went cold. In instinct I jumped to my feet and sprinted to the girl, grabbing her hair and pushing her to the ground. I repeatedly smashed her face into the pavement until the area around her was red. All her friends ran and teachers bolted to me, pulling me off her. So many sounds and so many feelings at once. It was over they all were going to kill me. Right then and there.

My 6 year old self sat in the principal's office confused as to why I was there. I didn't do anything wrong, I was protecting myself.

When I was told the girl just wanted to play I was in udderly disbelief. That is not what I saw in her, she was going to hurt me and I don't regret nor feel bad for what I had done.

Now I am 18, finally able to see one of the best physiatrists in my area. I don't think I need to see one, but my mother believes there is something wrong with me, something that the other physiatrists couldn't figure out.

"Do you want me to come with you?" My mother asks standing up with me, reaching her arm out to mine.

"I'll be fine."

"Oh, okay" she sits back down onto the leather waiting room chair. I was shy so I always liked my mom to be in the appointment with me, but I find when she is, I never get to express what has actually happened. It's always her side of the story. That her daughter is sick and distorted like some monster.

I follow the nurse down the dull, prison like hallway. At the end of the hall she stops and opens a door motioning me to go in with a gentle grin. I went in to see a handsome, dark haired man sitting at a large desk with his hands folded, staring straight through me. A desk and chair so big it made him look small.

"Come, sit" he orders calmly. I slowly walk in sitting in a chair across him. He leans back and lifts a piece of paper from his desk, scanning through it. "Y/N?"

"yes" I respond quietly.

"Great, And you are 18? Correct?"

"yes"

"Still fresh" he nods while lying the paper back down with an unsettling facial expression.

I ignored that comment.

"So what's the problem dear" His passionate blue eyes looked deeply into mine, making it feel hard to speak. Making the air feel heavy.
Like I couldn't breathe right.

"My mom thinks there is something wrong with me... but there isn't really."

"Then there is definitely something wrong." I look at him in confusion. "Usually people who think there's nothing wrong with them, have something wrong with them. So, what did you do." His eyes turn to a look of interest, and obsession.

"I didn't do anything"

"Yes you did. What did you do to cause your mother to send you here. Big event, tragic moments?"

"Well she always tells me to talk about an event from elementary school, all because I attacked a girl but it was because she was gonna hurt me. I was just standing up for myself."

"Hurt you how?" His eyes narrowed.

"Hit me, yell at me, take me away... I don't know. It wasn't that serious"

"Was this the only occurrence you attacked someone?" He licks his lips, still making eye contact with me; Though my eyes were looking down.

"No, it's happened quite a few times"

"And because these people were going to hurt you?" He pushes his glasses up from his nose.

"Yes"

"And what made you think they were going to hurt you?"

I didn't like talking about this, I didn't want to be here in the first place. He's asking too many questions and I just want to go home.

"They either had a look on their face or they came running at me. it's like they become possessed and they want to rip me in half."

"What kind of look did they have?" He takes a pen and a clip board into his pale hands.

"An evil look, they looked angry"

"And in response what did you do?" He scribbles on his page. His eyes staring through his eyebrows.

"I got them before they got me."

He looks up at me, interested.

"Give me an example"

"Well one of the times when I was elementary school I had to... beat a girls face into the cement. Another time in middle school I stabbed a pencil through a boy's hand. So he couldn't grab me.. and choke me."

"You're a murderous little thing aren't you" he says admiring my words. "Tell me more" he says hungrily.

"Oh. Um.. another time a girl was looking at me strangely and when I asked her why she just kept calling me crazy over and over, even though I'm not. She was going to hit me. I-I got scared so I pushed my fingers into her eyes."

"Now why do you think these people were so mad with you?"

"I don't know, that's what I've been wondering for years but everyone always is. It wont stop they wont. Go. Away."

"Well I'm not mad at you"  He says calmly, leaned back in his chair with his fingers crossed in his lap.

"Yeah sure" I say looking down to my lap.

"Y/N. Look at me." He says seriously. I look up.  His ice blue eyes stare at me through his glasses.  I feel an overcoming power come through me. His stare feels so intimidating yet enchanting. "I wouldn't lie to you."

"You sound like my mother. This isn't gonna help me". I picked at the skin on my fingers.

He sighs and rubs his eyes. "I imagine we can figure something out sweetheart, I am the best you're gonna get."

"Then what's wrong with me?"

"Well I'll need to do some physical exams along with talking to you more about these situations you're having, because 'hunny you do have something wrong'" He said that last part with an irritating, sarcastic form of 'empathy'. I stared waiting for him to say more. "But it's okay, no one is perfect. Everyone's got something wrong with them" he smirks lightly. "Just some of us are better at hiding it than others."

"What's wrong with you?" I ask softly, not knowing if it was a good idea to ask that.

"That's not for you to worry about sweetheart" he says delicately with a smirk. "But I am curious, have you always used violence as a way to solve these situations?"

"Mostly... yeah"

"Y/N, what are you scared of?" He changes the subject with a stern look on his face.

"Oh, um..." I think for a moment starring down at my hands. "Drowning, I guess?"

"What are you really scared of."