Havoc

Poor Broken Little Girl

Warning: this chapter involves discussion of mental health - such one would see in a mental health assessment. While this is based on an actual mental health assessment for an Acute Unit some parts are dramatised. 

We're having a staring contest now and I think I am winning.

Jamie with his horror filled eyes, though he's trying and failing to hide it, and the consultant. I'm not too concerned about him. A middle aged man with brown skin and a name I'd likely struggle to spell correctly. I couldn't place his ethnicity, I was never always good at telling the difference.

Indian, maybe? Or Pakistani? I had worked with Doctors from those areas before, a few from Nigeria too.

It's not a racist or discriminatory thing.

I'm not saying that all Doctors in this teeny tiny island aren't white, or born or raised here. I'm just saying that I could count on one hand how many white doctors I had worked with.

It was one.

Not that it made much difference.

They were all very difficult to get a hold of when you needed them and were hardly ever around on the units I worked on.

I almost felt special that this one actually showed up so early in the afternoon to see me.

Almost.

But Jamie. He, I paid close attention to. He looks pale, like he had seen a ghost. Then again I suppose in his perspective I guess he did. I think I was officially declared dead at one point, we all were. But I don't remember. I choose not to. Dark memories bring dark emotions and those cause the cracks to widen and branch further up the walls.

I don't want that.

You don't want that too, trust me.

Or don't, that's your choice. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't trust me much. I'm not the most reliable at the moment. But I'm getting better, I promise.

"Emma," Jamie finally choked out before pausing to consider the next words that he was going to use. He's a bit stunned. I don't blame him. It must be tough staring at the ghost of a dead girl he once knew.

I smiled, refusing to break eye contact even though I know it unnerves him. I like that it unnerves him, how my smile is so wide but my eyes are so dead. The eyes of a dead girl. I can see it in his own hazel orbs. It makes me want to laugh until I cry but I fight the urge.

"Do you mind talking with us about what happened? What brought you into hospital?"

That's not how we're supposed to start these conversations. Jamie knows this, or at least he should know this. I've decided to let it slide, he's a bit frazzled right now. Poor, poor Jamie.

I pursed my lips and stared up at the ceiling as though I was considering my answer to his question.

I smiled as if a brilliant idea had popped into my head and resumed eye contact with him.

"No."

A simple word, only two letters. A word that we're taught when we were children alongside it's opposite. A simple word. A powerful word. Saying it with so little hesitation filled me to the brim with so much excitement and thrill I could almost swear that I'd explode from it. Painting the dull white and beige room with red and pink. But I don't explode, I remain in tact.

I suppose that's should be a good thing, shouldn't it?

A bit underwhelming though, isn't it?

"And why is that, Emma?"