Lost and alone with no hope of finding herself again, April Driscoll attempts to navigate her way through the last two years of college.
{season three - season four}
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
{TW: this chapter has references to the subjects of su*cide and SH if triggering then read the next chapter.}
April jerked awake as she glanced at the person in front of her. Blonde hair, rosy cheeks and wearing a long white coat, Dr Best sat across from her writing down something. April didn't care. She'd been seeing the dead angel everywhere so much it concerned Malcolm and Rachael and it definitely concerned Jeanne who had decided to stick around until April got better, wanting to be there for her. But in true Jeanne fashion, the moment things got hard and the nightmares didn't stop until it was practically impossible for April to sleep or even get out of bed, Jeanne had decided that professional help was needed for April.
April woke with a scream as the angel appeared again, blood streaming from the wound to her head, her pure white dress tainted with a deep red stain. April screamed until her voice went hoarse, the faint muffled footsteps in the hallway grew closer as light flooded into the dark pit of hell she'd fallen into and was still trying to claw her way out. Arms wrapped around her, rocking her like a baby and a soft voice told her to calm down and that it was a dream. April sobbed violently, her hands digging into her wrists, and a faint white bracelet slid around her wrist. The urge to cut again was stronger every time she saw the blood-splattered angel before her. April had stopped her sobbing close to four in the morning yet the arms around her never stopped holding her until her vision cleared and the sound of the milkman making his morning deliveries was heard. April glanced up at her dad and then at Rachael and Jeanne who sat opposite them on her bed.
That was the first time Jeanne had seen what April had described to her and it pained the woman. The next time was worse.
Jeanne had been sitting down to watch TV before April came home from school when she heard a loud thud upstairs. Jeanne hadn't expected anyone back until later and so walked upstairs to where the bang had sounded in the bathroom. Jeanne watched in horror as she saw April sitting on the ground surrounded by a pool of blood, her entire lower arm had been scraped away by the razor in her hand. Jeanne gasped and ran to grab her phone to call an ambulance. April had been put under twenty-four-hour watch at the hospital and her wrists had to be strapped to the bed to stop her harming herself any further. Jeanne watched her daughter go, blaming herself for not realising soon enough that April hadn't moved from her bed in a week, and that April had only moved to end her life. Jeanne looked down at her hands still covered in her daughter's blood from her desperate attempt at saving April's life - a life that had meant so little to her when she left but now meant everything.
So that's how April found herself visiting Dr Best's office again, the woman giving her a reassuring look reminding her that her office was a safe space and nothing April said would leave the room. April knew that was bullshit everything she said would be filed away and if it was concerning enough Dr Best would tell either her dad or the police.
"I haven't said anything." April observed, staring back at the doctor.
"There we go." Dr Best smiles, placing her hand on her Newton cradle to stop it swinging.
"What?"
"Fifty minutes into our one-hour session and you finally decide to speak." Dr Best smiles her usual you-can-trust-me smile.
"Proud of yourself?" April sighs, crossing her arms.
"No. I'm proud of you. As I said when we first met, I'm not here to help you, you're here to help you. I'm not using any tricks, your recovery comes from you. And speaking up first is always the hardest step." Dr Best said, leaning back in her chair. "So tomorrow you'll come back, same time and we'll have a proper session that doesn't involve you glaring at me, yes?"
"Whatever." April rolls her eyes and gets up.
"April." Dr Best stopped her from leaving. "Remember what I said about support systems. Surround yourself with people who understand you." Dr Best told her.
"No one understands me."
"You're wrong. Just because you see a smile doesn't mean you know what goes on behind it. Trust your family and your friends, they only want what's best for you." April rolls her eyes leaving the room and heading out of the clinic, breathing in the fresh air, and looked to her bandaged wrists then at her dad's car, Malcolm waiting to take her back to school.
School. Freddie.
Freddie hadn't been allowed to see her whilst she'd been recovering. Focusing on the world outside the clinic stunted her progress in recovery because she was so busy worrying. April got into the car with a sigh, her fists clenching in her pockets as Malcolm drove her to school.
Malcolm had learned years ago not to ask April questions but he'd been curious and asked Freddie why April had been freaking out. He'd be messed up if he saw something like that so he didn't blame April for feeling bad - the girl dying reawakened the feeling of helplessness April had felt when she'd learnt Chris had died, and even if Malcolm disapproved of Chris and April's friendship, he couldn't deny that the happiest he'd seen April was when Chris was still around. He knew that Chris dying had broken something in April which turned into this unhappy girl where anything could set off a trigger in her and she'd ended up back in isolation and regular visits to Dr Best. Malcolm hated the feeling of helplessness when he heard April screaming at night or the phone calls from Jeanne or Rachael that April had attempted to slit her wrists again. He was helpless to help his baby girl, the one thing in his life he thought he'd done right Malcolm glanced at April and wished more than anything that his smiling happy girl was sitting beside him now, not this cold shell of a person, who had been twisted and shaped into looking like his daughter.
