I n d o м ι т a в l e

(6)

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"-Oh yes? Can you identify yourself?

-Certainly. I'd know me anywhere."

― Terry Pratchett, Maskerade

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{Chapter: 6}

Unedited  ✖

{ A S P E N M O N T G O M E R Y }

I wish I could stab myself with a fork.

I stare across the brightly lit room at my therapist, plotting murder as the seconds roll by in absolute silence.

It's Monday, six days after I arrived in Grimwater and two days since my dinner with Nicholai. I've always hated Mondays, but honestly, who doesn't hate Mondays?

It takes an unbelievable amount of strength to keep from lunging across the finely furnished room and strangling the well-dressed brunette sitting with one long leg flung casually over the other in her spinning desk chair. Mrs. Begay, or Ethel as she's introduced herself--because in her mind we're apparently on first name basis--is dressed in perfectly ironed slacks, a peach blouse that stands out against her deep olive skin and three inch black pumps.

Her kind eyes match the color of her coffee brown hair, her skin color leading me to believe she's some sort of Indian or native American, or at least in relation with one of them. Even without heels she would stand several inches above me, standing at maybe 5ft7 and perhaps another inch.

Even with her niceness I can't bring myself to care or put effort into being as equally nice back. I'm being forced to be here, to socialize, and to talk about things I'd really rather leave buried deep beneath the surface. The subject is still substantially sore and I'd rather stake myself through the chest than talk about the events of the past four months.  

Time, much like life, doesn't seem to pass near as quickly as it should. I've been here ten minutes and the only full sentences I've been willing to give her is "I'm fine" and "I'd rather not". But she continues to smile, even after I snap at her, writing a few things down on her clipboard before continuing to try and squeeze details out of me.

"Now Aspen, what brings you here today?" She asks in a sickly sweet tone.

"I think you already know the answer to that." I reply snootily.

"Perhaps. But I'd rather hear it from you."

I ignore her, instead moving my gaze outside the wall made of polished glass. I haven't had time, or effort, to really explore and get to know the town but even so, I didn't expect such a nice building to be apart of such a small secluded town that looks like it was created back in the early 1900's. Fine wood flooring, comfortable leather couches, a recliner and even a beanbag in the corner which I assume is used for younger clients. But the decorating of the room reminds me what kind of town I'm now living in; lamps made out of deer antlers, antique chandeliers with animal claws, pictures of wolves and bears, the whole native shebang. The window wall gives a pleasant view of a small portion of the town and pieces of the surrounding woods over the roofs of some of the taller houses.

All the buildings I've seen so far on my drive here are considerably older, some collapsing in on themselves and others still barely standing.The entire town--of what I've seen--is older and more antique-ish and everywhere you go forestry is a mere stone throws away.

"Aspen." Mrs. Begay say's, dragging me out of my daydreaming. "Tell me, how has your first few days been here is Grimwater?"

A bombshell, I say inside. Outwardly I answer, "Fine."