A/N: So, I'm not sure about this chapter, but I needed to post something, so yeah feel free to comment what you think about it. I haven't been feeling up to writing much this week but hopefully I'll be better next week.
Also, there might be a few typos or mistakes because I haven't proofread this one yet. Sorry about that.
Leave a vote if you liked the chapter anyway c:
To Luke, normal was being woken up by a nurse and led to a cafeteria. Normal was having counselling every few days and throwing paint on the floor. Normal was living lazily because he couldn't go out anywhere. Normal was not seeing his parents every day. Normal was spending too much time talking to a pink haired girl who never said anything back.
It never used to be his normal. He never used to be followed around by a nurse at all hours of the day. He never used to have counselling or even touch paint. He never used to be lazy because he always had people to see and places to go. He never used to be separated from his parents. He never used to speak to the pink haired girl all the time, because she had things to do and people to see too.
So what changed? That was simple: Luke did. He didn't know how or when it happened, but it just did, and now he couldn't change anything back.
He'd tried telling Emma countless times, but she always said the same thing.
"You'll only make significant progress if you want to make significant progress."
"But I do want to make significant progress," he argued. "It just doesn't happen."
"Why doesn't it happen?" Emma had a habit of asking why to everything, whether Luke had an answer or not. But Luke never knew why. If he knew why, he probably wouldn't be stuck having counselling so much, and he was beginning to get sick of Emma not understanding that.
"I don't fucking know, do I?" He snapped, crossing his arms as he slouched further into the chair. As much as he wanted to storm out of the room in a rage, he knew he wouldn't get far.
Emma blinked from behind her glasses. "Well," she said, clearing her throat awkwardly, "It seems like one-to-one counselling alone isn't working for you."
Luke stayed silent, glaring at the wall behind Emma. Great, so now she was going to change things, was she? What more could she do? He already had a lot of counselling, she couldn't add more. That would be too much.
Maybe that was Luke's problem: everything was always too much.
It took a while for either of them to even look at each other. Luke was too busy trying to be angry, and Emma was busy flipping through the papers on her desk. "I think," she sighed, "It's best if I refer you to group counselling."
Shakily, Luke left the Emma's office with a slip of paper in his hands. As if counselling on his own wasn't useless enough, now he was going to be forced to listen to a whole group talk about their problems. It wasn't that he couldn't empathise with anyone, but how was he supposed to say anything about his own problems? If he couldn't do it when it was only Emma and himself in the room, there was no way in hell that he'd be able to in a group.
It was times like this that he hated Emma. She could help sometimes, but recently she'd just been making things worse.
It was times like this that he hated Dalacine. He knew he was there for his own good, but what good was it doing him at the moment? You'd think after two years that he would at least be a little bit better, but he wasn't.
It was times like this that he hated himself, because no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't make himself better.
He didn't say anything as his nurse led him back to his room. She'd offered to take him to Ezra's room, since she'd noticed they were friends now, but he said no. He didn't want to take his anger out on her.
