Let Me Burn With You.

Chapter 1

Harry fiddled with his hands as stared out the window, watching as raindrops streaked across the pane, leaving sparkling trails in their wake. He wasn’t inclined to say much, despite the fact that he knew the psychiatrist was waiting, hands folded and lips pursed. One solitary drop wriggled its way down the glass, and Harry mentally cheered it on, watching it grow in strength and size as it collided into several other droplets before bulldozing its way to the bottom.

A polite cough interrupted the little game he had created, but he didn’t feel bothered enough to acknowledge the source of the sound. He remained motionless, face pressed close to the glass and feet tucked under him, like a gargoyle perched atop of the profusely ornate armchair. He kept his gaze on the drops, desperate to remain enthused in their small victories, because he knew that if he turned away from his musings, his attention would latch on to the other things. The things that no one else seemed to see or hear.

“Harry.”

He felt that immediate impulse to turn around, that one that a person gets when their name is called and they’re not quite expecting it, yet he restrained himself. If his attention drifted towards something else, for even a moment, he might find himself focused on something he shouldn’t even be seeing at all.

“Harry.”

It came again. That same call to attention that any normal person would respond to, but he didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t want to turn around when there was a chance that he might get a glimpse of those dark, shifting walls or hear the incessant beeping noise again. Because they seemed so real.

"Harry you have to listen to me."

His eyes flicked forwards impulsively. During that quick blink that a person makes when they change their focus, they latched onto that black, swirling mass on the walls, the one that wasn’t really there. And then he could hear the beeping again. It thudded in his brain like a pulse.

He wanted them gone.

He wanted them gone so badly.

“Harry? Are you listening yet?”

Harry blinked as his vision shifted, finally settling on the bitter looking psychiatrist sitting at a desk across from him. For the moment, the dark swirling mass near the walls disappeared, leaving the psychiatrist's gaudy pink wallpaper in its place. The ever-present beeping quieted and become a dull throb that was easily lost in the sound of the downpour outside.

The psychiatrist shuffled her papers and regarded Harry with old, beady eyes. She tapped the stack against her desk and rested the papers on the dark wood. Then, she went about absentmindedly organizing her pencils, so that each one rested in a perfect horizontal line. After several minutes of her obsessive habit, she leaned back in her chair and began idly tapping her fingers against the desk. She scrutinized him for such a long time, he began to feel uncomfortable. It became increasingly worse with each tick from the little clock on her desk.

“So Harry,” she drawled, fingers drumming against the arm of her chair. “Are you ready to participate?”

Harry nodded mutely.

“Good.” she lifted a carefully manicured hand to navigate the train of pencils on her desk. She chose the one with the sharpest point before pulling out a pad of paper from her drawer.

“I’ll start this session the same as I always do.” She looked up at him, pencil poised to write, and then she deadpanned, “Have there been any changes in your hallucinations?”

“No.” said Harry meekly, “I still see the same dark, swirling walls and hear the same beeping noise.” Harry shrugged.

“Are the hallucinations any clearer or have you noticed anything new about them at all?”