Diseased | #wattys2016

Chapter 4

Riley sat in front of him silently, not daring to say a word. She knew he wouldn't believe her anyways.

Instead, she looks down at her arm, tracing faintly the mark the needle left behind. Riley wonder if her therapist knows about Trevor and his tactics of curing patients.

"So," He begins, "Are you going to say something? Please, give me something to start with, even one word. I'm here to help you."

Riley cough hard, thinking, this situation seems so familiar, "That's what they all say and look where it got me." She says, recalling how her lawyer promised to help as well.

He looks hopeful when she mustered up those rude words, "That's better; at least it's a start. I can help you channel your emotions into talking. Talk to me. I can't promise that I can get you out of here, but I can promise to help you relax, even just a bit. "

His voice and eyes were so kind, it almost makes Riley want to belt out how she's innocent, how she could never hurt anyone; but she stops herself from wasting her energy. But maybe it's worth a try. Therapists deal with these stuff, right? Not lawyers?

Riley opens her mouth, ready to share even one word about her past, but the whispers in her head are telling her to keep quiet, almost daring her to say a word. So she holds her tongue until the last second, when the buzzer rang. Fred keeps staring at her with those sad eyes, tilting his hand in pity, lost in thought. If he could just get her to say just one thing, maybe, just maybe, she may feel a bit better, making him feel better in return. He had no bad intentions, and the naive young man was sent out into the world in hopes of helping as many poor souls as he has the chance to talk to.

"That's all the time we have for today, Orphillia. You know, the sooner you talk, the sooner you can go home." Riley cringes at the name , while Fred stares into her eyes, analyzing her every movement. "Look. I think you may be innocent. You don't belong here; all sane people can see it. Just help me out. Please. I cant do this without you. You cant go home unless you're willing to try."

Riley wanted to tell him, she really did, but instead, she kept her lips sealed. I don't have a home. She thought. At least, not anymore. She lost it the moment Charlie passed. Riley's adoptive parents always held the girl at a lower standard than their born child, but Charlie tried to make Riley fit in. Feel loved. Feel wanted.

Riley was not ready to share any of this information out, her muscles squirming uncomfortably in her seat. The thought of talking to someone about Charlie somehow sen her on edge, her toes curling in her shoes, her teeth chewing her lips nervously. No. She thought. She wasn't ready. Can't he understand? Not this early, not like this. Not when he didn't know the loving boy. Riley felt uneasy of giving away anything about Charlie. It felt almost...private. Not right.

"Well, it looks like your guard is here to pick you up" Fredrick, the therapist says, sighing in defeat. He was looking forward to cracking the girl Orphillia Riley Jane, but so far, he seemed to be getting no where. He knows it will have to take a while for her to open up, but for the young therapist, time seemed too precious.

Riley slumped , trying to sooth her tense muscles by massaging , as best she could, the knots close to her collar bone and on her neck. One more day, one other person disappointed. All because of me. Riley couldn't help but let her own thoughts bother her, itching for relief on the subject at hand. She just wanted to go into a deep sleep and never wake up. Maybe that way, Riley pondered, I can block out people's sorrowed faces every time they look at me. Riley begins to pick at a loose thread in her gown, trying to get her mind to concentrate on the slow threading of the material. Just as a guard was about to hoist her up by her hand, Riley shakes him off, stands up by herself and turns to leave the room without a second thought. Right before she twists the nob, Fredrick clears his throat. Riley turns around quizzically, looking back at him questioningly. Her session is done; he's not supposed to talk to her after her thirty minutes.