Falling Colors

Chapter One: Silence Speaks Volumes

Sitting in the waiting room of my therapist’s office, I picked at the scab on my hand.  The familiar scent of some unnamed Glade candle filled the air and did nothing to calm my irritation of being here today, not like coming any other day would have made it any more enjoyable. 

        My dad had dropped me off early for my second appointment of the week because he had to go to work a little earlier today.  This had caused an unspeakable annoyance for me.  It was bad enough having to spend an hour three times a week in this stupid place, but having to be dropped off twenty minutes earlier than usual made it even worse.

       He had tried to make it sound better -- like always -- than it really was on the drive here, I didn’t make any comment to him about being dropped early.  He said I would get some time by myself which was a rare occasion now, but that didn’t make it any better.  I wanted time alone, but not in this stupid tacky looking therapist office in an uncomfortable tacky chair smelling some tacky candle.

      Since my dad was at work that left one person to pick me up because I couldn’t walk home; it was too much of a risk leaving me alone.  The one person who would be able to pick me up would be Leigh, my dad’s girlfriend.  I would have preferred sleeping on the floor of the office until my dad could pick me up, my dislike for him was a little less than for Leigh. 

             Leigh wasn’t a bad person, she just wasn’t someone I particularly liked.  She always tried getting me to talk, it was obvious I would never say a word to her.  Never.

       “Odette?” came the nasally voice of Jessica, the secretary.  She was standing up, supporting her lower back with one arm and a hand on her bulging belly.  She was close to popping out the baby that had been in her for the past nine months, and everything seemed to tire her out lately.  Breathing heavily she gave me a small smile, and waited for me to reply.

            My reply was a raise of my eyebrows, which made her smile falter a little bit, but she caught herself before it turned into a frown.

       “Dr. Jacks will see you in a few moments.”  Jessica went back to sitting in her chair, and filling out Dr. Jacks’ calendar. 

             Ripping off the last bit of my scab, I watched blood seep out of the reopened wound.  It dripped down my hand, leaving a trail of scarlet.  I made no attempt to stop the blood from flowing out.  It fascinated me that this little red liquid was one of the key parts of keeping me alive.

             The door to Dr. Jacks’ office creaked open and out came a woman dressed in a business suit.  She looked determined, but relaxed.  Now that her weekly session of bitching about how her mother didn’t love her enough when she was a child and the anger her irresponsible coworkers bring her, she was ready to take on the world again. 

       Watching her walk out of the office made me envious and bitter towards her.  This woman had a choice to come to therapy.  She had a choice when she could leave, where she could go after therapy, if she wanted to be alone or not; she had a choice.  I on the other hand did not. 

       “You ready, Odette?” Dr. Jacks called from her office door.  She was leaning against the frame, her arms folded across her chest.  She had that stupid calm look pasted on her face that she paid a lot of money in grad school to learn how to perfect.

            Slowly I got up from the worn out chair and walked past her into the office.  There was a couch on one wall, a recliner on the other, and in the middle of the room was her desk that was completely clear except for the pen caddy.  In front of the desk were two chairs like the ones in the waiting room.

        I sat down in one of those chairs, and stared out the window that overlooked the city park behind her. 

         Dr. Jacks closed the door, and practically floated to her desk, taking a seat in an overstuffed desk chair.  Rolling forward, so her middle was pushed against the desk, she daintily placed her hands on the desk, one on top of the other.

           “So are we going to talk today?” she asked, in her calm hushed therapist tone.  I kept my gaze trained on the park outside the window.

        Even though it was only the first full week of September the leaves on the trees were already starting to turn yellow at the tips.  It looked almost as if the green leaves had been dipped in yellow paint.  The sight of the leaves made me want to go outside and grab one from the tree and twirl it between my fingers until it tore into tiny pieces, fell from my hands and the only trace left would be the fresh smell of the leaf.

          “I see.”  She nods like I had said something significant and turns her gaze to stare out the window.  “Do you want to go outside?”

          I don’t acknowledge what she has said.  I would love to go outside, to walk around in the park, let the wind blow through my short brown hair, let the fresh air fill my lungs, let the smell of the fast-coming autumn fill my nose.  I wasn’t going to tell Dr. Jacks this though.  As much as I wanted to go outside, I wouldn’t speak to tell her so.  I had taken an oath of silence and nothing was going to make me talk.  Not now, not ever.

       “What happened to your hand?” she asked, noticing the dried blood that stained it. 

           Flicking my hand in question, I shrugged, not taking my gaze off the outside.  Oh how I longed to go out there by myself and walk around and just to be free. 

       It had been four long months since I had been alone at all.  There was nothing more that I wanted than to be alone.  For people to stop hovering over me, to stop telling me where I was going when I was doing it, to stop treating me like the child I wasn’t.

        “We have a whole hour of this.  Are you sure you don’t want to talk?  It must be tiring not ever talking.  I would be so frustrated if people couldn’t hear me or my opinions on things.”  She was trying to coax me into talking like she did every week.  It never worked though. 

         For three months and three weeks I had been coming to therapy.  Three times a week I was here, an hour each time.  With these almost four months, I had not said a word.  No progress had been made, and Dr. Jacks was at her wits end. 

         I’d heard her talking with my dad about me.  She had said she’d never come across a case like my own.  She said people usually want to discuss what is making them unhappy and that’s why therapy makes them start to feel happy again.  I didn’t want to talk about what was making me unhappy or why I did what I did. 

        If I had wanted to talk about the reasons for my actions four months ago, I would have left a letter explaining these things.  Unfortunately, words could not begin to express what I had been and still was feeling.

      “Aren’t you sick of being silent in a world where everyone demands to be heard?” she asked, her therapist tone wavering slightly.

        No, I thought, because silence speaks volumes.

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Dedicated to Uzma for the wonderful cover <3 Thank you so much, darling!

Thanks to Mel for editing <3