Sorry

Chapter three

Every Friday since I had been released back into the normal world, I went back to my own dear prison. Aunt Mary picked me at noon, right before my lunch period, took me out to eat, then drive to see Dr. Spencer. She called it my "special afternoon."

I called it terrifying.

This week was the first time I was getting picked up from school. It was my second week back at home, but the first that school had been started. Both Dr. Spencer and Aunt Mary said it would be good to hold off from school until the second week. That I needed to get a feel for stuff around my aunt's house. Blah blah blah.

This week she took me to a Wendy's. That meant she wanted to eat quick and leave sooner. I ate fast, per her request and we drove another half hour to Paisley Lake Institution. When we pulled up to the familiar grey building, a queasy feeling built in my stomach. The greasy food I had scarfed down was coming back up. I tried to bite it back. This is where all my pain had been relocated, all my suffering. The burden that I had once carried on my shoulders. It was difficult to look upon the simple building, and not burst into tears.

Do not cry Heather. You're stronger than this.

So I gulped back my tears, and got out of the car.

Two men in white uniforms waited at the lobby desk for me. Aunt Mary sent me and encouraging look. The she picked up a magazine, plopped down in a chair, and began to wait.

I followed the orderlies down a hallway, one I knew by heart.

They don't trust me.

We came to a door in the middle of the left wall, marked as room 227. One of the orderlies knocked, and opened the door. Dr. Sarah Spencer sat at a large mahogany desk, shuffling papers. She looked over the rimless glasses perched on her nose, and smiled.

"Heather, take a seat. I'll be right with you."

I shuffled over to a tan leather stool, and sat on it. The window was open today, letting in fresh breezes of Spring air. I took a deep breath. The flowers smelled nice.

Dr. Spencer rolled her desk chair over to across from me, and set a notepad on the desk next to her.

"How are you Heather?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Tired mostly. I really hate mornings."

And afternoons and evenings and everyday.

"Do you feel as if you can't get out of bed in the morning?" Sarah Spencer asked.

You think I'm getting depressed again.

"No. Just tired from getting up early."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart. Let's talk about something you like. How's school?"

I shrugged again, but I could feel myself getting angry about my school situation. Dr. Spencer noticed.

"What's wrong, Heather?"

"Nothing."

"What did I say about the truth? Hmm?" Dr. Spencer paused before asking, "have you been taking your medication?"

I thought back to the orange bottles in the medicine cabinet at Aunt Mary's house. I thought about the bright orange, yellow and blue pills that I hadn't been swallowing for two weeks.

"Yes," I said. She stared at me before flipping open her notebook and scribbling something down. When she was finished, she clasped her hands in her lap.

"I believe you, Heather. I truly do. But for records, I'm going to need to have you take a drug test and bring the pills with you next time. Okay? Is that alright?"