Make Your Move

Chapter 20- Variations

Chapter 20

Date: April 21st

Location: Guardian Base

Time: 6:25 A.M.

The ceiling seemed entirely boring and captivating at the same time. I let my eyes wander, getting slightly singed by the artificial lights before tracing back over the various holes in the wall. They were small and miniscule individually, but together they were easy to notice, easy to spot.

How did they get there? I wondered. This base wasn't that old and it appeared as if someone had purposefully done that. Why would someone want to break the ceiling, why would someone want to chip it, mar it, and make it something else?

"Ms. Carter," I tilted my head over to see Dr. Hays staring curiously at me.

I couldn't blame the woman, I had come in for another appointment and exhaustion led me to lay down on the couch. For the past 10 or so minutes, and who knows it could have been longer, I had been staring at her wall not saying a word. Usually when someone comes to get help they at least need to discuss what was going on rather than wondering about the small little pinpricks in the ceiling. But the truth was I didn't know if I wanted help, I just wanted to be better without the whole talking bit. Not possible, I know, but it was a nice thought.

"How do you get nightmares to stop?" I simply questioned and looked back up at the ceiling.

"It could depend on the nightmare," She responded. "What kind of nightmares are you having?"

From my peripheral vision I saw her pen poised over her notebook. Research told me that therapists no longer used the pen and paper unless that patient jumped from subject to subject or if they had a multitude of problems they wished to discuss. The notebooks helped them accurately document what they have already discussed and what still needed to be dealt with. I often imagined by the time I got better, if I got better, Dr. Hays would have a library filled with notebooks on me.

"They vary," Not helpful and Dr. Hays knew that.

"What do you dream of now?"

Well again, the answer could vary. I had been taking medication to knock me out so I could just sleep, but it didn't work all the time. Somedays I would wake up more tired than the previous night with a clenched heart and a raw throat.

"I dream of blood," A simple answer, but at least it was more revealing.

"Is it yours?"

"No." The beige ceiling began to blur and the little pinpricks almost vanished with the liquid filling my eyes. I blinked them back and felt them burn in my head and a hand wrap around my throat. After a few calming breaths I felt a bit more steady, but was fearful for the next question she would inevitably ask.

"Whose is it?"

"Terri's."

Again, sometimes there was variation, sometimes it was Sam's, sometimes it was my mothers, sometimes it was Matt's. Something that I came to realize after a moment of deliberation, is that it was never Valentin's. Was it because I thought he was too strong, too capable to end up dead, or because he was the one causing the bloodshed?

The more I came to therapy, the more my wariness of Valentin grew and I resented it. He had protected, he had saved me, he had loved me when I thought my family couldn't care less about me. He was there for me and now I was pushing him away. Although, that could be subjective considering these past couple weeks. Whenever I saw him he looked at me with wounded eyes but he never approached me. He began to glare at anyone, even our friends as if they were now convincing me he was evil. I knew he had a dark side, everyone did, but that didn't mean it couldn't be accepted.