Cleo bent down into her carpet bag, one like Mary Poppins’ had, and pulled out a stack of paper with a package of assorted ballpoint pens in different colors.
“We are going to write a letter today, since we don’t have a table we’ll have to write them on the floor, or on your lap and hope you don’t put a hole through the paper.” She handed the stack of papers to Wiley after taking one of herself. Wiley took one and then passed it onto Felix. And on it went around the circle until everyone had a piece of paper and the stack was returned to Cleo.
Taking a green pen out of the package, she then handed the pack to Wiley to take one for himself. When the package reached me I looked at the different colored pens. I grabbed a red one, and then handed the package onto Mason.
The pens were returned to Cleo and she threw them into her bag, then stood up from her chair and pushed it out of the way then sat down cross-legged where it once was. Placing her piece of paper on the floor and pen next to it she looked at all of us expectantly.
“Aren’t you going to get started?” she asked.
“What are we supposed to write?” Mason asked, twirling his blue pen between his fingers.
“A letter.” Cleo shrugged, and looked down at her paper, picking up her pen and began to write.
“To who?” Mason asked pushing his chair out of the way and sitting down the floor.
“Yourself.”
Wiley stood up from his seat and walked over to a corner in the room. “Cleo,” he called over his shoulder. “What are we writing about in this letter?”
“Your world. How you see it, how you want to see it; how you see yourself; how you wish to be,” she replied not looking up from her piece of paper.
Slowly everyone got up from their seats and took a place on the floor. I was the last one to get up and walked over the corner farthest away from everyone. I hadn’t written any words since I become silent.
Dr. Jacks had tried getting me to answer her through writing on pads of paper, but I refused to. My dad and Leigh had tried as well. The only form of communication I used was a shrug here or an eye roll there.
Sitting down I put my piece of paper against the pale blue wall, I stared at it for a while, debating whether I should write or not. It wasn’t like I’d have to give it to Cleo. She couldn’t force it out of me. I could just rip it to shreds before anyone could read it. So I wrote.
Some time passed and Cleo stood up from her spot on the floor and put her chair back in the circle and sat down. She didn’t say anything about stopping, so I kept writing, as did others.
Felix was the second one to finish his letter and went back to his chair. Then it was Wiley and Avery, then Bria and Mason at the same time. Finally I was done.
Returning back to my seat, Cleo gave a small clap. “So now that that is done, you can keep your letters. No need to read them aloud, just yet. We’ll do that another time. So anyone want to share how they’re feeling today?”
An uncomfortable stir went through the group. Wiley gave out a long yawn, not seeming to care about the question. Avery picked at her nails, chipping off the black polish that coated them.
“How about you Avery? How are you feeling?” Cleo asked turning her attention to Avery.
“Annoyed,” Avery replied matter-of-factly. “You know I don’t want to be here, Cleo.”
That makes two of us, I thought to myself.
“Why is that?” Cleo asked, sounding like a normal human being and not some fake therapist tone.
“Because I didn’t try to fucking kill myself!” she shouted. Everyone turned to look at her, their eyes opened wide and mouths hanging open. My own eyes were wide, but I didn’t make the shock on my face as visible as their own. “Yeah, I said it.” Avery gave everyone a disgusted look. “I spoke the dirty deed that brought us all here. I didn’t try to kill myself, unlike you guys.” She waved her arm out indicating the group.
“I’m only here to help, Cleo out,” Wiley said to Avery calmly. “I don’t even need therapy. “
Everyone turned and looked at Wiley with a look of confusion. Why would someone want to come to therapy even just as a favor? It was pure torture.
“That’s right,” Cleo piped up. “He’s just here as a favor so everyone could have a partner. The therapist partnering up with someone just wouldn’t be fair, would it?”
Everyone gave a mumble of understanding, then Cleo turned back to Avery.
“Then why are you here, Avery? For the fun of it?” she asked patiently.
“Hell no!” she semi-yelled. “My doctor told me I either did this or went to the mental wing back in the hospital. I wasn’t going to be stuck with those loons. Overdosing on dope is not a mental problem, it’s an addiction problem. I don’t understand why they sent me here.” She crossed her arms over her chest, shoving her boobs farther out of her tank top.
“I see…” Cleo trailed off.
“Really?” Avery challenged.
“No,” she replied to her shortly.
Giving a disgusted snort, Avery looked away and towards the door longingly. I could feel her pain about wanting to leave. I wanted to leave too. Except I was stuck here until four o’clock and it was only one thirty.
“Okay, thanks for sharing, Avery,” Cleo mumbled. “Who else wants to talk? Mason? Bri? How about you Odette?”
YOU ARE READING
Falling Colors
Teen Fiction"The unfixable; the shattered; the torn; the broken. They all come here. It's my job to remake them, because once its broken there is no going back to the way it was. It must be remade." Six individuals. Six unique stories. Five exercises. One...
