The Babysitters

Chapter 11 : Revenge Time

"Hmm," the therapist looked at my file curiously, "Now this is something concerning."

I took a deep breathe and waited for him to continue. Although, I was not really keen to hear what he had to say. I, kind of, already diagnosed the situation.

"PTSD and OCD," he concluded, "Both at the same time."

"Ooh, you finally got it, smarty pants," I said, concentrating on the dust particles at his table.

He smiled and removed them with a tissue paper.

"You are better than the stupid doctor I met a few days ago," I giggled, remembering about the Man In White.

"And why is that?" he raised his brows.

"For starters, you don't look like Ugly Betty," I said with a horrified expression.

He laughed, "So I know." And just after a minute, the seriousness was back on his face.

I groaned. If only dad did not force me to meet a therapist. It was his idea because, according to him, his daughter has started being isolated and looked like a dead porcupine.

No, that was not the reason which concurred me to come here. Dad said if I won't visit the therapist, he will make me eat all his dishes for a week.

And so, I was left with no other option. Clearly, handling a therapy session is way less dangerous than handling his cooking.

"When did you diagnose it?" the therapist asked me.

"In freshman year," I said, blankly, "It was not really difficult to analyze."

"You must be a bright child," he smiled.

"Uh, not really. I'm just good at psychology," I said with a flushed face.

He, once again, went through the details written on the file. This time in a more observant way.

"Can you brief me with your current situation?" he asked.

"I-I get nightmares, sometimes twice a week," I spoke, hesitantly, "Then there are these rare panic attacks and intrusive thoughts, "

He heard me with patience, making notes of things I was saying, in between.

"Any flashback?" he raised an eyebrow.

I took one deep breathe, before replying, "A lot of them. The whole thing plays in my head like a movie, every time I'm near water."

He nodded in understanding, "What about OCD?"

"That is something I can't control," I chuckled, "I wash my hands every time I touch something. There's always a sanitizer in my bag. I refrain from physical contacts, have a repetitive behavior at times. I am always scared. I even washed my coins once, before taking it from the vendor."

"Sounds so much like OCD," he laughed. Then with a big smile, he said, "Just a few therapy sessions and you will be fine."

I smiled back. I was never the one to be on the optimistic side. I am one of those people who are cynical about life. So I definitely did not believe him. But, I smiled back.

"Tomorrow, I will be starting the therapies. I hope you will be here," he said, gesturing his hand for a handshake.

"Y-Yeah," I looked at his hand, hesitantly.

He chuckled, "Oh, how I forgot. See you tomorrow."

I gave him a huge smile, as he backed his hand, and left his cabin.

I sighed. Now, time to deal with Trystan.

I sat in my car and turned towards the direction of Dylan's house. I had been really curious to know what Trystan was planning for me. I still remember the look on his face when I crashed Cady.