The Last Laugh

Chapter Four

Seeing the title on the door physically give me the shivers. It's been over two years now since I've talked about it, I don't think I'm ready just yet. Maybe I can just put it off for as long as I can until I truly can't anymore. The thought of opening up to a complete stranger about all of my problems (trust me I have quite a lot of those) utterly terrifies me. Knowing that this stranger can and will judge me for what decisions I've made in life. If my parents think that getting me to tell all of my insecurities and problems to someone who will 'help me' is going to make me forget, they're sorrily mistaken. I can't forget what happened and the more I remember about that time, the more I realise I don't want to. Even though what happened changed me completely, it still made me who I am today. I can appreciate that.

"She's ready for you now." The lady behind the desk speaks softly. Clearly aware of my emotional state. I nod at her and force a smile of acknowledgement, standing up to not only walk through the door but to face everything I'd previously just been pondering about.

In the room labels 'Dr Morrison' a woman sat on a purple beanbag writing something down on the top of a blank page, presumably my name and any other details she might need during our discussions. I have to say, she looks younger than I expected. She doesn't look too much older than me maybe mid to late twentys. I'd be surprised if she were any older than that. But she is utterly beautiful. Her face is perfectly per portioned, it doesn't look like she's wearing much makeup either. Maybe a little bit of mascara. Which in her defence really makes her hazel eyes pop. I'm a fare few feet away and I can still see how the green mixes nicely with the brown.

"Take a seat Allison," gesturing to the coloured beanbags in front of her "pick any colour." I decide on the aqua coloured one. Gently and as gracefully as I can lowering myself down onto it. But if you've ever sat on a beanbag, you know that's never the case.

We started with the small details, what I prefer to be called which was of course was 'Ali', how old I am, siblings, parents, then came the question I inevitably knew was coming. "So, Ali. What brought you to my office."

Avoid the topic. Avoid the topic. Avoid the topic. "Um, the bus? I caught the one from my house to just out the fro-" it's clear to see she sees right though my little facade. "Ali," she begins in almost a warning tone but it's not quite harsh enough. "I'm trying to help you. You shutting me out isn't going to help you is it?" Ah the old 'guilt rhetorical' if you say no, of course you sound stupid but you also sound mean.

"I know, I'm just not ready to open up to a stranger, it's kind of weird for me. I've never done this before, I'm scared." I look up at her and I don't know what I was expecting her reaction to be, but it wasn't smiling. "Well, you just have. Fear is a pretty big thing to admit."

For some reason I feel my cheeks heating. I shrug my shoulders "Not really, not when you're scared of most things." She nods contemplating my words. "Like what?"

"Myself."

"In what way?"

"I'm afraid of the bad things I could do."

"But what about the good. Can you make someone laugh?"

"Well yea-"

"Can you make them smile?"

"Yes but-"

"Then what are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid I could hurt them." I can feel the tears playing chicken with my waterline. I hate my emotions some times. It feels as if I'm always trying to force tears not to fall, force a smile on my face. I miss when it would be the opposite. I couldn't stop smiling all the time, I would laugh so hard I couldn't stop myself from crying. I want things to go back to the way they were.

By the end of the session, what was to be said still hadn't been and it was too late now. I am relieved it's over, but I feel like I need to stay.

My mid still hasn't come to a conclusion as to whether this therapy is beneficial to me. Part is me knows it is, that I'll feel better once I have talked about my problems and seemed some advice on how to deal with them. But the other part is scared to rationalise them. I am afraid of what Dr Morrison will say. Will she think I am crazy? Or will she just think that I am dealing with my problems in and unnatural way and she will try and help me?

I am almost certain that I am not the worst patient/craziest patient she has had. I may be considered not damaged enough to do therapy compared to other people she has to deal with. "Remember Ali, I will see you next week Friday 5 o'clock, see you then."

Not keen to follow her orders, I just nod not really agreeing nor denying. The bus was a short yet bumpy ride and it's never pleasant on public transport. No matter how positively you think about it. There's always that one person talking loudly, the one person that smells really bad and the one person who stares at you the whole way. Without looking I tap my bus pass and step off the bus onto the concrete below. However my foot didn't connect with the hard dirty ground, but rather a squishy surface that had a yelp follow.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry-" I try to make amends to the guys foot I just squashed but my life's a mess and in the process of looking up at him I end up smacking my head into the bottom of his nose. "Ow! I'm sorry! I should've looked where I was- Travis?"