I was running. the wind shifted through my hair. it was hot, sweat poured down my face. my heart was pounding hard.... I could hear it in my ears. the pulse, the pumping blood. everything. my veins were dry, drier then the existence suffocating me. and I tell you, that's all I remember. I tell you, with your glossy blue eyes and calm sweater and thin pursed lips. I tell you everything else must be blocked out. I avoid your eyes. I tap my foot. I count the tiles behind you. And you? you take out your notebook, and you write. probably notes about me again. you tell me I'm not saying everything, and you tell me my time is almost up.
1...2....3....4....5.......9.....11..........44..... there really is a lot of tiles behind you. theres also a mirror, and the girl reflecting back is srange. she's hallow. empty eyes. dark eyes. almond eyes. that's what my sister would say.... but that's not what you want to know. so instead, I'll stay in my mind. when our session ends, you stand up.
to be honest, in actuality, I hate you. I hate your perfect short blonde hair, the tiny wrinkles next to your eyes. I hate the fake sincerety in your voice. I hate your fucking scarf, the way it hangs off your neck. It gives me thoughts of strangling you. The smell of your breath... your always popping cough drops. of course you MUST have a good voice to interrogate the rest of your patients, right? I get images in my head, badbadbadbadbad thoughts. I get little pictures of me and you, you and me. you and a knife. you and your stupid voice. me hitting you. me screaming at you and demanding you answer me while I ask you WHO. THE. FUCK. COULD. EVER. LOVE. YOU???? someone must. you have pictures of kids on your desk, in little fucking frames. golden, sparkly, sticker covered frames. probably made in a fucking happy-go-lucky kindergarten art class.
and so, the timer dings. my time is up, and we are standing at the door. you have your arm extended to me. what do you want anyways? a handshake? fat chance. I smell blood/cherry cough drop/ lip gloss/ vanilla/ fuckingdammithateshitfuckbitchFUCK
so I leave, and I breath. you always tell me to do breath balloons. breath balloons??? no.its when you take your hands, and pull them apart while you breath in. and when you breah out, you push them back together, like you're blowing up a fucking balloon.
at the sign in desk, I sign out. I say my name one syllabl at a time, like I'm test tasting it. tris-tan. Tristan. Tristan. no, I'm not a boy, so stop genderizing. and no, I don't look like a boy. I'm not a dyke, not a lesbo. I like guys.... or I did like guys. one ruins it for all, right? anyways, yes, I'm a chick. I have black hair that's to fucking long, dark eyes that are to fucking dark, pink lips that are to fucking puffy, and white skin that is to fucking pale. I'm too thin (or not??) I'm to short (5'4) I'm to stupid (high school drop out, sorta.) and hell, I cuss to fucking much.
so before you continue reading, I warn you. you're going to be offended. that's my fucking goal.
