The Beginning of the End

XI.

"In other words, Justin-Trent, I'm diagnosing you with anxiety disorder. To get things started—" started the words of Dr. Heathens, a young mental health specialist that I'd grown accustomed to the past few months. As March started coming around, I started undergoing tests with her, and I'm guessing that's where she was able to figure out my diagnosis.

I almost tried to act surprised because I already had been knowing something was wrong with me for a long time.

"Oh. Really?" I muttered. Dr. Heathens merely chuckled.

"As you know, your birthday isn't for another month. Since you aren't 18 yet, I'll need to go over some protocol with your mother here with us. She's here, right?" she inquired, long finger tapping at her sketchpad that she carried around with her.

"Uh, yeah she's here. I can go get her if you want. Only if you want," I stated in an effort to stall. It made no use in the end, for the three of us were seated in the fairly dark and scarlet-covered room. The repetitive drawl of Dr. Heathen's voice made me drowsy but awoke when the sound of the word "medicine" made its way into the conversation. 

"Medicine?" I nearly screamed. My mother shivered out of fear.

"Yes, JT, medicine. I'm going to prescribe a benzodiazepine for you to take, and it'll really help calm you. The instructions are fairly clear on the label," she muttered, handing the orange medicine container over to me. Neat and clear, I read the confusing medicine name and the instructions listed on it.

"So, I'm guessing I need to be careful with these just so I don't accidentally kill myself through overdose." Dr. Heathens nodded furiously.

My mom and I were out of there about fifteen minutes later. Taking a seat facing the wall, I sat behind a girl who sat there shivering like crazy. Our backs were to each other, so I hadn't seen her face.

"Yes, his name is JT," I heard my mom say a few feet at the receptionist's desk. I kept fingering with the medication container in my hands. Taking notice of my nimble fingers, connecting to my palm, which was connected to my fairly muscular and veiny forearms and biceps...

"F-Florence," muttered the girl behind me.

Only then did I fully stop and process what she had to say.

Florence. Our Florence. My Florence.

I turned around, recognizing the wave of black hair.

Dinah.

"Holy shit, Dinah. Dinah, is that you?" I asked. As it was her, Dinah turned around, eyes brimming with a crapload of tears.

"Oh. JT. I... I haven't seen you in such a long time," she softly stated, pulling her hair into a ponytail. "How have... How have you been?"

She spoke in almost a monotonous voice. It seemed oddly depressing and creepy whenever she attempted to say something.

"Don't worry about me. Just anxiety and the sort. Why—" I started before my mom waved at me to go with her.

"Mom, a second? I'll be there in just fifteen minutes, promise." She walked away a little bit upset, but I could have cared less in that moment.

"As I was saying, how are you?" I asked Dinah once more.

It looked as if she could have murdered me. I saw her fingers coil into fists, paling as she dug her fingernails into her palms.

"Crappy, JT. Having to deal with Florence's death after that whole fallout in the school halls that one day. Losing my closest friend, Heather, and then coming out and—"