Silent Emotions

7. Aftermath of the party

6 AM

The clock ticks away obnoxiously. Reminding me how slow time is when I beg it to pass quickly. My eyes shift from the clock and back to the old man sitting across from me.

"Well?" He signed, as well as wording it out with his lips. I felt the leather seat underneath my fingertips. The smell of old books wafting up my nose. Sinking all the more into my seat, I stare blankly at the man.

"Nothing," I signed with boredom.

"You have nothing to tell me?" He inquires back. I motioned my fist to knock, "Yes."

"Nothing."

What the hell was I supposed to say? Every week, every month, hell- every damn minute of my life. It all revolves around the stupid car crash. I call it stupid because of it being based purely on coincidence.

It's ridiculous. It's maddening. It's everything I resent.

The car crash wasn't the worst thing that had happened to us. It was what came after it. The side effect of dying is the worst thing. And no one aside from the people who were there that day can justify just how truly shitty everything after is.

"You know I can hold you here for as long as I want. Right?" He forced a smile, though from all the wrinkles on his face, I couldn't quite tell. I leaned back in my chair and sighed. It's true. In order for me to actually attend public school like a normal teen, I'm forced to attend therapy sessions and psychiatric evaluations.

Hilarious really. And to think the whole student population deemed me to be a popular jock. Or maybe it's just plain sad. I have no clue at this point. My humor tends to devolve into self hatred.

I try not to. Really, I do. Even if it's just for everyone's sake. But sometimes I just can't. It's a part of me now. A part of me I can't quite ignore. Despite all my great efforts to seem cheery.

"I'm talking to a girl," I caved in. His caterpillar dying gray brows raise in question. He ponders for a while, then spells out Emma's name. I shook my head and signed, "Jessica."

"Go on," he instructs. I roll my eyes like the brat I am. He knows how difficult I tend to be. More so than I should. Sometimes I do it just to piss him off.

"She's this one girl I remember I met previously at a party. I was drunk off my ass and couldn't stop puking on myself. I remember her helping me. Then I woke up back in my house," I summarized. He nods faintly, scribbling away on his notebook. The notebook he's had for years now. Since I won't cooperate. Why would I want to have this old man to talk to?

I have Emma. She's my person. The person I go to when I'm all dark and twisty. Plus there's Eric who gives me the media I need to distract myself. One time we even blasted music in my car so loud, cops actually knocked on the window. And then there's Sam. His goofy self always acting like he's drunk makes me forget my problems. They're probably the only reason I'm even compliant with anything. The sole reason why I'm even the person I am today. Instead of being all crappy and shitty. Like how this old guy makes me feel.

"Ever since then I guess I had a crush on her. I don't know," I rambled. Trying not to blush. I've never really dated anyone, nor have I really liked someone. So I have no idea what I'm feeling when it comes to Jessica.

"Okay. Do you talk to her in person?" He asks. I shook my head, "She doesn't know how to sign. But she did try to talk to me by writing down on her notebook. It was awkward."

Painfully awkward might I add.

She tried to flirt the whole time. While I didn't know how to respond. Plus Emma, Eric and Sam stupidly hiding behind the book shelves in the library kind of killed it. The idiots even had one of those name tag stickers where you can scribble your name. Except their bright idea was to incorporate sarcasm with it.