Shorts

Artificial Pills & Sleepy Eyes

"You need to go and you know it." She slides a small glass of water and the lid of a pill bottle filled with inefficient prescriptions used to numb my thoughts across the table. My eyes feel tired. When I'm numb I feel cleaner. I feel more alive but I know I'm quickly dissipating. But it stops me from seeing them and that's enough to make me down the pill bottle lid like a shot glass and second them with water. "Thank you." She says.
"It's just making me feel worse." I say, not breaking eye contact with the glass. "You'll be better soon."
I sigh. "No I won't." I begin to stammer another sentence when she interrupts me,"Enough with the pity party." Her voice is stern. We sit in silence. I stand up and leave, letting the screen door creak loudly behind me.
The musky afternoon fog swiped by my face. I put my hands in my pockets. I walk down the driveway and through the neighbor's broken fence. I take the short cut to the main road, not second guessing the zombie man that shows up standing in the same position on every other street I pass. He groans sometimes, sometimes he doesn't.
Before I turn from the last street I stop and stare at the zombie man in the middle of the street. I try to mimic his stance, and his groan. This goes on for 10 seconds as a kid walks outside with a dog.
I walk into the heated gas station and buy a sprite and snickers bar, I set it on the counter and Chase greets me with the familiar "How's it goin' Bre?" I smile and at him and tell him my rating of my emotions 1-10 (1 being the worst, 10 being the best. I've only used 10 once.) "Why 4?" He asks, raising his eyebrow. I shrug and pull out a 5 dollar bill from my wallet. He hands me the change and doesn't bother asking if I want a bag because I've always said no. I stuff the bar into my hoodie pocket and open the can of sprite when I walk out. "Later, Bre." He yells as the door slides shut. Some times I feel bad for never yelling back, so I walk to the big window his cash register is by and wave a small wave at him. He smiles. Only him.

I make it to the parking lot of my psychiatrists office when the pure white girl with no hair asks why I'm here. I shrug without turning my head to look at her. I know what she looks like. I hear her whisper and then she walks off into the middle of the main road. I stare at the outside of the office. I walk passed the small building to the back doors and walk in. 
Mrs. Janel acts as if she is surprised to see me. She stands up from her desk. "Chose the back doors today?" She smiles.
I walk to the front of her desk and pull the folded piece of paper from my back jean pocket and unfold it. I drop it on her desk and turn to sit in the lonesome chair across from her desk.
The silence surrounds us like air as she reads the long note and I begin to breathe it in like oxygen.
She hesitates. "What's this?"
"I'm thinking about leaving." I tell her quickly.
"Where to?"
"Not sure yet." I stand up and walk to a me sized map on her wall as the zombie man that stands in the corner groaning and moaning finally leaves through the door. I watch him. I'm hoping the medicine is kicking in. "What are you doing?" She says.
I look back to the map. I take a pen off of her desk and draw a star by different places I want to go, the bigger the star the bigger the wish. She smiles. "Barcelona? Why there?" I shrug. "Seems lively." I say staring at the map. "Toronto? I went there a couple years back with my family-"
I sit back down forgetting the map. I click the pen slowly. She stops talking.
"How are you feeling today?" She says pulling out my folder from her drawer and writing the date on it. September 12th, 1991.
"I want to leave this spirit." I say sadly.
"What spirit?" She questions as she writes. She looks up at me.
I point to my chest. She stares. She writes. I stand up to leave. I walk to the back door. "Where are you going?" She stands up and watches me. "I'm leaving."
"Why?"
"This is wasting time."
"Sit down please, Bre. Don't be like this today."
"No. Tell me how this is bettering me. Trapping me in this small old room 4 times a week is doing nothing but giving them more time to find me." I open the door.
"No, you're safe here. Please sit down."
I leave. She doesn't stop me. A minute later my mom is calling my phone.
"Yeah?"
"Why do you do this every time? You know we are doing nothing but our absolute best to help you, and all you can do is bail. You are being so selfish."
Silence from my end.
"Breana?"
Silence.
"Love you, mom. I'll be home before dark." I hang up.