Monster of Blue

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

     My eyes nervously glance around the psychiatrist room, noting the curtain drawn windows and the two bookcases that line the wall opposite of the door. A single small fern sits on the dark wooden coffee, separating Mitchell and I from the humming doctor. I dig my nails into the plush red fabric of the loveseat, the anxiety seemingly eating me alive.

     This is not MY doctor. How do we know we can trust this guy? Does he really even have the knowledge to give a correct diagnostic?

      Gazing along the walls I find my answer in the form of framed certifications; though in today's world it'd just be too easy to print one from the web. A big warm hand cradles mine and with tear-rimmed eyes I grudgingly look up at my best friend. His eyes refuse to meet mine.

     "Please don't Shae," he softly whispers, rubbing his thumb up and down the top of my hand in comfort, "You...you need to be here. I don't want this anymore than you do."

      The psychiatrist lets out a low sigh and removes his rectangle-rimmed glasses, pushing them back on top of short cut white hair. Our attention immediately falls away from one another and onto the aged man, my grip on Mitchell's hand tightening in fear.

     "Miss. Gresham," the doctor begins, "There is no guarantee on this, but I believe you may be schizophrenic."

      "No!" I exclaim, the tears hovering in my eyes falling down my face, "I'm clean! I'm clean!" I turn towards Mitchell. "Tell him Mitchell. Tell him he's wrong."

      Mitchell doesn't say a word.

       "Miss. Gresham, please calm down," the doctor states, placing the file on the coffee table, "It's not a guarantee. Just an estimated guess at the moment."

       "A guess?" I harshly retort, "My sanity is a guess? What kind of physiatrist are you?"

       "Shae," Mitchell calls, catching my attention, "Let the man explain himself, ok?" I huff and close my lips into a thin line, tears falling freely down my face as my throat closes up from the stress.

      The doctor clears his throat and with an even voice says, "You've claimed to have been attacked by a man who broke into your house, yet there was no such evidence of a break-in or even an assault on your person. Your friend here has also informed me that you say you saw some, er, blue cookies on your countertop earlier today, correct?"

     I nod.

     "Tell me Miss. Gresham, were you able to touch them? Smell them or taste them?"

      "I-I didn't eat them, but..." my words drag off, my thoughts wondering away.

      Were they real?

       "Please, continue Miss. Gresham?" I glance back up at the doctor, feeling anger begin to boil in my gut at the look of empathy on his face. How dare he!

       "I didn't eat them," I repeat, folding my arms across my chest, "But I could pick them up and smell them. They were real! If you check my trashcan I'm sure they're still there."

      Mitchell and the doctor share a look and I dig my fingers into my arms at the action. "Miss. Gresham," the doctor carefully says, "You're having hallucinations and by the intense look on your face I'm guessing you don't believe my PhD over there either, correct?"

      I narrow my eyes and shrug my shoulders. "Well, no offense, but anyone can print anything off the Internet nowadays."

       "I assure you, dear, those are 100% earned. I can even show you if you so wished."