The Butterfly Effect (Rewritten)

Chapter Thirteen - Recovery

It didn't matter if I felt okay. My mind had other ideas. When the human brain experiences a psychological trauma, it doesn't bounce back with the snap of your fingers. It needs time to heal, and I wasn't giving myself the time I needed. I wanted to return to normalcy.

After my release from the hospital, I rested at home for a couple of days, but then I had enough. I wanted to live. I was alive! I wanted to start acting like it. My mom offered to take me shopping as a start. Although I already knew about her pregnancy, my mom didn't know about it yet. For the moment, I decided to let it be, but I couldn't keep the thought of my future brother at bay. Things would be different now that I was alive, wouldn't they? My curiosity got the better of me as we browsed.

"Hey Mom, do you think you'll ever have more kids?" I prodded. "I mean, now that you and Dad are working things out, I started to wonder."

"What for? I have you and your sister. Besides, there's a lot of making up I have to do. I haven't been the best mother lately."

"It's okay, Mom. You and Dad deserve happiness, wherever it comes from."

"It comes from my family now," she said with a fond smile.

My mom and I were scouring through the racks when I found a pair of jeans that I liked, but in a brand I hadn't worn before.

"I'm going to go try these on." I held up the pants for my mom to see.

"Ooh, those are nice."

The sale's associate desk next to the changing rooms was empty. I peeked my head around the corner to find a couple of stalls open. With a shrug, I figured no one would mind. I slid the lock closed and hung the jeans on a hook. My hands found the button of my pants as I turned around to face the mirror. It felt like all the blood within my body had turned to ice when I saw my reflection. In the mirror my eyes were black depths.

"No... you're not real." I squeezed my eyes shut, but the Suicide demon remained.

She grinned. "I'm alive."

A sharp pain burst in my chest. I looked down to find the demon blade lodged into my heart. I opened my mouth to scream, but only strangled gasps came out. Black stars appeared in my vision. I staggered back and sunk down the dressing room wall. I could see Suicide in the mirror laughing at me as I clutched at my chest, unable to grasp the blade. I heard pounding outside and saw the door shaking. I wanted to sprint from the room, but my limbs were locked.

"Emory! Emory!"

My mom's face appeared in front of mine, only her eyes screamed fear.

"Mom?" Recalling the blade, I scrambled to feel at my chest.

The knife was gone and my clothes were free of blood. My eyes flashed to the mirror. No demons.

"Emory?" My mom asked, her face pinched with worry.

I couldn't hold back the tears. We held each other as I cried. Even when a panicked pack of workers found us, my mom refused to let me go. She held my shattered resolve, my broken pieces together and helped me to stand. What's happening to me? My tear-stained reflection held no answers.

I had my first therapy session scheduled the following week. Regardless of the dressing room episode, I had to attend no matter what - doctor's orders. But that didn't mean I had to tell the truth.

"Your parents are very concerned about you, particularly your mother."

Dr. Vineyard, a late twenty-something that looked fresh out of college, had taken on my case.