Gone (Ianthony)

Three Months, Four Days, and Three Hours Before

Ian:     

"You have to answer the question, Ian. At least give me something."    

I didn't look up at Dr. Hammond, even though that's probably when I was supposed to. I continued staring at the desk behind him, where he had a jar of obviously-artificaial flowers, some books, and slips of paper that would eventually turn into perscriptions for my fellow mental patients.

"What was the question?"

"That's the third time you've asked that."

I finally met Dr. Hammond's eyes. He leaned forward in his chair, his thick eyebrows plastered higher up on his face than they should be. His dark eyes eyed me over the rim of his glasses, and that was the first time I noticed the little oval mole right before his invisible hairline.

"Alright, fine." I leaned back. "The Situation. What about it?"

"How did you feel when you saw it happen?"

My eyes drifted back to his desk. I wondered why he had artifical flowers and not real ones. Are flowers expensive? I hadn't bought anyone flowers in five months, and I really couldn't remember how much a simple bouquet cost.

"Well, I felt pretty god damn shitty."

"Language, Ian."

"Fine. I felt pretty gosh darn crappy."

"Much better."    

This is stupid. Therapists are stupid. People are stupid.

"Can you go through the whole scene for me one more time?"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Ian."

I felt like a child. I wanted to go home.

"What more is there to 'go through?' I've already told too many people."

"Who?"

"You, Anthony, the cops, Dr. Paxon, my other therapists..."

"But, you are aware that us therapists are legally unable to share any of the information we discuss in session with anyone, correct?"

"Yeah, I know."

Dr. Hammond smiled. His teeth were really white. I wished mine were that white.

"Ian, you can trust me. Please tell me what happened, in full detail, one more time, and then I guarantee you will never have to talk about it with me again."

"I don't understand how these sessions are supposed to make me feel better but all they do is make me talk about what's causing all my problems."

"Ian." Dr. Hammond took off his glasses. "I promise. Last time."

I sighed. One last time. I can talk about it one more time. To him, at least. Then, I'll have to explain everything to a dozen other future therapists after this one can't deal with me anymore.

"Well, fine. I was walking. And it was really dark and kinda cold. And I got a text from her saying she was outside waiting, and I smiled because I hadn't seen her in a few weeks and I had flowers in my hand."

My eyes shifted to his desk. 

"The same kind as those. Whatever kind they are. But they were real. I bought them at some new little shop downtown."

"Chrysanthemums?"

"Yeah. Sure. Chrysanthemuns. Whatever."

I sighed. I could do this without breaking down. I'd done it before.