Feathers

Fallen Angel

Fallen Angel

Peter stood in the doorway of a small office. Had he come to the right place? Surely he wasn’t the only one in his class. Lucy sat in an uncomfortable looking blue chair that creaked under her weight and her thighs spilled out from, teary-eyed, in the office next door, along with two other students. He heard heels clicking down the hallway, and an uptight, professional woman in a red pencil skirt and a matching blazer approached him.

“Mr. Deadman?” She asked, looking him up and down. He nodded, and she motioned him inside the office. She looked at the papers on her desk, which seemed to be about Peter. After a few minutes, she looked back up at him and held out her hand, “I’m Dr. Avaline Clarke, the headmaster’s wife. I will be your specialty teacher for the rest of your education here at the academy. If you have any problems, you will first report to me before going anywhere else. The nurse, headmaster, detention… many areas of the school have limited access where you must have a pass signed and approved by your specialty teacher. Do you understand?”

Peter nodded. His mind began to realize how tired he was as he drifted in concentration and began to think of his warm bed back home. This was his fault he was here. He should have tried harder to get better. If only he’d tried harder to get out of his bed, then maybe Mrs. Carlson would actually believe he could manage himself.

“You seem distracted,” Mrs. Clarke said. “What’s on your mind?” Peter instantly stiffened up. She had no right to try and pick his thoughts apart and decode him. No. He’d had enough of that in his lifetime. This stranger was not allowed to know him. He remained silent, angry at her for trying to pry within the first two minutes of their meeting each other. She pursed her lips and looked down at her papers, disappointed. “If you want to get better, you’re going to have to talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” Peter replied, even though he wasn’t. He never felt fine. He didn’t remember what happiness felt like, if he’d ever even felt the emotion. He felt sick and wanted to sleep the feeling away, but it was always still there when he woke up. The exhaustion, the self-hatred, the lack of inspiration and the inability to enjoy anything he did. He wanted to escape the demons in his head and be the angel Olivia thought him to be, but he’d fallen so many times he was sure he’d never be able to get back up.

“No, you aren’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Now, Peter, tell me about yourself.” Peter didn’t respond. He continued to think about how the situation was hopeless and he’d never get to see Mrs. Carlson again, and Olivia was going to hate him once she really knew who he was, and about how many times he’d failed the both of them. He began trying to formulate a plan to get away. There were scissors on the desk, and a window about five feet behind the woman. He could break it with the chair he was sitting in. But then he remembered he couldn’t get very far. If he made it to the ground alive, since his wings couldn’t save him from the two story fall, he’d still be stuck at the gate again. Peter felt claustrophobic for the first time since he’d left the Institution. There was no escape. Running would only make things worse. Punishment. “I have two hours to get something out of you,” Mrs. Clarke said. “I want to help you. I’m very interested in you. Please, answer some questions.” She tried to say with a soothing, coaxing voice, but Peter was not convinced. He’d been hearing that voice for a long time. It only made him seem less human and more of a dog whose owner was trying to get it to take medicine. “Okay, you know what? We’re going to try something. Maybe then you’ll talk to me. We’re going to take you off of your medications so we can more properly assess your psychological situation. Then we will adjust your medications and treat you from there. I don’t believe the psychiatrist you’ve been seeing was correct in your dosing.  We’ll try it for a week and see what happens.”

“No,” Peter said. “Please no.” He couldn’t stop taking them. He didn’t want to go back to being the way he was without them. The delusions and guilt, the sadness and wish for death- he couldn’t.