Falling Colors

Chapter Twenty-Five: Depression According to Cleo Patricks

     “She’s been here for a month and she hasn’t uttered a single word!” my dad whisper-yelled to Cleo.  He had been whispering the whole half-hour we had been there as if I couldn’t hear him from my spot not even six feet away.

      My dad had called and made an appointment with Cleo an hour before my Wednesday session.  He was starting to feel like this was a waste of time, or at least that’s what he had said on the way over here.  I think the real reason was Leigh had found me crying in my room and he was thinking Cleo was doing something wrong, which she wasn’t. 

        “It is a progress, Mr. Green,” Cleo drawled, leaning farther back in her office chair.  “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

        My dad took a deep breath and rubbed his tired eyes, a habit he’d picked up only five months before.

        “I understand,” he answered, “but she hasn’t made any progress at all here.  I was promised results by you and Dr. Jacks.”

       “In all due respect, may I remind you that you aren’t paying me?” she said quizzically. “You can leave the program if you want to.”

      He stared at her for a moment, his lips quivering; words perched at the tip of his tongue.  Taking a deep breath he shook his head.  “We’ll stay until the end of the year.”

       “Good,” Cleo said smugly.  “I think some progress will be happening real soon.”

        My dad gave an uncertain look, but didn’t say anything more about it.  “Is it okay if I leave Odette here even though the meeting doesn’t start for another half-hour? I really need to get to work.”

       “Not a problem.” She nodded.  “Me and Odette can get to know each other on a one-on-one level.”

      Giving a forced nod to Cleo, he then turned to me and pecked my forehead with a kiss and hurried out of the building before he would think better of not saying anything.

      And then there were two…

      Cleo tapped a random beat on her desk and added more sound effects with her mouth. 

       I stood, trying to ignore what Cleo was doing, but the more I ignored it the more I heard it; the pounding, the whistling, and the “bum bum bum”. 

      “Ha! I knew I could get ya!” she shouted gleefully.  “No one can deny the great work of Queen and David Bowie.”

       I gave her a confused look not having any idea what she was talking about. 

        “You were tapping your hand along to “Under Pressure” by Queen and David Bowie.  Great song, right?” she beamed.

        Giving a blank stare at Cleo as she hummed triumphantly to her, I cautiously walked over to her desk and took a seat in one of the guest chairs. 

        I felt the all too familiar feeling of when I was in Dr. Jacks’ office sitting across from her at her desk.  The feeling of my gaze going blank and my mind wandering off came back instantly and soon I tuned Cleo out.

       Cleo stared at me from across the desk, with an intent look on her face.  It broke my concentration of keeping my gaze blank and soon I was meeting her stare and looking away every now and then feeling uncomfortable with the eye-contact.

       “You know, picking at your fingers like that is a sign of discomfort and anxiety?” she commented, motioning to my hands.

        Looking down I saw my fingers picking at the red scabs that used to be my cuticles.  Fresh blood was oozing out from under the scabs and a slight burning sensation filled my fingers.  I fisted my hand, my nails cutting into my palm.