Ten | newtmas

twenty

The next five days go by excruciatingly slowly. Every day is the same. Wake up, breakfast, medication, lunch/group, more medication, dinner, then go to sleep. I write in my journal. I talk to Chuck.

    My mother calls a couple of times, and every time she asks the same questions. I never tell her anything too specific, she doesn't even know about Winston. Just Chuck and my routine.

    Whenever I ask her about herself and my father, she'll stumble over her reply, and it's starting to bother me. Maybe she misses me. Maybe it's something more.

    The majority of the Normals are still quiet. Solemn. Angry. Especially Minho, who'd joined us at breakfast again the day after the incident in group. He's still angry, his mood swings a lot worse than before, according to Chuck.

    As for Thomas, I wouldn't know. Because I haven't seen him since those nurses took him away.

    Whenever I ask Chuck about him, he says it's happened before and that he'll be back soon. But for some reason, his tone is never as convincing as it should be. His panic attacks haven't been helped by the whole ordeal.

    This isn't the description of my week that I give Dr. Janson now, as I sit in front of him.

    "It's been fine," I say, avoiding his gaze. It's technically not a lie, I'm not miserable. Well, not any more than usual.

    "Okay, anything you'd like to point out specifically? I know you and the others have been having a hard time dealing with the loss of one of your friends," Janson says, crossing his legs and leaning forward.

"I feel bad for them," I say. "It's not like we were best friends, I barely knew him. But he was a good kid, and they really cared for him. He didn't deserve what he got."

It's hard not to blame everyone that works here personally. Every time I look at one of the nurses, Dr. Ava Paige, the person that gives us medication, anyone, I hear Thomas' words.

"He didn't, it's a true shame. Sometimes a kid comes in here that can't be helped," Janson says.

    What kind of thing is that to say to a patient? I've already had enough doubts as it is. Winston was a different case, of course. More of a rehabilitation situation. But still, what could he possibly mean by that? Of course he could have been helped. They were in charge of him, and there to do exactly that.

    "D'you know what happened?" I ask, meeting his eyes and trying to sound as casual as I can. "How he overdosed, I mean."

    Janson gives me a prolonged and completely unreadable look that makes my heart start pounding, trying to keep calm before he eventually speaks.

    "The toxicology reports haven't been done yet," he says. "So, no. But that's classified at the moment, Newton."

    I resist my urge to nod, choosing to look away from his eyes. "Alright."

    "Let's talk about you," Janson says, switching the subject quickly. "Have you been writing in the journal?"

"I have, actually."

"That's good to hear," Janson says. "Has it helped?"

    "I guess," I say. Writing things down is nice, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of completely admitting it. "Did you want to read it?"

"Like I told you, it's not being regulated or checked," Janson says. Oh, yeah. So that means I've been holding back for nothing? "Do you want me to?"

"No," I respond too quickly. "I just forgot, sorry."

"Don't apologize," Janson says. "I'd like to ask you some questions, if that's alright."

"Okay."

    "First off, did you ever drink, smoke or do drugs?" Janson asks, squinting his eyes a bit and proving his Rat Man title further.

I shake my head in response as a reflex, wishing I hadn't when I have to keep going to complete the ten. "No, never."

"Did your friends?" Janson asks.

"I s'pose," I say. "They'd go to parties, but I never would. Part of the reason we stopped hanging out."

"Why's that?" Janson asks, as if it's a bad thing to not engage in underage drinking or the usage of illegal drugs.

"It's not legal, and not my thing," I say. "Plus, I could never do that to my parents. They'd kill me."

"Are you afraid of getting in trouble? Or are you afraid of disappointing them?" Janson says.

I have to take a moment to think about my answer. "Both, I guess."

"Do you believe they wouldn't love you if you did those things?" he asks.

"I think they'd still love me, but they wouldn't trust me. Plus, I definitely don't need another rift between my dad and me," I say. Janson raises his eyebrows at the last bit, making me want to scream as I realize my mistake. That's going to open up a can of worms that I don't feel like getting into.

"Another rift? What kind of rift is there?" Janson asks.

"I dunno, we just don't get each other," I say, hoping to move through the topic as quickly as possible. "Isn't that normal? It's not like we're fighting all the time."

"Of course," Janson says, giving me no hint as to what he's actually responding to. "What do you think he doesn't get?"

"I don't know, he just doesn't understand who I am lately. Not that I can blame him, I mean, I don't even understand who I am," I say.

"Does your mother help?" Janson asks.

"She's kinda like our translator. She's the buffer between us, I've got no idea how we would get along without her," I say.

"How long has it been like this? What was your relationship like before?"

"I guess it started when my OCD started," I say. "Before it... I guess we got on well. He'd take me to games, we'd go to the movies together, all of the things you're supposed to do. I even used to give him advice."

"What changed?" Janson asked.

"I don't see what this has to—"

"Don't hold back and keep an open mind, right?" Janson says, the reminder sounding more like a warning.

I take a deep breath and start again. "I got older, I got like this, and he stopped asking."

"Do you miss being close with him?" Janson says.

"Sometimes," I say.

Janson nods, waiting a beat before speaking. "Would you like to arrange a family therapy session?"

I'm immediately conflicted. It sounds great to get to see my parents, but thinking about the reality of talking about all of my problems to them and dragging them into it isn't as appealing. "When would that be?"

"We could make it as soon as two days from now," Janson says. "I believe it could help bring you all closer together."

Against my better judgement, I find myself speaking. "I'll do it, then."