Milo's Mild

The End

"Now, can you see why I don't understand why she stopped talking to me doc',"
I said. 
I was sitting in a brown leather chair.  The leather was cold under me; probably because I had only been in that appointment for a few minutes.  My doctor was sitting across from me in a similar chair.  She had a brown, woven turtleneck on.  Her medium brown hair was in a loose top bun with two strands of hair dangling next to her face.  She was wearing  black leggings with light brown flats.  She had her legs crossed and she was holding clipboard with some papers on it. 
"Okay Milo, you know none of this happen." she stated with no emotion.
"Wha-what, what are you talking about.  It did happen.  Why don't you believe me?"  I whimpered.
"It's not that I don't want.  It's just.."  she said looking down.
"What, what is it?!" I said raising my voice with a few tears falling down my cheeks.
"It just never happened, because you were in a hospital.  Remember?"  She spoke looking back up.
"No." I protested.
"Well, you were in a hospital.  By the way," she added putting her hand on mine that was on my knee, "Ivan isn't real."
"What the Hell are you talking about." I screamed with tears pouring down my face.
"Milo calm down.  Her look at this," she held out a small brown notebook. 
"Wha-what is that for?" I sniffled wiping the tears away.
"It's for you to write down you thoughts," she said handing me the book, " why don't you write down your stor- memory that you just told me."
She handed me her pen.  It was warm from her holding it.  I began to write.
It all began when I was fifteen.