The slow beat of my heart is all I can feel in the calming darkness. It's one of my only comforts since it happened, these little vacations, where only existence ius my heart, beating on despite the trauma. It barely feels like anything happened, but it did. The thought of it floods my senses with things outside; the blanket covering my body, the light seeping through the edges, and the taste of strawberry milkshake in my mouth all exist suddenly. I fall out of my bed and land on the floor with a thud.
"Rachel, are you okay?!" Someone yells, worried. I think it's my mom.
"I'm fine," I manage to get out. My voice is ugly and weak. I hear footsteps hammering up the stairs and stand up in a hurry. My door flies open and I see the lady I live with, the one who thinks I'm her daughter. I still haven't figured out if I am or not.
"Are you okay?" She asks again, more gentle this time. I nod my head and she sighs in relief. "Do you wanna watch a movie? Is there anything I can get you?" Her eyes are blue with a darkness you only find on someone who's been through a horrible tragedy.
"No, Mom, I'm fine. Thank you, though," I say, my voice stronger now. She looks disappointed, as if my lack of request is a lower grade than she wanted on a test.
"Okay, honey. Let me know if you need anything," she says before leaving me, making sure to close the door on her way out. It seems stupid, but the mention of the word 'need' brings a panic to me, one I felt just minutes ago.
'I need you,' I had said. It's hard to believe I actually spoke those words. Maybe I didn't. I'm about to try to sleep when I hear my phone vibrate. I glance over, dreading a text from him. To my relief, it's just a reminder I set to take pout the trash. I sigh and put on my brave face before stepping out of my room and into the unforgiving world. I think it's the first time I've left since everything happened, but I'll be okay. It's only been two weeks. Maybe it was three, I don't know. Whatever.
I make it downstairs and grab the trash bag, which is sitting next to the stairs. After making sure my housemate isn't in the room, I run out of the house. Although it's a small chore that I've done countless times before, it feels like life or death. I'm halfway back to the house when I feel a pair of eyes on me. The hairs on my neck stand up and I whip around to see a girl I've never talked to staring at me. I've seen her around school, but never spoken even a word to her. I can feel her judgement even as she looks away quickly. I rush back into the house and slam the door behind me. My back seems to be pulled to the door like a magnet as I sink to the ground and bury my face in my hands.
"Rachel, did you go outside?" My housemate asks from another room.
I try to answer, but all that comes out is a noise that makes it sound like I'm dying, which I probably am. Why did I do that? I should have known I'm not ready for other people, but when will I be ready? I know I have to be eventually, but I can't imagine being like I used to be, acting like I used to act, thinking like I used to think. I think I fall asleep, because the next thing I know, I'm in my bed. I reach out to grab my phone and see that the woman who says she's my mom has texted me. I have her in my phone as her first name, Katie.Rachel, you have a meeting with Dr. Pilkow at 5:30 tomorrow afternoon. I know you don't want to go, but please try. Can you be showered and dressed by 5? Thanks? We can get milkshakes after.
I put my phone down and sigh. I knew this was coming. I guess I'll try to relax for the rest of the day and worry about my appointment later. I close my eyes and picture a rope lying on the floor. Unable to open my eyes, I force my mind to show me something else, some other image that will stop me from thinking about the appointment. Will the doctor ask a lot of questions? I hope not, but when have my hopes ever mattered? After imagining the appointment for what feels like just a few minus, I check my phone to see that it's 4:30.
Shit.
Within no time I'm in the shower, cleaning what hasn't been cleaned in almost a month. Dirt falls from my unwashed skin, even though other than the one time recently, I haven't gone outside. My shower is warm like my bed. It reminds me of sleeping, which makes me laugh a little before realizing that I'm not funny and that laughing at my own thought is kind of narcissistic, which I'm extremely far away from being. I finish up my shower and get dressed. Instead of wearing something nice, I throw on a dark purple shirt that says 'PURPLE' in big, black letters and a pair of jeans. I check the time and see that it's 5:02. I'm probably in so much trouble. I run out of the bathroom and go to the front door in a matter of seconds. I get my shoes on and run outside to see that Katie is just pulling into the driveway.
The drive there is silent. I thought that I was content with the fact that I had to go, but apparently not, because the anger radiating from the passenger seat is enough to kill someone.
We pull into the parking lot, which is empty. Each step feels like a death sentence. Tweet, tweet. Some birds are sitting on a branch, seemingly laughing at me. I guess they could also be announcing my situation to the world, which is even worse. I step into the building first and Katie comes right behind me. We sit in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs for a few seconds before a stern voice calls us from the other aide of a closed door. We step inside and see a lady dressed nicely. She has short, dark brown hair and green eyes. She looks about forty years old.
"I'm not going to waste your time. My name is Doctor Pilkow and I'm here to help you. Why don't you start with the beginning of your story, Rachel?" Her voice is cold and I can tell that she doesn't wasn't to help me, she just wants to judge me.
I hold back a sigh and start to explain.
YOU ARE READING
Milkshakes
RomanceRachel is scarred. As she tries to heal from a traumatic experience, she's forced to explain what happened to Dr. Pilkow, a therapist who Rachel can't stand. As Rachel's life crumples around her, she has very few comforts, one of which is milkshakes.