During November

Chapter 7 - Isaac

Chapter 7: Wreak Havoc on the Chaos

There is no grave deep enough to hold my grief for my sister. No ocean large enough to drown my pain. No blade sharp enough to cut through my guilt.

It doesn't get better. It doesn't get easier. Her death is my every thought and no number of drugs or therapy sessions is going to help me. Sitting here and admitting my flaws to a middle aged woman in a sharp, grey suit that acts as though she is some superior being first thing Saturday morning is doing nothing. If anything, it's making me realise just how bad I fucked up.

"Isaac, are you listening to me?" I sit up, leaning back in my chair.

I pause for a moment, evaluating her features. Age lines deeply engraved into her skin, lips drawn into a thin line, light hair tightly pulled back into a professional looking ponytail, narrow eyes framed in thin glasses. "No," I answer simply, voice low, because there is no point in denying that I hadn't been.

The older woman sighs, resting her hands in her lap and bringing her icy blue eyes up to meet mine. "You know that I can't help you if you aren't going to listen," her warm expression contrasts her thin voice and I can see her patience waning.

"Well, I'm listening now," I say flatly. I know how frustrating I'm being, but I don't really care for another therapy session discussing my dead sister. Another hour of going over every detail, every mistake.

The woman purses her lips at me and hesitates a moment before she continues on. "I think it could be beneficial for you to talk about what happened last week."

I flinch. Unconsciously rubbing my wrists. "What- what about last week?" I try to keep my voice devoid of emotions, but it shakes ever so slightly. I know precisely what she's getting at, but I can't relive last week, I can't find myself submerged in a pool of embarrassment and guilt again.

"I think that you should tell me. What exactly happened last week, Isaac?" Her eyes bore into me. I keep my mouth shut, not willing to speak. I avert my gaze from her, staring at the woman's desk piled with books and papers. The office is small, almost claustrophobic, filled with random items scattered around the room. A filing cabinet stands tall and proud against the wall across from me, taunting me, making me wonder what my file says. My vision goes in and out of focus, a misty blur settling over them as I blink away salty tears. "Isaac. I know you are going through a great deal of emotional and physical trauma from the accident, and I understand that, but you need to talk about these things otherwise you're going to keep on finding yourself in... incidents such as last week."

My jaw clenches and unclenches as I struggle to keep my voice even. "What was your name again?" I ask, nostrils flaring. Truth be told, I'm terrified. Terrified to answer her question and find myself back on those gleaming white tiles. Terrified to talk about it. Anger masks my fear as I speak, swallowing back the tears, my throat burning. I don't want to talk about last week because I know that talking about is going to do nothing to help me.

The older woman's eye twitches but she keeps her voice calm. "Dr. Sey."

"Okay, Dr. Sey," I readjust myself on the seat, my elbows resting on my knees, dark hair falling into my eyes, obscuring her view of the fear that is plainly scrawled across my features. "I know that you think talking things through is going to help me, but it's not. I have been through six therapists in the past four months. You're all the same. You think you know me, you fucking don't," my voice dips into an almost growl on the last word as I glare at the woman in front of me.

"You want me talk? Fine, I'll talk. My sister was killed in a car that I was driving while drunk. I thought that I was going to die that night. In fact, I wish I had died that night. I was hospitalised for three weeks. I was discharged, then two weeks later I was back in for attempted suicide. They drugged me up, gave me medication and sent me home a day later with a list of recommended shrinks.

"Last week, I tried to kill myself again. I slit my wrists and almost bled out on the kitchen tiles. I would have if my brother hadn't found me there. Now, what 15 year old boy wants to find their older brother in a crimson pool with a kitchen knife in their hand? None. No one wants to find the person they love, the person they look up to, the person they want to become, dying in any way or form, let alone from a second round of attempted suicide." My breaths are falling heavily from my lips, my seat abandoned as I stand above Dr. Sey, who sits with an infuriatingly calm expression.

"So don't you dare tell me to speak about my past because I have words that your unaffected, unscarred mind could never process, could never understand, and will never have the desire to understand!" a sharp pain bites into my palms, eyes wild and teeth grinding.

"Isaac, sit back down," the nonchalant tone of her voice makes me want to slap her and scream at her again. She almost sounds exasperated.

"I think it would be best if I just left," I turn toward the door, mind racing as I try to calm my breathing.

"Isaac, I said sit down. If you walk out, I guarantee that one day, someone you love, whether it be your younger brother or someone else, is going to find you dead and be in exactly the same position you are in right now. Your family has lost one person, they do not need to lose another. I will not allow you to let your guilt eat you up! If you kill yourself, it becomes a never-ending repetition of death and trauma. You might have escaped death a few times already, but what happens when death becomes of you? If you want your sister's death to completely ruin your life, and before you say it already has, I can tell that the boy you were before her death is still beneath all of that trauma, then please, leave, but if you want to help yourself as well as the people around you, then I suggest you sit back down and talk to me."

I close my eyes, hand brushing the doorknob, the cool metal grazing my fingertips. I consider it, I really do, but the next words that leave Dr Sey's mouth make my blood run cold.

"Isaac, I can help you get better. I can help you forget your pain."

She's right. I know that I'm not doing anyone any favours. I'm not 'getting what I deserve' by beating myself up over Andrea's death. If I want to help myself, if I want to get better, then I can't keep running away from everyone who tries to help me.

But I don't. I don't want to get better. I don't want to forget the pain that I have brought upon myself as a result of that night. I will not allow myself to forget.

I push open the door and walk out of the office.

A/n
The song above is something that you're welcome to listen to, I'm going to be putting a song at the top of every chapter which is optional if you want to listen to it or not.

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