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Chapter 6

"Thanks, Carter," his words are soft and tumble from his beautiful lips.

"Do you want to talk about your past?" I ask. Trying to make my words as caring as I can muster, because I'm quite frankly a hard spoken woman, I do not take pity, or apologise for someone else's wrong doing, but somehow I forget about this when I'm talking to Ashton. I build a wall, because I remember the times where there was no wall to protect me, and it hurts. So if I'm cold to people and don't let them in, I'm untouchable. And if I'm untouchable they can't hurt me, and I can't hurt them. This wall has caused me to loose some of my dear friends and most of my family. But I try to push out the memories of that dark period of my life.

"I'm not ready," he tells me looking away.

"That's fine," I smile at him. "Where are you going to go today?" I ask him.

"I don't know if I can be honest," he says as he rests his head in his hands.

I still didn't know Ashton that well and I don't know if I'm comfortable with him alone in my apartment.

"If you want you can wait in reception until I'm done here I only have Erin and Oliver then I'm done. So only about two more hours." I suggest to him. He thinks about it for about a minute or so.

"No I'll go out, I'll meet you back here and walk you home in two hours." He says firmly.

"Okay," I say looking through my folder, and run my finger down to Erin's name.

"Bye, Cart." He waves walking out.

I chew on the end of my pen for a while, clicking it in between my teeth. In deep thought about the mystery that is Ashton.

In a short ten minutes Erin walks in, she is a dark skinned beautiful girl who at the age of 15 has attempted suicide three times. People like her make me realise how cruel this world can be. She did not deserve to be treated the way she was, just because of a skin tone. And the world did not make rational abusive comments, for it was the people who inhabited the world, they are what we call society. And as much as we go on about how bad our society is and how bad our generation is, we have to realise we are society, and this is our generation.

I work with her for an hour before I leave for lunch.

Lunch is boring, I sit by myself in an arm chair by the window, I can see at least 10 floors down from where I sit, I can see the construction work going on just across the road, I can see families in the park, and I can see couples walking side by side. Oh how I long for a relationship like that, but I'm too broken, how can anyone love some like me? Someone who is constantly unhappy and self conscious. I read that men like strong, confident women, in a magazine once, and I am neither.

So instead of going out and getting shot down. I read about love, and I read about perfect lives, and the only way I can get hurt doing this is when I get a paper cut.

Lunch passes quickly as I became completely engulfed in a beautiful love story.

I walk through the halls of the clinic, passing nurses and patients.

When I explain to people that I work at a mental health clinic they automatically think I work with psychopaths. And a lot of the time they get scared when I mention the word 'mental'. The word is thrown about being used to describe a crazy or mad person, but all it means is inside your head.

Depression. In your head.

Anxiety. In your head.

OCD. In your head.

Anorexia/bulimia. In your head.

And although self inflicted pain is shown on the outside, the most significant damage is on the inside, inside your head.