Call Me Ashleigh

Chapter 5:

CHAPTER 5:

That letter left my head spinning and my heart in pieces. I had no idea why it hurt so much, hadn't people dumped me before? Like those girls who pretended to be my friends, only to turn against me later? That had stung. A lot. But not as bad as this. I figured it was because I cared for Amanda so much, that was why it was so painful. And maybe because she had insulted me a bit. I was not childish and naive! And I did not need to see a psychiatrist, I was NOT a mental patient. I felt angry with her, but I knew that if she were to appear right there and then I'd come crawling back to her, begging for our friendship back.

Weakling.

Maybe I was a weakling.

I got sick. My body was weak, said the doctor, which I took as an insult.

I cried a lot. My friends forced me to see the school counsellor, which I took as another insult. I DID NOT have 'problems'.

But since I had nothing better to do, now that Amanda technically wasn't in my life anymore, I went. How bad could a counsellor be anyway?

Very, very bad.

~~~~~~~~

I surveyed the lady in front of me skeptically. She was average sized, her shoulder-length hair done in thousands of tiny curls. She looked old, despite the makeup caked on her face and her brightly coloured clothes. Her teeth, I noticed, were yellowed, some blackened, and some even missing. Her smile was friendly but slightly off-putting. I began to have second thoughts about sharing with her.

But I took a deep breath and plunged into it anyway. The whole story took about two hours or so since I squeezed everything, down to the tiniest little detail in, but she seemed patient enough with my rambling ways. All the while, the nib of her pen was busily scratching away on the notepad she was holding. I eyed her warily, hoping she'd keep my information confidential. I didn't like counsellors much, and I saw no particular reason to trust her.

At the end of my story, I looked up at her in both anticipation and a sort of fear. I didn't see any way anyone could help me out of this situation, so I was sort of testing her to see how she good she was at her job. But yet I felt vulnerable, as if I'd just given her a gun that she could kill me with if she chose to.

She looked thoughtfully at her notepad for a while, making clicking noises with her tongue. I wasn't sure whether it meant something, or if the noises were merely a habit. So I stared down at the carpet in silence.

Worried anticipation grew inside me, and I fidgeted impatiently in my seat. My eyes darted round nervously at the room around me. It was a cosy little room, with colourful furniture and a patterned wallpaper. But now the light was harsh, the furniture garish, and the walls seemed to be closing in on me. It was all so scary, like something out of a horror movie.

There was that worrying thought once more, emerging from that corner of my mind I had so carefully buried it in. But I shoved it aside, mentally chiding myself for it.

She lifted her head suddenly, startling me. I jumped, and she reached out a hand to steady me. Her hand was cold and clammy, and I cringed at her touch. Horror movie theme, all right.

Her smile stretched wider and more forced. I shuddered. This lady was beginning to give me a serious case of the creeps.

At that moment, when I thought things couldn't get scarier, they did. The dreaded words at the back of my mind resurfaced again, this time crawling out of the counsellor's open mouth.

"Honey, I think you have a crush on her."

That was when I wished it all was really just a horror movie.