schizophrenia // lee donghyuck

1 - The Misdiagnosis

Trigger warning; suggestions of divorce and family issues, mental disorders, and sexual abuse.
a/n: this'll be the shortest chapter of the book, with approximately 780 words. future chapters will be 3-4x longer.

'-'  indicates thoughts.

please read the disclaimer in description before beginning the book.

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"Good evening, young lady. My name is Dr. Miller. As you can see, I am here in replacement of your usual therapist, who is home sick with a fever."

Slowly shutting the door, I am immediately put on guard with the unfamiliar face occupying the seat where Miss Doctor Patel usually is. I cautiously sit opposite of him, on the uncomfortable couch that I have grown accustomed to from my (many) visits to the therapist.

"So Miss (y/n), I understand that you've been diagnosed with schizophrenia and, uh, violent tendencies?" He asks, reading from the second page of his clipboard. Clearing his throat nervously, he looks up at me.

"Yes, sir."

"All right then. Because we don't know each other very well, I want you to get comfortable with opening up to me. What would you like to talk about first?" He asks intently, while slightly leaning forward, pen in hand and at the ready.

"I don't know."

"Okay, then why don't we start with things about... yourself! You know, just so I can get to know you better?"

He's being a little too personal, but I guess he's nice enough. Although a little off-putting. "Umm, okay, well, nothing much about me. I'm an only child whose parents don't love each other and want to split. It's not a big deal to me though, cause I'm usually here getting "fixed" and don't know the real reason they, uh, want to undo 'I do.' I don't really care, whatever makes them happy. But anyway, no, I don't think I should be here. Of course there is something wrong with me, just not in the way you all think. You're a therapist, though, so I guess you want to hear the 'cool' stuff and not the personal ramblings of a weird teenage girl."

Bewildered, the Doctor hesitates before stuttering, "I- I think we should start with your home situation-"

"I've already told you all the things you need to know. There's nothing more to that." I shoot down that idea quickly. I don't like talking about it. I'm not lying though.

"Okay then, let's talk about the voices. Oh, and your... behaviors."

"Sure." I reply lazily, staring at the cream-colored ceiling.

"Do you hear voices?"

"You could say that."

"Do they make you upset?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you hear them now?"

"No."

The psychiatrist stops writing, checks his watch, and continues writing.
'How much longer do I have with this piece of shit brat?' He thinks.

"About, let's say, 25 minutes, Doc." I respond, half-lidded eyes staring him down with my chin resting in my hand, venom lacing my voice.
'That's a shame, I thought he would be better than that.' I think.

Startled, he looks up from his half-filled out paper. "I beg your pardon?"

"You have to babysit this little 'piece of shit brat' for about 25, hang on, no, 24 more minutes."

"I- I'm sorry Miss, I don't think I'm hearing you right."

'What the hell? Can she read my thoughts?'

"Yes, I can. Now, instead of acting like a fucking high school student whining about a boring lecture, let's stay professional. I don't wanna be here either, but if we're going to be forced to interact, we might as well get something out of it, if not get along. Now do your fucking job, m'kay?"

Quickly, he shoots up from his seat, a look of genuine fear in his eyes. Which is weird by the way, no one has ever really reacted like this before. Granted, not very many people know about my secret.

"You can hear everything I'm thinking?"

"Yeah, pretty much." I suspiciously reply.

"You need to leave. Right now." Eyes frantically looking at everything but me, he scrambles to the door leading out to the hallway and slams it open. "Please go!"

I calmly push myself off of the couch and make my way to the exit.

'Don't think about your daughter. Don't think about what you do to her.'

Stopping in my tracks, my head whips around immediately. Fire in my eyes, and tense hands that are balled up into fists; a thick, scratchy pitch comes from my throat in the form of a gaunt question.

"I'm sorry, Mister Doctor Miller, but what exactly do you do to your daughter?"

His face falls. "Security!"

I grimace and throw my hands around his neck.

"You sick fuck!"