Monique

The Shrink

Her shrink crosses her legs as she pulls down her violet pencil skirt.

"Hello Monique," She says as she opens her notebook. Monique doesn't reply. She stares at her fingernails. They're starting to get a bit too long for her liking. They are cracked and worn from clawing at the walls at night.

Monique lifts her eyes from her fingers. She hates this place. She can't figure out if it's her shrink or the baby pink walls and the neatly organised furniture. Either way, she's getting agitated. She used to visit shrinks when she was younger. Her parents thought the idea of being able to see John was a joke. They teased her about it and let it pass for four months. Her mum even said he was her guardian angel. After a year had gone by, her parents became "worried." There's a moment where you draw the line between reality and insanity. That's what her parents did. They tried telling her John wasn't real. Of course, she didn't believe them. She could see him.

Monique met her first shrink three days after her eighth birthday. She was nuts. She sounded like some sort of new age spiritual teacher. Monique hated her pink leopard print glasses and crackly laugh. She despised the way she thought she was stupid. She even made fun of John. That crossed the line. No one made fun of John. No one ever made fun of John.

She turned the entire office upside down. The cost of the damage was over twenty thousand dollars. It turns out the furniture was one of a kind.

Monique should have bitten off the shrink's arm instead.

She met her second one a week after her tenth birthday. She was a bitch. Too bad she died of a drug overdose.

Her third shrink was her favourite. Maybe it was because it was a man or he had blue eyes like John? She still can't tell. Or maybe because he was the only one who seemed to understand her. He didn't say she was crazy. No. He immersed himself in her world. He even told her about the friend he had when he was seven. Her name was Lucy but he called her Lucy-Lu. She was Asian with big brown eyes. She always wore her hair in pigtails with red bows attached to the ends to keep them in place. He said her smile shone brighter than the sun and warmed his heart like an overflowing cup of hot chocolate. Monique never got to learn much about her because their meetings were soon terminated. Her parents thought he was unprofessional. He was meant to give them a diagnosis on her "condition" but instead made her fantasies seem real. His license was also terminated. Monique sent him two thousand dollars and some red clip on bows to him via post. Her father never suspected she was the one who took the money from his table. Three weeks later she got a letter in the mail from him saying thanks. Attached to it was the sketch she did of John. He told her to keep it. It was too precious to discard. He even sent her back a bow so she'd always remember him.

John liked him too. He liked to call him Goof. Losing Goof was like losing a life long friend. Monique still has his letter and presents with her in a safe box.

Goof never stopped loving Lucy-Lu. True love never dies.

"So I am told you have an imaginary friend," The shrink says as she looks through her notepad. Monique takes a chewy from her pocket and begins munching on it. It's mint flavour, just how she likes it. It's also John's favourite. "So," The shrink is trying to ignore her rude behaviour. "His name is John?" Monique snorts. Her mum would be appalled. "You've known him for nine years?"

"Check your notes. Shouldn't it be there?" Monique keeps on chewing the gum. She loves the way the flavour seeps through her tongue and teeth. It feels good.

"Based on the information about you, I think it's safe to say you have schizophrenia."

"Fuck you."

"Do you take your pills?"

"Ask my mother."

"Did you take your pills this morning?"

"Do you want to sample my urine?"

The shrink sighs. "I think you need help Monique. You are a danger to not only the people around you, but yourself. You've already attacked your mother and stabbed yourself."

"I'm not going to a fucking asylum. So fuck your diagnosis. I am fine. I feel good. I have friends. I have a life. Unlike you, I don't stay in an office that stinks of lemon air fresher and looks like what is supposed to be a baby's nursery. So screw you."

Monique looks at the clock. Twenty-five minutes to go. She abruptly stands up and walks out slamming the door behind her.