Surviving Cibseption

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Annabelle tapped her heels underneath the grey speckled table and felt the change in her pocket.

A quarter. A nickel. A penny.

She counted them over and over again in her mind.
Quarter, nickel, penny, quarter, nickel, penny, quarter, cib, nickel.

The bright lights made her eyes burn and water and the smell of amonia was overwhelming. Her empty stomach dropped when the blinds on the window of the oak door rattled, as did the door knob. The man with the unruly white hair barely took up space in the doorway and grinned his dentured smile in Annabelle's direction. She wondered how therapists could be nearly blind and so ancient. This dinosaur couldn't really see her, much less who she was.

He plopped down in his cold metal chair, she saw him flinch then focused all of her attention on to his actions. He squinted his eyes and got so close to the handwritten words scribbled on the paper that his pointer nose touched the paper. He sniffed like he was smelling it then adjusted his wide-rimmed glasses.

"Well, Annabelle... you're making tremendous progress."
That's what you think, bucko.

He smiled at her, she could tell it was fake. His shaky old man voice echoed.

He set the worn clipboard down with a slap and folded his hand together. Unfolding them, he itched the part in his hair with his index finger and folded his wrinkling hands again.

"As you know, you've been off the medication for a while. We have conclusive results for the tests and they turned out good, for the most part."

Annabelle willed herself to not suck in a breath as a wave if nausea washed over her. Her legs shook violently.

"You've got to stop drinking, Annabelle." He said after a moment, furrowing his brows in concern.

She wondered how people could so easily pretend to care. How they could put on a show and grins and laugh and cry and be so god damn convincing. She fell for it every time. She grinned weakly, if it was even a grin. It was more like the corners of her mouth twitched once. She scratched the bridge of her nose and then her forearm.

"Annabelle?" His voice was softer than before.

Her eyes flicked up and her gaze would have burned holes, if looks could kill.

"Get help. I don't mean from me. Find someone you can talk to on a more...personal level."

She was taken aback. This old man connecting with the modern generation? Unheard of.

Her head seemed to nod on its own and every atom in her body was buzzing the taste of Cib lingering on them to a molecular scale.