My Psychiatrist III

Part 2

It has been three days. And I'm getting sick of it.

My parents visit me every day, bringing along pictures of their house. Technically, our house. They also bring pictures of our old dog in Sydney - she seems very cute - and other pictures of my old friends in high school - they also seem nice. Pictures of family, pictures of myself from a couple of years ago. I figured my hair looked awful when I was around 14, 15 years old. Too short and weird and poofy and ugly curls. Yuck, haha. The longer hair suits me better, apparently. I remember Luke talking about it one day... he really liked it, and it looked gorgeous with my face, he said. 

The pictures are very nice and all. But all my parents' complaining.... their tears, their grief or sudden happiness, I don't know what to do with it. 

I figured I'm an 18 - year old girl from Sydney. I'm single - phew, considering the kisses I shared with Luke - and I just moved to Toronto in March. That's about four months ago... And I cannot remember anything about it. I assume I had a depression when I was younger; there aren't many pictures where I look truly happy, to be fair. I had a talent for being rude to my parents and to school teachers, I heard. Very interesting. I hated pink but loved pastell-coloured tees. Understandable.

And apparently I've been a city girl all my life. Luke would hate me for that. Oh, how I missed him...

It has been four days. Why no-one is letting me out of hospital is still a big question to me. Apparently my brain damage can become critical and the nurses and doctors are afraid that I will fall back into another coma if I pick up life too fast. 

'Good morning darling,' my mum greeted me. She looked better every day, her hair brushed neatly and her olive-green dress matching her skin. 

'You look better today,' I say. A smile appears on her lips. She is alone today, my dad, Thomas, probably had to go to the office or something like that. 

'Thank you gorgeous. I brought you some new pictures and newspaper today.'

'Thanks.' Of my two parents, I preferred my mum over my dad. My dad seemed a little.... tunnel-vision like. As if there was only one way, and that was his. He was a real businessman, I heard. But apparently also a good father. I had no clue. 'Can I have the newspaper?'

'Sure,' she smiles, handing one over to me. 'Just ignore the front page baby.'

Baby.... that was what Luke used to call me. Before he knew my name. 

The front page of the newspaper is covered in pictures of - surprisingly - me again. 

'Tess Black's Ashton Irwin batteling with depression' the headliner announced. 

'Ah, I dislike this title,' I mumble. 'It sounds mean.'

'It's about you...' my mum sighed before taking a sip of her tea and looking away.

'No, about Ashton Irwin apparently.' I say, flipping the page, looking at the other side of the paper. A picture of a curly headed, happy young man greets me. He has a slightly curved nose, gorgeous face shape and golden-brown eyes which make me look at them a littl ebit longer that appropiate. I have to admit, he's gorgeous.

'What are you looking at?' my mum asks before she bands over my shoulder and looks at the paper I'm holding in my hands. 'Oh the poor bloke... He must have such a hard time.' 

'Who?' I ask.

'Ashton.' She takes another sip of her tea.

'Who was he again?' I ask after a while.

My mum looks up at me before placing her teacup on my nightstand and taking my two hands. Her hands are soft; long, thin fingers; warm hands. 

'He was your psychologist darling. Ashton is the one you had the accident with on the 21st of May.'

'Oh.' I just say. 'Did he fall down too?'

My mum smiles before shaking her head. 

'No baby. His kayak got stuck between two rocks, about fifty feet from the edge of the falls. He was saved by some tourists and the firefighters.'

I just take a deep breath, before a weird feeling gives me goosebumps all over. All of a sudden, I feel very cold and I start to shiver. 'Do you need an extra blanket?' my mum asks. I just nod my head in response. 'He saw.... he saw you fall though.' My mum then says. 

I look at her. Tears in her eyes. I'm blank. Just cold, but not emotional.

I look down at the newspaper again. The picture of Ashton Irwin. He's wearing a turquoise polo shirt, the word  ''Serium'' embroided on the left side of his chest on the shirt with a curly font. I feel like I've heard the word before, but I truly have no clue where. He seems like a sweet guy, if I look at his eyes and smile.

Day five. I close my eyes before wrapping my arms around a pillow. It's about 3PM, but I've got nothing to do, so I just decide to go to sleep. Just when I feel my head start to spin before I drift asleep, I hear the door being opened. I open an eye and see a big shadow; same height as my dad, but different shoulders - broader and more masculine - enter the room. He closes the door behind me. Who was this? Someone who got the wrong room? 

But quite the opposite from expected happens. The guy walks towards me, as if he's dedicated to do something. And he sure his. He bends over and kisses my cheek. I remain silent, acting as if I'm asleep, and when I open one eye carefully, I see him sit down on the stool next to my bed. The room is suprisingly dark with the closed curtains, I cannot see anything of the guys face.

'Who are you,' I whisper.

'Hey...' the person answers. It's a male voice.

'Who are you dude,' I whisper again.

He stays silent.

'What was the kiss for?' I ask again.

The guy shrugs. He goes with his hand through his hair and adjusts the hood of his jacket, which he has pulled over most of his hair. I still almost can't see a thing. 

'I just can't believe it's really you, Tess...' he whispers after a while.

His accent. Wait, what? It sounds like my accent. Apparently it's Australian.

'Are you an Aussie guy?' I ask. 'Your accent sounds super familiar. Like mine.'

I hear him let out a quick exhale through his nose before he nods. 

'That's what you said the first time you met me. I'm Aussie, yes, actually... we lived a city away from eachother back in Sydney.'

I frown and close my eyes for a second. Whó is he?

'Are you like an Australian friend of me or something?'

'Haha, you can call me that...' he says. 

I open my eyes and sit up on my elbow. I frown again. 

'Let me see your face,' I say. 

'Are you sure?' he asks, a hint of stress in his tone. 

I just nod my head and make a gesture with my hand.

'Come on.'

With that, he lifts his hood from his hair and turns the light on which is next to my bed.

A fairly round face - with a beautiful jaw - greets me. A very serious face. Folded hands, toes pointing towards eachother. His back is slightly round and he bows a little forward in my direction. He seems nervous. 

He has curly, brown hair, and a similar colour eyes, hazel. A slight curved nose, and a face that looks very symmetrical and even. He could be a model. 

His big eyes meet mine. Hazel with golden and green specks. 

'You're the guy from the newspaper'.

'You saw me in there?'

I just shrug and pout my lips, making a 'mhmmm' sound whilst nodding.

A little smile appears on his lips, but it fades as quickly as it came. 

I suddenly feel a massive wave of empathy and weird, but sweet, feelings for this young guy. I don't know why. 

'What's your name?' I ask.

'Ashton.'