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Chapter 1 - Nightmares - Part 1

A/N: Comment as you read, yeah? It would make my day <3

CAMI:

Torture comes in many shapes and sizes, and for me, I was experiencing my own personal kind of hell.

The room was empty apart from a few pieces of designer furniture and what looked like carefully placed decorations around the room. I was fiddling with the hem of my shirt, unsure where to look. The deafening silence was starting to give me a headache, and the older man on the opposite side of the desk was staring at me—studying me. His hair was gray and seemed like it was retreating away from his head. He didn’t wear glasses, but I could see some faint tan lines that showed he’d been wearing them not too long ago.

He seemed trustworthy enough. It was one of those faces, I suppose.

It hadn’t been my idea to come here. Sure, I’d been showing up for the last three times, but I’d made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t here to talk. Actually, I didn’t say anything at all. It was still unclear why I was here at all.

“Ms. Hanson,” Dr. Hertz said. “You’ve been coming here for a few weeks, but you always refuse to talk about any of the stuff that’s causing your problems. Why is that?”

Panic spread inside of me. He was using his therapist powers on me. I could feel them and as I tried not to freak out, I felt my palms become sweatier. I bit down on my lip, hoping that the momentary burst of pain could jolt me away from the inevitable panic attack.

I looked around the room, focusing on the small figurines on the shelf behind him, then on the different diplomas on the walls. They were quite impressive actually—Dr. Hertz must be good at his job.

He sighed. “Can you tell me about the nightmares then?” he asked.

Without answering, I focused on his desk. It was empty save for a pack of Kleenex, a pen, and his notepad. I wondered if he had a laptop stashed away in the drawers that he put away whenever he had patients over. He seemed like the kind of man who would hide technology until he needed it again.

Dr. Hertz was allegedly one of the best therapists in the country. At least according to Gillian’s website. It had been my roommate’s idea to seek him out, and he’d been friendly enough. Although, I supposed he was that way with all of his patients.

Because that’s what I was: a patient.

“I can’t help you if you don’t want my help, Ms. Hanson.”

I met his eyes. “It was my roommate,” I said. “She asked me to go here. Well, demanded, really. My nightmares—they keep her up at night, making her sack behind in her classes.”

“And you’re okay with that?” He moved slightly towards his notepad, but I frowned and he pulled back.

“Of course not,” I admitted. “It kills me inside that she’s so affected by it.”

“And that’s why you’re here, right?” he asked. “Because you don’t want to keep interrupting her sleep?”

I nodded, reluctantly. “It’s part of it, I guess.”

“You’ve been coming here for three weeks already,” he said. “Why haven’t you talked before now?”

I shrugged lightly, slumping down into the chair. “I don’t know… It’s hard, I guess. It hurts to think about. I know it’s been a while since it happened, but it obviously still haunts me.”

“Since what happened?” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

“Since that—” I choked up. Averting my eyes, I stared at my nails. “Since I lost him.”