When Demons Play

Wednesday

"Stop!" my father shouted, digging his hand into his pocket in a desperate rush. I stared with curious eyes at his aggressive movements, knowing what he was looking for all too well, but it interested me watching him writhe in his attempts.

All of a sudden, a small cylindrical object was tossed at me. I caught it with ease, my fingertips grazing over the familiar smooth plastic.

My father glared at me as I uncapped the lip balm and slathered it on, tossing it back when I was sure my mouth was sealed in a waxy kiss.

He sighed and leaned back in the chair, looking back in front of him. I looked away, rigidness infecting my spine. Shame creeped its way into my mind and through my gaze, which was carefully cast towards the short-cut, rough, brown carpet. Why do I have to be this way? Why can't I live like a normal teenager instead of constantly trying to claw myself out of my own skin? Is something short-circuiting in my brain or somethin-"

"Wisconsin Lee?" a woman's voice called out, obviously well rehearsed and practiced.

I stood and gave the woman a small smile. She smiled back--although her's was full and bright--and held the door open to the backroom in a polite and gentle gesture. I walked to and through the doorway, as my father's footsteps followed.

The room was quite bright, contrasting greatly with my psychologist, who always kept the room drastically dimmed. Maybe psychiatrists don't care as much to make you comfortable because they want to draw out your quirks to give you medicine for them.

"Wisconsin," His voice was gentle as I turned to face my father. "I have some errands to run. I'll pick you up after your appointment, okay?" I nodded, and licked my lips hungrily, desperate to hide the blood constantly pooling on them. He gave a warm smile, obviously trying to ease me, and turned on his heel.

I watched him walk out of the building until the woman standing politely quiet until then said, "well, let's get started, shall we?" I nodded and licked my lips again.

Turning, a caught sight of an innocent-enough-looking leather plush chair, and plopped onto it. Dr. Leroy was quick to follow, sitting on the chair opposite of me and grabbed a pencil and clipboard with my file attached. There was no data on it from Dr. Leroy yet. It was blank with only notes that my dad told her to make sure to cover, knowing I have a hard time bringing it up myself.

"All right Wisconsin, that's such a pretty name."

I smiled a tight smile, since smiling too wide hurt my already injured lips. "Thanks."

"What seems to be going on?"

I shrugged, secretly cursing myself for not being able to keep eye contact for more than two seconds.

She looks down at the notes, reading them with a furrowed brow. I stare at her, wishing she would never look back up. It was so much easier like this.

"Well," she looks back up at me, and after two seconds, I have to look away, "your dad says that you pick at your skin?" I nod. "And you spend quite a bit of time in the bathroom?" I nod. "And... Scissors?" I freeze. "Scraping them on your arms?" Moments slip by before I reluctantly nod. I sneak a glance up at her. Her face is twisted in that concerned expression trying to be suppressed to remain neutral. "May I see them?" I'm confused, and I make sure she sees it on my face. "Your arms." I nod and untuck my arms from under me and hold them out with palms up, trying to relieve her of the thought that I cut. She looks up, confused.

"I don't cut. I just slide the blade down the length of my arm, with the point perpendicular." Another confused expression. "To scrape off the dead skin that's tight and wrong," she looks down, releasing her barely-there touch on my arms that I was hyper-aware of. "I only do it on really bad days though," I feel the need to quickly splutter out.