The Prologue has been revised. Other chapters will be up-dated as well.
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That voice calls to me again. "Erik?" Who was that?
This time it sounds annoyed "Erik?" My eyes turn from the window and focus on the therapist. Ah, so that is where it's coming from, Dr. Gordon. He was given my case about two months after I recovered from the last operation. I have been seeing him for about a month.
"Erik you can't always tune me out," Wanna a bet I think to myself. "I'm just trying to help you." He smiles at me but he doesn't mean it; I can tell.
"You can't help me." I say in a calm voice. He looks at me for a second and then takes down a few notes.
"What makes you say that Erik?" He asks in a concerned voice.
I'm agitated with his questions, "Forget it."
"All right then. Let's go back to the subject that I was asking you about before you tuned me out." I look past his baldhead, to glance at his different degrees and certificates.
"Erik can you look at me please?" Again I force my eyes on him.
"Now as I was saying, how do you feel about what has happened to you?" I take a glimpse at my fingers or what's left of them. They were still wrapped in bandages. The doctors removed the first digit of each of my fingers and toes. Which means I have no nails or fingertips. I'm angry now; I can feel it in me.
"I'm fourteen years old, I have no one who wants me, my p-parents tortured me every god dam d-day," I rise from the leather chair, wobbling a little bit but I manage to stand. "And on top of that they decide to set me fire! How the fuck do you think I feel!" The outburst has taken a lot out of me. I collapse back into the chair, which is a mistake since it sends a stinging senation through out my back and shoulders. The nurses wont be happy, I think I may tore open a couple of the welts on my back; the ones that the fire didn't erase.
He furiously scribbles more notes down onto his pad. He'll probably prescribe some other medication. God knows how many painkillers they have me on. One more isn't going to kill me... unfortunatly.
"Your anger is understandable. How would you feel when your parents would abuse you?" I wasn't expecting this. My breathing becomes strained and my hands start to shake, I didn't want him see this so I shoved them in my lap.
"I…I d-don't want to-o talk them." Every time I think about them my speech impediment starts up.
"Erik, you can't avoid me or this discussion any longer. I need to analyze you."
"Why?" I asked in a low whisper.
He sighed heavily, "The adoption agency wants to know if you're suitable for adoption. So please try to answer the questions as best you can."
I am bewildered at this point. How can he ask me to speak of the past? I've just started to block things out. Out sight, out of mind...
"Do you think anyone would want me?" I inquire hopefully.
"Sometimes there are cases where children in your sort of position have been taken in." As he says this I look into eyes and see that there is no chance for me. What little hope I had left is crushed.
My voice is like ice when I speak again, "No one wants to keep a damaged child."
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