Hey guys!
Sorry for the long wait for chapter 2, I went on holiday for a week and a half and there wasn't any internet, so... Yeah.
This chapter wasn't supposed to turn out this way. I'm not sure whether I like it or not... But maybe you could review and tell me that it's great and I'm an idiot? :D
And thank you so so so so so much for all the reviews! I just about cried when I saw them all.
Anyways, on with the story!
"The voices… They plague me, have consumed me. They tell me what I should do and what I shouldn't. They tell me about all the dangers of the wide world outside. They tell me about what other people are… what they could do to me. They opened my eyes. I am the voices, and the voices are me."
Natara numbly stared down at the open book, eyeing her cursive handwriting with a cautious air. She couldn't believe that it was her, a cold blooded F.B.I profiler, that had written those thoughts down. Those words… They had been nestling comfortably deep inside of her, where no one could reach them, where it was all darkness and pessimism. And the fact that everything could be unleashed in a torrent just by picking up a pen scared her to no end. Of course, that was only because it would make everything that had happened seem real. For the past week, she could shut her eyes tightly and let the whole world wash over her sluggishly, as if she was in a catatonic trance. But now? Not anymore. She couldn't hide from reality any longer.
Hearing the faint clicking of heels, Natara tilted her head upwards and gazed at the stark white door as it swung open, spying a portly woman cloaked in yellow strolling in.
"Hello, Natara!" The woman trilled, bustling briskly towards her. Natara smiled widely for the first time in five days and nodded her head enthusiastically at her in form of greeting.
Natara met Margaret Laings on her second day at the treatment centre. Natara had been curled up on the imposing bed, trying to fall asleep on the concrete pillows. The door had burst open and Margaret had casually sloped in, raising one hand in a greeting. "Hey there," she had smiled, Natara remembered clearly. Margaret had then sank herself into the tatted beanbag opposite the bed, and grimaced, screwing her homely face into a scowl. "Makes me kind of miss the SFPD wooden chairs, believe it or not," she had remarked, winking slyly at her. "You… You were with the SFPD?" Natara had gasped, her face rearranged into a look of surprise.
"With the SFPD? Hell, I was the Captain!"
They had stayed up all night, that day, swapping stories of their days in law enforcement, energetically acting out the way they had taken down suspects and reliving the thrills that came with it. She was the only person who treated her as if she was a regular human being. With her, she could convince herself that she was all right.
She could almost convince herself that she was normal.
