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Chapter Two
Dr Kowalski stared thoughtfully at me, tapping her pen against her leather bound chair.
"You're going to Italy?" She questioned.
I nodded, returning the Doctor's stare unblinkingly.
"What's in Italy, Sophie?"
"Hot Italians?" I shrugged a little lopsidedly, the left side of my body unable to move up properly, as a small smile danced on my full lips.
"Hmm."
I sighed, grumbling lightly to myself, knowing that the Doctor wanted me to lead the session.
"I thought it might be good to escape for a little while. I need some new perspective and I thought it might give me some fresh inspiration for my work."
"Ah, yes, you're a... an artist and illustrator, is that correct?" Dr Kowalski ran a bespectacled eye down the folder she clutched in her lap. I rolled my eyes inwardly - I had been seeing the woman for six months now. Dr Kowalski inherited me from the clinic's previous therapist, an elderly racist gentleman called Dr Jerrold, who smelt of tobacco, whisky, and unfortunately not much else.
"Yes, Dr." I nodded in reply. Dr Kowalski merely raised a sparse grey eyebrow, before she sighed heavily and folded her leathery hands in her lap.
"Listen, Sophie. We're coming to the end of your scheduled sessions, in fact I do believe today's session is the last. But I want you to remember the clinic door is always open." Dr Kowalski's voice carried across the open space of her office with ease.
"Sure thing, Dr."
Another heavy sigh.
"I also want you to keep in mind those breathing exercises I taught you as well as the distraction techniques. Remember, Sophie, PTSD is nothing to be ashamed of - but you don't want to feed the flames. Help yourself as best as you can, don't isolate yourself."
Whilst I nodded to acknowledge her words, on the inside she was rolling her eyes. It was easy for the Doctor to say, the old coot. You try having a panic attack in the middle of the mall and then tell me I shouldn't isolate myself.
"Are you still having these... awareness issues?" She questioned thoughtfully.
"I- I hardly know anymore." I mumbled out my words. "It's difficult to say, because most of the time I'm fine and time passes me by normally, and then... Whenever my emotional state is, I don't know, heightened... And I'm angry or sad or panicked, it seems to happen again." I stared out of the window, my right hand mindlessly rubbing at my left shoulder.
It had happened again, only one week prior to today's appointment. I had dropped by my local coffee shop, intent on buying the largest possible caffeinated drink I could find, when a young man knocked into me. The movement surprised me enough that my fingers fumbled around my warm drink, the disposable cup slipping through my grip.
I'd gasped out, swearing harshly under my breath. However, as I'd quickly jolted down to catch the cup, I could've sworn that it wasn't moving at the rate you might expect of a large cup, full to the brim with hot coffee. I easily grabbed it, much to the shock of the man who bumped into me.
"Woah," He'd blinked at me in surprise. "Quick reflexes you got there."
The only response he had received from me was a weak shrug, and a half assed glare as I told him to watch where he was going.
I'm still not entirely sure what the whole thing is, though Dr Kowalski's pretty convinced it's just a lapse in my concentration, almost like a daydream and nothing to worry about.
When I left Dr Kowalski's beige and putrid green office, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders at the relief that I was no longer obligated to attend these sessions. God knows it had been long enough. As I walked down the quiet, brightly lit hall of Forks Hospital's clinic, I wasn't paying enough attention and accidentally walked into the back of a tiny, petite teenager.
I was about to apologize quietly and head off, but the dark haired girl stared unfocused at me with a glazed, far off look. I stared at her in confusion, as she snapped out of her trance, her bright amber eyes widening dramatically.
"Oh!" A small exclamation escaped her dainty lips. A bizarre combination of what seemed like shock, horror, and then hope flickered across her elfin features.
"Sorry, um, are you ok?" I asked the girl cautiously. I took a stumbling step backwards as the girl suddenly darted forwards, closing the gap between us. I held my hands up to keep her from moving any closer. You can never be too careful with the people you meet in hospital corridors.
"You're it, you really are it, the one they've waited for..." I heard her mumbling under her breath, likely not intending me to hear her. Her vacant gold eyes locked onto me tight, as her pale, freezing cold hand grabbed my wrist. I winced in shock, a grunt of pain slipping from my lips at the tight grip she had on me.
"You're going to Italy?" She asked me, a questioning lilt to her words.
I could only stare at this pale, creepy girl suspiciously, wincing as she tightened her freezing cold grip on my wrist, seemingly unaware how painful her hold was.
"How in the fuck did you kno-" I drew out slowly, my hazel-green eyes narrowed at the stranger causing me such pain.
"Take a trip to Volterra." She cut me off, hissing urgently at me. Any trace of a young teenager seemed to have vanished from her unnatural eyes.
"Excuse me?"
"Volterra!" She hissed again, her gold eyes somehow darker, sending me warning vibes. I paused slightly as I stared at her, confused as to how she knew about Italy, and why in hell she seemed so invested in my trip.
The tiny girl's eyes glazed over again, before her stare flickered to the end of the hall. She released my wrist, and skipped off down the hall, meeting an older, golden haired man who looked only a couple of years older than myself at the end of the hall. I recognised the man almost instantly even though I'd never met him. I'd heard enough of the hospital and clinic gossip to know that it was Dr Cullen, a man whose good looks and comparisons to Greek Gods definitely weren't exaggerated. I saw his eyes look between the girl and I briefly, before they flickered lower and widened in horror.
I was confused until I glanced down and realised he was staring at my wrist. My wrist, which was normally a soft tawny brown complexion, was mottled and quickly bruising a rich purple colour, in the shape of a handprint. I visibly blanched in shock, running my fingers carefully over the blotchy, tender bruising of the skin, shocked that such an injury was caused by the petite girl.
The Doctor turned towards the girl, a furious expression gracing his handsome features. His lips seemed to blur as he whispered heatedly at the girl. She only sent him an unapologetic look, and then whispered something quick in his ear before rushing off.
At her parting words, Dr Cullen's back seemed to straighten rigidly as he gazed back at me in equal parts shock and pity. Walking towards me, his shoes squeaked against the lino flooring as he neared closer to me.
"My sincerest apologies for my daughter. She was merely overexcited and unfortunately she is not great at handling it. Would you like me to take a look at your wrist?" He glanced regretfully at the bruise.
"Don't worry, I've had worse. I'm not even going to pretend I understand what just happened, but no matter. We were all teenagers once. Even if I never accosted a stranger." I raised an eyebrow at the uncomfortable Doctor.
"Yes, well, my daughter is... special."
Oh. Ohhh. The blond bombshell need say no more. Of course, there was bound to be a reason that she was in the clinic, considering her father tends to work over in the main hospital.
"Ah, gotcha, Dr." I gave him what I hoped was an understanding nod. My therapist had an unfortunate habit of addressing certain patients and visitors of the clinic as 'special'. Incredibly un-pc and condescending but the woman seemed stuck in the 1950's, and I did not see it falling to me to be the one who dragged her out of it kicking and screaming.
As I left the hospital that afternoon, I found myself thinking once more about Italy. I had already packed most of my clothing and art supplies that I planned to take. All that was left was to catch the plane there, in two days time.
Once home, I decided to wrap up the steadily darkening bruise with a light bandage. The handprint shape would no doubt beg a few questions, whether from worried strangers or nosy neighbours, and I had no wish to deal with them before I left. Hopefully the bruise would begin to heal within a few days anyway, though that may be wishful thinking. Perhaps a week or two would be more likely.