Fun fact: This is a story for venting, and for fun. (Everything is fictional) and happy one year anniversary for Castle of Shards!
WARNING: mention of self harm
Word count: 2,371
Chapter 11
"Cure For The Itch"
She hated her voice.
Ree had come to the decision after spending five minutes listening to her own recordings. Why had she disgraced everyone's ears with her voice? So she didn't speak.
Not today she wouldn't.
The girl slipped on her darkest clothing to cover her arm: her dark gray, almost black, hoodie that had a mandala on the back printed in white. Underneath, was a second long sleeve shirt, this one was thin material, but black, the ends of its sleeves peeked out from the sweater.
Fingerless gloves went over her hands, effectively concealing the bandages that had miniscule spots of dried blood.
Flexing her hand was difficult, not only did the gauze bandages prevent movement, but when she fully outstretched her hand, she could feel the scab split apart, reopening her wound. She shrugged and made her way out the room, it'll close back up.
Ree made her way down the stairs, restraining herself from placing a hand on the wooden rail. A small stinging pain decided to start up, sharply throbbing with each pulse. She pulled her sleeves farther over her hands, despite wearing gloves. She just couldn't help it with the three pairs of eyes landing on her when she entered the kitchen.
"Psychiatrist today," Ron said, returning his attention to the newspaper in front of him. He pointed to a seat, not taking his eyes off the print, "Eat."
"I still say Dr. Harold is a therapist..." Sam eyed her, muttering to his father, "I don't know if she will eat. She's in one of her phases again; no voice, dark clothes, no sleep."
She's done this before?
Aunt Judy glanced at her, "Ree, would you like to eat in your room instead?"
The girl nodded, looking down at the floor as she silently waited for a plate to be offered to her. It was cereal. She took the bowl gratefully in her hands and carefully made her way back up the stairs.
She had homework to do.
Precalculus was deeming itself difficult now that the class was beginning new topics that Ree constantly forgot. She was scolded. Everytime. It wasn't like she could help it, but it wasn't like she could simply shout out that she can't remember. She snorted at herself, I bet that teacher has heard enough of that excuse from other students. It was exhausted, and couldn't be used.
Ree set down her pencil, staring at the paper before she lifted the bowl to her lips, having finishing the cereal and leaving only milk left.
When she finished, the girl placed down the bowl and leaned back in her chair. I wish the teacher would grade by effort, not correctness. Not even grades it by completeness.
What the hell even is a domain? She stared at her paper, frustrated. They were to find the domain and range for each graph. What irritated her more, was that she feels like this has been learned before. But forgotten.
"Blank, less than or equal to x, less than or equal to blank," a transparent finger pointed to her paper. It was Blackout, he continued, "X can be found between these two points; zero and ten. So, x can only be greater than zero, less than ten."
Ree studied the graph, letting the information sink in before she filled out the two blanks with "zero" and "ten," respectively. That was the domain. Range was the same, just on the y axis.
"This one is a ray, meaning x is greater than negative two," he landed his finger on the point, "But it could lead on for infinity."
"So, negative two is less than or equal to x, and x is less than or equal to..." she muttered, then furrowed her eyebrows, "Infinity?"
He hummed his answer, nodding.
The packet, five page packet, was finished within the hour with Blackout's help. Halfway in, Ree had started playing Linkin Park on her speakers, at a low volume, while she worked. For the time she was finishing her packet, any worries she had about Megatron had vanished momentarily. As long as she kept occupied, her mind was elsewhere and off the topic. But she knew she couldn't run from it for much longer.
"Ree!" Uncle... what was his name? Jon-? No, Ron. Right, Uncle Ron called from downstairs, and the girl scrambled to finish the math problem and turn off her music. In a minute, she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her very small backpack. She hated the damn thing.
As she walked down the hall and stairs, she slipped her journal out of the bag slung over one shoulder and scribbled inside, "Remind Aunt Judy to take you to the store for a new bag... Maybe a messenger bag, but not too large."
She struggled to get the journal bag into the bag as she walked off the final steps and out the door. The reason why she wanted a bag on her hip was to make it easier to take her journal out and put it back.
Ron watched at her, amused, "Finally getting tired of that little one, eh?"
No response was given to him besides the roll of her eyes, the gesture giving him the "tell me about it" look. The girl climbed into the passenger seat of her Uncle's car, leaning a cheek on her palm, an elbow set on the door of the vehicle. She waited as Ron slipped into his seat, turned the keys into the ignition and started the car, it rumbled to life. He pulled out of the driveway, past the Camaro and onto the road. Ron began speaking.
"Ratchet's coming by today, y'know, Dr. Chet?" she nodded as he spoke, her mood dropping as he continued, "He's gonna check on you, making sure you're doing alright. You took a nasty fall yesterday, we still don't know what happened."
What happened yesterday?
"You fainted," Bonecrusher rumbled, his voice extremely deep and guttural, "For the umpteenth time."
"Oh please," Blackout rolled his eyes, "She's only fainted twice."
Ree frowned, listening as they bickered. They weren't in her visual, but she could still see them... In her head. It was like she was imagining their image, but she knew it was no figment of her imagination. Why did I faint? ...Twice?
Blackout shook his head, "First time was Lord Megatron's fault, he wanted you to keep quiet," he pointed to the leader, "The second time, you fell into a relapse. Resurfacing memories brought you down and we had to pull you out before you had another stroke."
I could have had another stroke? Buildings passed by, people on the sidewalks. It was all just a blur as they drove and Ree lost in her thoughts. Why did you save me?
"If you die," Brawl crossed his arms, "We'd be stuck in... oh let's just say the equivalent of your hell. Jazz would follow as well, and I'm sure you wouldn't like him to suffer through eternal torture?"
The girl swallowed.
A few minutes passed before they made a turn into a parking lot, shaded by numerous large oak and pine trees. It was a very nice spot, if it weren't for the fact that this was to Dr. Harold. She already didn't like the man.
Ron lead her into the building, it smelled clean. Not of cleaning products, just clean. It didn't have any distinct scent, like the Witwicky's home and its rooms. Well, besides the smell of maybe a new carpet. Multiple new carpets, and possibly a fragrance farther down the lobby.
Ree went towards the stairs, having been anxious with elevators. It was two flights of stairs before they reached the second floor. It had a stronger new carpet smell and less natural lighting than the lower level. The walls were a cream white with wall lamps every segment or so.
They walked to the end door, Dr. Harold's name printed on the frosted glass. The middle aged man looked up from his desk when the door opened. Ron nodded to the psychiatrist as he left Ree alone in the room, closing the door behind him after he spoke a couple words, "Ree's mute today."
"Take a seat, Ree," he gestured, settling in his own seat. They were two living room chairs with a coffee table in the middle, in which Dr. Harold set a folder on top of. He folded his hands once the girl sat stiffly in her seat, "Now, Ree. We're going to do a memory exercise, your family supplied me with photos to test your memory and how well you recall some things. We may need to represcribe you to the memory pills once again."
She nodded, accepting the pen and paper handed to her.
The man held up a picture, a portrait of one of her family members. Ree wrote his name quickly: "Sam Witwicky."
"Okay good," he nodded, he pointed to the same picture, "What's his name short for?"
The girl paused for a second, Sam was usually short for Samantha, she bit back a smirk, or "Samuel."
Dr. Harold smiled, "Okay, who's this?"
Megatron smirked behind her, she didn't need to look to know. He leaned in and muttered in her ear his name. She scowled, I want memory pills, not schizophrenic ones.
"Ron Wiwicky," she frowned, scribbling the last name and rewriting, "Witwicky."
"Short for...?"
This she didn't know, never had his whole name been mentioned to her. Ree thought for a moment, then wrote a question mark on her paper.
He pursed his lips, "Okay," he held up Sam's picture again, "What's his middle name?"
Well, shit. How was she supposed to know. Without wasting a second, she shrugged.
"Now, we're going to do a second exercise; matching names and faces with their voices."
This Ree could do.
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog," an aged voice stated, male. Ree connected the dots, finding that voice all too familiar.
"Uncle Ron."
"The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog," a younger male voice said, sounding a little shaky.
Obviously "Sam."
"Match their faces with the recordings," he pointed to the two written names, and Ree placed Ron's picture with his name and... and... Sam's with his. Dr. Harold noted this, scribbling on his notepad. He looked up, "So, Ree. I've heard of your recent... problems. You've cut yourself, is everything alright?"
She nodded. A lie.
Clearly, the psychiatrist didn't buy it, but made no comment.
"We'll put you on a lower dose of the medication..." he muttered, writing notes on his paper. Dr. Harold set his pen down, palm flat on top of it as he looked her in the eye, "Well, I think that's it."
...
~ o Castle of Shards o ~
...
It was another half hour before Ree got back to the Witwicky's home, sighing loudly at the sight of an ambulance and police cruiser. She didn't want to bother... what were their names... Ratchet or Prowl.
She slung her little black bag off her shoulder and placed it on the second step as a reminder to take it upstairs later. She warily watched the two men, weary and feeling a little sick from the time away from here. She was a little homesick, despite only having been gone for two hours.
The girl just wanted food.
"Ree," Prowl nodded, "Do you remember yesterday?"
She eyed the spirits pacing around the room. They'd help her, right? The girl gave him a shaky hand as a so-so.
Ratchet crooked his finger, gesturing to walk closer to him. She complied and turned, letting him touch her head.
Ree grimaced when he reached a tender area on the back of her head, probably obtained from the fall. The doctor hummed, "Has a little bruising here... Are you experiencing any nausea or lightheadedness?"
She shook her head.
Prowl eyed her, speaking with a warning tone, "Ree?"
The girl froze, remembering she had cuts on her arm. She backed away from the two, shaking her head again, but it wasn't an answer to any question. Judy stared at her, concerned, "Honey?"
Ratchet's gaze hardened, "Arm. Now."
Swallowing, Ree gave him her left arm. He checked, nodded. He looked back up at her with a hidden smug look.
"Show me your right arm."
It was like her mind hit the brakes, crashing into whatever was in front. The hairs on her nape lifted and she paled. Fuck.
Frozen for too long, Prowl stepped forward and lightly pressed his fingers to her elbow. She backed up, stumbling with eyes wide, "No!"
The room fell quiet.
"Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky, will you be so kind as to leave the room for a few minutes?" Prowl glanced to them. The couple nodded and left without a complaint. The officer looked back at Ree, the girl now having some unshed tears, he knelt in front of her, "Ree, look at me."
Her green eyes snapped to his, ringed with red and making the color pop.
"You need to let us help you," he urged, "You can trust us."
She slumped her shoulders, Ratchet took this as her defeat and gently lifted her arm. He slowly, carefully, pulled off her glove and rolled up her sleeve to expose the bloody bandages, tainted yellow. He sighed, "At least you bandaged it," he pointed to her palm, "How'd this one happen?"
The girl shook her head.
Prowl stared intensely into her eyes, "Ree. How did this happen? Who's making you do this?"
It was quiet as she watched the doctor rebandage her arm and palm, frowning as the fifteen individual wounds. Fourteen on her wrist, the last on her hand.
She whispered one word, and one word only to the two.
"Them."