Here we go, another chappie. Still Chris's POV
It's 9:30. Dad's sitting on the side of my bed.
Dad: "Hey bud, how are you feeling?"
Me: "Okay." I'm lying.
Dad: "That's good." Fidgets nervously.
Me: Scratches lightly at cut up arms. "So, how much trouble am I in?"
Dad: "We'll talk about that when you come home, okay?"
Me: Nods and tried to ignore grumbling stomach.
Dad: "You hungry? I'll go get you something, what do you want?"
Me: "Anything."
Dad: Rushes out of room.
So, I sit and try to ignore that fact that someone dumped itching powder on my forearms. I decided that I'm going to time how long it takes Dad/Leo to get back. So far it's been two minutes and fifteen seconds.
I relax onto my pillows, and Smiley comes in with a bottle of pills she says I have to take. I dry-swallow two and sit back as she surveys me.
"I think something must have really messed with your head, boy. You don't seem like the suicide type," Smiley says. She pats me on the head, I'm a good-freak-boy, and leaves me alone.
It's been ten minutes. I look towards my nightstand. Somebody has been picking up my schoolwork. Yay, now all I have to do is use my telekinetic powers to move them onto the bed.
I'm defiantly out of my mind. Telekinetic powers, honestly.
Wait, oops, I do have telekinetic powers. Memory loss, another sign of insanity.
Twenty minutes? How can I drag such short thoughts out to last ten minutes. Loosing track of time, congrats, Chris, you've passed our insanity test with flying colors. The padded room will see you now.
I'm getting way weird in the head. Next I'll start seeing things. Like Wyatt in a coconut bra and a hula skirt. Dance, hula boy, dance.
Yep, I'm the craziest person in the room (and that's counting Hula-Star Wyatt).
It's been a half an hour now. Where is Leo? He must have decided that I wasn't worthy of his awesome Leo-ness, so there for I should starve. Maybe I could befriend some woodland creatures, and then they could bring me food.
I must have passed out, because when I wake up again it is 4:15. AM. I didn't know there was an AM. Now I do. I'm really, really, really, really, hungry. Why didn't my Dad come back? Probably ran into Wyatt. Oh well, that's life.
I decide to pass out again, this time to avoid my itchy arms and aching stomach.
I open my eyes to the face of my maniac cousin. "GOOD MORNING!" she seems to shout. I look at the clock, it's 9:07.
"Shouldn't you be in school?" I say, rubbing my left eye.
She looks at my like I'm nuts (which is entirely true) and informs me that school didn't start until 10:30 that day, so she decided to visit me. She starts to jabber on about some assignment or something, and suddenly her head turns into a cheeseburger.
The talking cheeseburger then chatters on about how I'm not allowed back to school until I've figured out my "issues."
The cheeseburger-head transforms into a slice of pizza. When was the last time I ate? I don't remember, all I know is I'm hungry and there is a floating piece of food in front of me.
My stomach makes a gurgling noise, and the Pizza stops talking for a moment. "Um, Chris, if you're hungry, why don't you eat the stuff Uncle Leo left for you?" She points to a bag from some fast food restaurant.
Before she can hand the bag to me, I've got it ripped open, and half way done with all it contains. Half a second later, I'm done with the other half, and my stomach has shut up.
"See, you should really trust your dad more, he wouldn't try to hurt you," Prue says. When did she get here? Anyway, fat lot she knows. Leo hates me. HATES ME! He even told me so.
As it appears, dear Prudence can either read minds or is very good at guessing. "And there was nothing wrong with that food, Chris," she says disapprovingly.
I consider this for a moment. Finally coming up with an answer for her, I say, "It was cold."
Prue left to go to school two and a half minutes ago. A nurse, not Smiley, come in and tells me that my shrink, Dr. Rollin, is coming to see me in half an hour. This could be interesting. If Rollin thought I was crazy before (when I was twelve and suicidal), now she'll subscribe me tranquilizers and stick me in a straight jacket. Not to mention the padded room. Oh, how I will love the padded room.
Then the Nurse, who told me that Dr. Rollin was coming, informs me that I have to eat. She sets a tray down in front of me, and hands me a spoon. There is some lumpy stuff (I think its supposed to be oatmeal), some burnt stuff ( toast, perhaps?), and I small carton of milk. I check the date, it expires in two days.
"And you have to eat all of it," she says, "We don't want you to starve," She smiles. It is a completely fake, forced, scary smile. I thinks she's poisoned the food. I shudder.
But, I'm trying to be a good little boy, so I force the lumpy goo and burnt bread down my throat. I'm actually grateful when I can drink the almost-expired-milk. I finish it in two gulps.
Nurse Scary removes the tray and says I did good. I pat myself on the head. I've earned a point in normal-people-land. I glance at the clock. It took me thirty minutes to eat the nasty food.
I am escorted down the hall, they trust me enough to let me walk. My legs don't work properly and I have to hold onto Scary's arm to keep my balance. We are going to a private room. I am going to see Dr. Rollin. She will tell me I'm crazy, and that will be that.
I'm told to pick a chair to sit in, I pick a wooden one in the back of the room. Dr. Rollin sits down in an overstuffed one nearby. Nurse Scary leaves and closes the door. I'm trapped with my shrink. My arms itch.
"So, Chris, I've heard you had a bad weekend?" Dr. Rollin says. She is trying to keep the mood light. I remember that she was this way the first time I met with her. She was really nice, and I didn't really mind talking to her. But now is different. Now, she'll tell me I'm crazy. She's never said that before. And I don't want her to. If she says I'm crazy, it must be true. I don't want to be crazy.
"Chris," her voice brings me out of my head again, "You're scratching your arm." She smiles sweetly and clicks open her pen as she props her clipboard on her knee.
I stop scratching.
"So, how are you feeling today?"
I shrug, I don't know. I'm not sad, not happy. I'm just... tired. I open my mouth to tell her this. No words come out, no sounds. I shake my head to clear it and try again. "Tired."
"Oh," she takes a note down, "Why's that?"
I shrug, "I had some weird dreams last night."
"What were they about?" she asks. I can tell she is really itching to ask why I tried to end my life. But she's being polite and waiting. No point in rushing her, so I'll answer.
"Falling."
She's decided its time to get to the point. "Chris, do you know why you're here?"
"Because I tried to kill myself."
Dr. Rollin's eyes widen, but she says nothing. "Chris, can you tell me why you tried to end your own life?" I can tell she's practiced this question for a while. It comes out without a hitch. Smooth as can be.
I consider my answer. Honestly, because I think that I was put on this earth by accident and nobody really loves me. I'm just a burden, another mouth to feed.
I look Dr. Rollin in the eye. And shrug.
She frowns, and flips through the notes she's taken on my throughout the past year. "Chris, when I first met with you it was because your mother found you burning a suicide note, isn't that right?"
I nod, that was long time ago. I'd just turned twelve.
Dr. Rollin smiles, "Do you remember what you told me when I'd asked you why you wanted to die?" She forces my eyes to meet hers and I'm afraid to stop staring. I don't know what she'll do if I don't meet her gaze.
"I didn't think anyone wanted my around," I hear myself say. This is entirely true, that is what I said.
The doctor smiles again, only this time it is sympathetic. "Is that why you actually tried this time?"
No, I wanted to die because my worst fear came true. My dad really told me that he hated me, and that he and my mom had never wanted me. But I know that I imagined that. Rollin is still waiting for an answer. So, I nod.
I'm only sorta lying.
Dr. Rollin takes a deep breath, and draws a manila envelope from her briefcase. "Would you mind doing the inkblot test?" she asks. I shake my head, I've never really minded this test. It's the word association that I hate. "Okay, then."
She holds up a card. The blot looks like a monkey on a unicycle. "Inkblot." She frowns.
She holds up another card. I can't really tell what it looks like. I squint, and realize that someone has removed my contact lenses. I can't see very well, so I lean closer to the card. It looks like a demon, from the Book of Shadows. Which one? Barbus, it looks like Barbus. He's the demon of fear. He can shape shift and make it seem like your worst fears have come to life. "Inkblot," I whisper.
Suddenly something inside of me clicks, I didn't imagine Leo telling me he hated me. It really happened. Only it wasn't really Leo! It was Barbus. Barbus knew that I'd want to die if I thought my Dad hated me. He knew it was my greatest fear! I have to tell someone. I glance at the clock, there is still ten minutes in my session with Dr. Rollins.
I finish the tests and go back to my room. Mom, Dad, and Wyatt are waiting for me. I'm nervous. What if they don't believe me?
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