"Enjolras, is it?" The woman asked, standing once Enjolras entered the room. He nodded and she smiled a bit at him. It was a smile of pity and instead of being comforting, it made Enjolras feel worse than he already did, "I'm Judy Carmichael. Let's chat, shall we?"
Enjolras had never been to a therapist before. He felt like a nut-case, a loon, for even agreeing to meet the woman. But now, he laid back on a couch that smelled like moth balls as she interogated him.
I don't need a therapist.
I'm completely fine.
I'm not crazy.
"Your girlfriend, Eponine explained your situation to me and I'd just like to-"
"She's not my girlfriend," Enjolras interuppted suddenly, "I barely know her,"
"Ah. Right," Judy said, a slight smirk rising onto her cheeks as she scribbled something down on her legal note-pad, "Alright. So Enjolras, what is the last thing you remember?"
"I was washing the fire engine with some of my friends. It was around 11 AM. Valjean got pissed because we were taking too long and we were just laughing and-," He stopped suddenly, his heart beginning to race "and... And now they're dead. Jesus Christ," He finally realized that they weren't coming back. No matter how drunk he got, no matter how many tears he cried. His friends were gone. At least for this lifetime.
She nodded sympathetically and she babbled on about amnesia and how some people choose not to remember as many things are too painful. Some people think there were reasons that the brain chose amnesia. Enjolras began to think and she talked and he nodded, throwing in an occasional 'yeah' to seem like he was pay attention even though he wasn't.
He thought of Eponine, the beautiful girl who seemed to be in love with him. He had no reason not to be in love with her. She was funny and she laughed like a four year old and had brown eyes that he could swim in. She was kind and gentle and she attended to him and for whatever reason, he was pushing her away. And he didn't understand why.
And now, he laid in an office that smelled like old cologne and fresh moth balls and listened to the clock ticking away past every second.
And after a moments silence, she asked, "Do you want to remember, Enjolras?"
Enjolras shut his eyes, taking in everything around him. The cologne, the scribbling on the legal pad, the moth balls. And he said something that he shouldn't have. Something that he wouldn't regret, but certainly not something he would agree with.
"I don't want to remember. I just want to go back to where ever the hell I was. Everything has changed. I look older, I'm in a new apartment and random people say that I'm their friends and-and I just can't fucking deal with it. And I don't know why this happened to me. Did I do something wrong? What kind of merciful God would punish someone this way?" And Enjolras let more tears flow like any other day since he had awoken.
She offered him a box of tissues, but he wiped his nose and his eyes on his sleeve, his eyes blodshot.
"No matter where I turn, something is different, something is changed. Nothing is the same and I feel as if I'm in some kinda fucking nightmare that won't end. I just want to wake the fuck up already,"
But even a therapist couldn't wake up Enjolras from his Hell. And he already knew this too well.