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Dr. Roberts's office is now familiar to me. The half-drawn curtains, the miniature pot plant on the left side of her desk, the photo of her dog on the mantelpiece behind her and the small sofa I across from her are all sights I am used to. Today, she is quiet, which does nothing to calm my nerves. She's finished with her questions, and she's due to deliver her 'diagnosis', as she calls it, during this visit. I sit for what feels like a lifetime, waiting for her to speak.
"Well, Amelia," she begins. "I think I've formed a fair idea of the problem at hand here." She gets up from behind her desk and sits beside me on the couch, which she's never done before. I look up at her worriedly. I can feel my heart beating very quickly.
"There isn't really anything wrong with you," she explains. Relief floods over me, and I exhale slowly. Dr. Roberts continues. "You just have an imaginary friend, and that is perfectly normal." My relief is quickly replaced by anger.
"Imaginary?" I say quietly.
"Yes. It's alright, loads of children have imaginary friends," she replies, placing her hand on my shoulder in a comforting gesture.
"He's not imaginary," I tell her. How could she think that? "He's real. He's coming back!" I shout.
"Now, Amelia -"
"The Doctor said he was coming back for me, and I know that he will! He is not imaginary!" I'm really angry now.
"Amelia, listen. There's no such thing as 'prisoner zero' or cracks in walls that can talk. You made those things up like you made the Doctor up. He isn't real."
"Yes he IS!" I scream. This is just ridiculous! "He is very very real and he's coming back!"
"If he said he'd be back in five minutes, why isn't he back yet?" Dr. Roberts asks in a patronising tone.
"I don't know!" I yell back.
"It's because he's not real," she says gently, squeezing my shoulder. Blinded by anger, I turn my head and bite her hand. Hard.
"Ow!" she squeals. She pulls her hand away from me, astonished. "How dare you?" she asks angrily.
"The Doctor is real! You don't know anything!" I shout at her. I jump up from the couch and run out of the office.
"We need to go now," I tell my Aunt Sharon, who was sitting and reading a magazine. She looks up at me, confused. Dr. Roberts appears at the door to her office, rubbing her bitten hand with her uninjured one.
"Miss Pond, I think it's best if Amelia doesn't return to my practice," she says. I fold my arms angrily and glare at her.
"Good!" I reply. I walk outside before either of the women get the chance to say anything to me. I lean against the car and wait for my aunt to come out. She approaches me a minute later.
"Amelia Jessica Pond," she says slowly. "You just did a very, very bad thing. That was incredibly rude and uncalled for." I stare at the ground while she gives out to me. "You're grounded for a month. Get in the car."
I get into the car and slam the door loudly behind me. It then dawns on me that I won't be going to Rory's for a whole month, and that's what makes the tears start. I cry silently for the entire journey home.