Chapter 6: Oh What A Dark World

I could barely eat. I rested my head on Clarke's lap and her finger comb through my hair. I tried to mask all the stupid emotions, but eventually the tears began to roll down my cheeks. I sniffled quietly and Clarke tried her best to comfort me.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked me gently.

I shuddered, sitting up. She held me close to her and I rested my head on her shoulder. "Remember how I told you about Riley?"

"He's the one you got when you first started and the one you've had the longest, right?"

"Yeah," I said quietly.

"What about him?"

Five Years ago

"I am not fucking going in there!" I jumped at the sudden shout outside my office door. I had just graduated school and I had only had this job as a psychiatrist for the troubled New York teens for a whopping two weeks.

"Rylie, get your ass in there!"

Rylie Aarons. I looked at the file on my desk. Twelve years old. He was caught dumpster diving for food in a convenient store dumpster because he was staved. According to his file, he had been on the streets for an estimate of five months. He had run away and social services deemed his parents as irresponsible and abusive both physically and emotionally. Within the past two months he had been in three different homes. They said he was too much trouble. My supervisor had warned me and asked a dozen times if I was up to Rylie and I had assured him I could handle it. If anyone could get through to this boy, I could.

And then he came through the door. This scrawny, rough looking boy. He threw himself on the chair, giving me the worse look he could apparently muster, but I saw right through it. He was terrified. He had been through so much in his life. This was such a cold, dark world we live in.

"Rylie." He glanced up at me, blue-green eyes untrusting. "I'm Lexa."

He just stared at me. "Do you have any allergies, Rylie?"

His brow furrowed but he shook his head. "Do you like candy bars?" This peaked his interest and he nodded. I grabbed my bag and pulled out a Hershey's bar and he eagerly took it. He hesitated before opening it. "What's the catch?"

I gave him a small smile. "There's no catch, Rylie." I opened my own chocolate bar. "See? We can just enjoy our chocolate."

He opened his candy, eating tiny nibbles. "Enjoy it, Rylie. I'll give you another for the go when the hour is over." He nodded, taking a big bite out of the king size bar.

"I know that you don't want to be here, nobody really does. People come to therapy to pour their heats out to strangers. But know that I don't expect that from you." He looked up at me with curiosity. "All I ask is some communication. We talk about what's easy for you. Get to know each other, play some games maybe. Just take one day at a time. How does that sound, Rylie?"

"I'd like that very much, miss."

"Lexa."

"I'd like that very much, Lexa."

And we did. We took it one day at a time. Within a few months he began to open up more. He really enjoyed literature which he said that nobody knows. While he loves chocolate bars, his favorite candy is skittles which is what I brought from then on. He loved lasagna and lemon cake. His favorite movie were the Terminator ones, he wasn't a fan of TV shows-he said they went on forever. His favorite color was navy blue. His favorite animal was a wild Mustang. He loved it when I told him about Arya, my Arabian.

Eventually he told me of his home life, about his emotions and how he feels so depressed and like he was worthless. Years went by and he seemed to get better. He began to become more positive, he began to smile when he entered my office, he talked nom stop and he was so proud when he brought his report card to show me how he got straight A's.

He was seventeen, and he was almost ready to end his therapy. He was getting good grades, doing successful in his group home. He just started senior year and he was already the head of his class. He seemed so much better.

"Today," I whispered, "I was waiting in my office for him. He didn't show up at his session at four. He's always early. I waited and waited. I had the clerk at the desk call his home. Nobody answered and at that moment, a police officer had come into the lobby. He walked right over to me and asked to speak to me in my office. He said—" a wave of fresh tears came over me.

"Lexa?" Clarke's voice rose in concern.

"Are you Alexandria Woods?" the officer asked me. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Yes, sir."

"Is there somewhere we can talk?"

I nodded, leading the way to my office, shutting the door once inside.

"I'm here to talk to you about one of your patients. Rylie Aarons."

I really felt sick. "What happened?"

He took his hat off. "It may be best for you to sit down."

I shook my head rapidly. "No," I whispered, my eyes tearing up. "No!"

He put a hand on my arm. "I'm so sorry, but I need to ask you a few questions."

"How?" I asked, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Suicide."

I didn't ask how. I didn't want to know. "He was doing so much better," I whispered. "He was more happy, more relaxed. He was doing so well in school. His home life improved. He was doing so much better. He was almost ready to end his therapy sessions."

I was crying too hard to respond to the officer. So I handed Rylie's file over to him. They let me take an extended leave right there and then.

Clarke held me. She held me as I sobbed, she held me as I shook, she held me as I broke. Five years. She pulled me up and helped me to our room. She helped me dress into pajamas and laid me down in bed. I curled into her, head on her chest, her hands brushing my hair from my face. She held me together and I broke. Oh, what a dark world we live in.