NEGLECTED

Chapter Seven

FFION BRISDEN

I had no right to be angry with Keaton. For a psychiatrist, his question was reasonable. It allowed insight into my past which he needed to hear if he was going to be able to help me and my apparent 'problem', but it didn't make it ok. It didn't make the way I felt hearing it okay.

I spent the next few days reliving that day where I lost someone, struggling to cope in everyday life, my emotions too strong for me to handle. Eventually it all stopped. My chest stopped hurting, my lungs finally opened up and I wasn't glass eyed. But instead of feeling something I felt nothing.

Reliving the accident resulted in me having to relearn how to cope with what had happened. I didn't cope back then, and I'm struggling to cope again now.

The door to his office opened, the same older woman emerging before Keaton made an appearance, his shoulder pressed against the door keeping it open as he crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't smile as the woman spoke to him, thanking him for the session, but he gave her a couple second reassuring pat on the arm like he usually did. She turned and walked off and within not even a second he had forgotten about the woman, his focus now on me.

He didn't call me right away, our eyes locked as he drew in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly through his nose. He could see my mood from across the room and by the almost blank look on his face I knew he knew it was his fault. 

Not directly wanting to talk with me around prying ears, knowing one simple word like 'come here' would result in me most likely lashing out, he nodded his head back, indicating it was time for my session. 

I didn't get up immediately, watching Keaton's patience wear thin the longer I simply stared his way. Keaton also made no move to speed  up the process though, letting me get up when I felt like it, even if I was wasting precious time. He probably wanted me to waste the hour we had together. 

When I did eventually stand Keaton exhaled, shaking his head so slightly I almost missed it as he turned back to his office, as if to say 'it's about bloody time.' He didn't wait for me like usual, instead he disappeared into his office, leading me to find him already seated with his face in his notebook when I took a step in. As usual. 

I closed the door behind myself, walking over and taking a seat across from Keaton, only to be met with more silence. The corner of my lip quirked upwards as I shook my head lightly, finding Keaton's stubborn shrink behaviour unprofessional.

"I don't know why you're playing mute" I spoke first, "after all you're the one who brought up my trauma."

"Believe it or not, Miss Brisden" He drew out my last name to let me know at the moment we weren't on a first name basis, " but I'm a psychiatrist. It's my job to test you during a session" Keaton's focus was still on his notebook. I've never seen him write in it, always just reading. It was almost as if he didn't write around patients out of respect. I wanted him to not be such a pussy and look up at me, rather than hiding in his book. 

"That wasn't a session" Keaton glanced up at me through his eyebrows before looking back down. 

"My point is you wouldn't have come to me if you weren't wanting to be tested in one way or another."

"I thought me kicking you out a second time would've been hint enough I wasn't in the mood to be tested" I was tired, mentally drained, and Keaton bringing up how he noticed my mumble I thought I'd kept to myself only worsened my mood. And he pushed it, something he's never done with me before. 

He pushed and pushed, trying to get information I wasn't comfortable audibly saying and hearing out in the world and finally when I snapped, yelling at him to get out, it became my fault. Keaton shut the notebook, sighing as he rubbed his temple in pain.