The Girl of Time (Doctor Who Fan-fiction)

Chapter 4

     

Hola!

Wow, this book is already up to 27 reads! That's crazy! Okay, so maybe that only adds up to like six people but who cares! Thank you all so much for reading!  I plan on updating another chapter soon so this chapter kind of ends really stupidly (I'm not 100% sure that's a word). I hope you enjoy!

-Izzy

~🌺~

I manage to force my eyes open, and through the blaring sunlight, I make out then silhouettes of Nancy, Drew, and Ann.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Nancy practically screams to my face. I shut my eyes again, hoping to make all of this go away.

"I'm fine." I say. I'm not in the mood to explain it all. If Ann wants to, so be it. I don't think she will though, because she looks ticked.

"What happened?" Drew asks. He wasn't asking me though, he was asking Ann. Already I resented these people, and I had yet to know them for more than five minutes.

"Well," Ann starts her usual speech about me, "Brielle is, well, she has a...er...we consider it a mental disorder. She was born with some, uh, her doctors think her brain's not wired right, and it makes her randomly go unconscious for short periods of time." It's always been the same speech, it's never changed. Ann is slightly convinced that I just make this up for attention. However, her husband is one hundred percent sure I have some sort of mental problem. I've tried to explain it to them, but they won't listen. You can lead a horse to water, but sometimes the horse walks away, even though the horse is dying of thirst.

"Oh," Nancy says, "Does this affect her daily life?" She again asks Ann, not me. If I actually cared, I would point out that I am standing right here, perfectly able to answer any questions.

"Well, it does happen daily, often a few times a day, but-" she is interrupted by Nancy whispering something to her. I could still hear her, and let's just say, I'm not going home with them anytime soon. Then, Nancy turns to me.

"Well, we had a great time with you, Brielle, but uh, we have to go now," she says with a big stupid grin on her face.

"We had lots of fun," Drew adds.

I'm sure you did, I almost say. I stop myself though, realizing it's not worth the breath. I watch them practically run to their car and drive away. Good riddance! I sit up, and notice a bunch of families had watched the whole scene.

"You have a doctor's appointment at 3:00," Ann says blankly to me, "Why don't you just go inside?" I don't argue, and walk to the house, and shut the door. I walk straight to my room, and grab my journal.

Ever since I could write, I have been recording all the dreams I ever had into this journal. I grab a pen and start writing about the Cybermen, and the store, and the battery, and the Doctor. I write down everything I remember (which is a lot) and write the date. Then, I throw the journal on my bed. I spend a few minutes watching  the people outside. Everyone is happy. Jane, a girl a few years younger than me, talks with a young couple. She says something, and makes them laugh. She could very well go home with them someday. Yes, adoption takes anywhere from months to years to complete all the legal work, but she will still get to leave this place. As for me, I might be here until I'm eighteen.

After a while, people start leaving. Ann rounds up the kids, and they all head in. They're screaming and laughing, as all children should. I hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Without even knocking, Ann barges into my room. "Did I not say you had an appointment!?! Stan is waiting in the car!" Stan is her husband. He must be home from work. I jump up and walk down to the car.

Gee, what took ya so long?" Stan shouts from the car. I don't answer, and just hop in the back.

"We're going to the psychologist right?"

      "Yeah," I mumble. Since Ann is convinced I've lost it, she thinks if I go to a psychologist all my problems will magically go away, and you know what? If I actually could control the Dreams, it might. But I can't. I stare out the window, wondering when and if this will ever be over.