parachute • grester

Chapter One

Chester's POV

Did you know that only 20% of an iceberg is showing? That the rest of it, all 80% is underneath the surface , invisible. Everyone only sees the top, they always seem to forget about what's underneath. But they're wrong, so wrong because it's what can't be seen, what's buried beneath that does the damage; it's what you keep hidden which destroys you.

I kept this thought around me for years, all through my education and when it to came to what I wanted to do with my life I came to the simple conclusion of: I want people to see beneath the surface, and I wanted them to know I knew. So I trained to be a psychiatrist, delving into the minds of the 'broken'. I wouldn't say it's my job to fix them, but for them to know that someone wanted to fix them.

It was an easy job for an optimist like myself, and it never once made me more cynical. The hard part was letting them go. I had a record of every patient I'd ever seen, whether it was a small chat or years of help; every name was written in a book which lived in a box buried beneath my bed. Occasionally I'd open it, ring a few people to see how they were, it was hard to just forget about someone who you had been through so much with.

There's certain people you feel more attached to though, certain people who you feel the need to check up on them daily, certain people who your heart locks onto and you can't get them out of your head. I'd learnt not to worry so much, to let it go and pretend it'll be okay and most of the time that works but sometimes it's harder than that, sometimes it's deeper. Sometimes you have to remember that the world is full of demons and that they wont disappear with a click of the fingers.

I guess she was one of the interesting ones, one of ones you couldn't even pretend to hide your fear for. And it was fearful, it was scary knowing these people weren't okay and that something was pushing them to the edge of the world and that you were most likely their last hope. I had never been so scared for anyone else. I was scared that it was buried too deep and that I couldn't reach it, that the moment had passed and there was no hope for either of us.

She had her first session with me on the 14th November 2012, she had walked into the room with such reluctance as if she knew as soon as she let herself realise she was with a shrink there was no going back and she wouldn't let herself realise, she refused to let reality in. She walked in wearing blue skinny jeans, gripping tightly to her skin. She wore a baggy shirt over the top- like she was covering something. A necklace hung from her neck, swinging to the side when she moved abruptly. Chelsea boots were placed on her feet and she kept standing on her toes, like a child who was about to be told off by its parent.

Her hair, which was cropped mid-way down her neck was dyed blonde, carrying loose waves from the roots to the ends. Her makeup was minimal but effective, complementing her complexion softly. I guess in a way she looked smart, not over-done but like she had expected this to be something she needed to look good for, but it was all about the inside and although she was beautiful I needed to make her inside beautiful too.  She awkwardly stood and waited for me to direct her somewhere in the room and her eyes were expectant, her fingers tightly wrapped around the strap of her bag. I pointed to the chair adjacent from mine with my desk in-between the two seats, she sat down willingly, still deadly silent.

I looked down at the papers I had received about her, one thing which made her even more interesting was that her own mother had referred her to me, I'm assuming she was unaware she'd be spending her Thursday afternoon with a man who might as well call her crazy and prescribe her drugs. I wrote down a few things, stuff I'd noticed about her already and I saw her eyes peer over to the piece of paper, trying to read the sprawl of words on the page. I looked up and she caught my eye, holding contact for a seconds before she dropped her gaze.