"So what makes you want to lie," the therapist, and older lady with short gray hair and a pointed nose, asked me. I sat in an uncomfortable chair in a room that was supposed to feel cozy but failed miserably.
"What makes you think that I want to tell you?" I spat at her and crossed my arms.
"Well, you are here to get better? Aren't you?" she said calmly.
"There was nothing wrong with me," I stated and clenched my jaw.
"Listen young lady, it is in your best interest to cooperate here-"
"Oh, yes! And while I tell you all of my deepest, darkest secrets I think I might ride my Pegasus to Narnia as well!" I said quickly.
"I am not playing games here! We are here to help you regain the bright future that you have lost just to receive a little bit of attention!" The therapist said standing up and jabbing a finger at me.
"Yes, because everyone who is here is in this prison just wanted some attention, huh? Because every patient here thought that this might make their parents more involved in their lives, by sending them away to a mental hospital, right? Is that what you believe?"
"I- uh. . . I never thought of it that way. . . "she said and slowly sat back down. I smiled to myself, satisfied, knowing that I had broken her before anyone else did.
"We have better reasons to lie, or to hide, or to rake our nails against our skin, than just for some attention," I stated with my chin held high.
"I- oh . . . " was all that the therapist could stutter. Then the clock started ringing, signaling the end of the therapy session. I bounced up from my chair, ran my hands over the jean clothing on my thighs, and smiled at the lady who was staring at the floor in shock.
"So I'm guessing that I will be getting a new therapist?" I asked in a sarcastic, sweet voice.
"I . . . um, suppose . . . so. . . "
"Perfect. Then I'll be leaving now," I said and marched to the door. She pressed a button on her chair and the door slid open, revealing a waiting room full of other patients. Some smiled at me as I walked past them to the elevators, I smiled back, knowing that they would need it, other just nodded with me returning the favor, like some kind of silent agreement, and others just sat there, worried for what was about to come. And I could relate.
:::::**__**:::::
"So how was your first therapy session, Alec?" James asked with a smirk on her face. It was lunch time now, and James, Dylan, a girl named Rose, a boy named Noah, and I are sitting in the cafe area of the lobby, all of us eating decent food. Well, all of us besides James.
"How does that food taste, Jamaica?" I asked her and shoved a spoonful of macaroni into my mouth. She glared at me but said nothing.
"So, Alec, do you like it here so far?" Rose asked. Rose was a lean girl with short blonde hair and a bright smile. She smiled a lot, but other than that, she was cool.
"Could be better," I replied and shrugged.
"Yeah, but they have a tattoo parlor here. I just got one," Noah said. Noah had curly brown hair and light blue eyes and washed his hands all the time. Which, now that I think of it, probably has something to do with his condition.
"Wait, really?" I asked. Getting a tattoo has always been something that I wanted to do.
"Yup. I just got one," he said and rolled up his sleeve that had the word 'goodbye' written on his forearm in neat cursive. I stood up from my chair.
"Someone show me where I can get one," I stated.
"I will," said a familiar voice from behind me. I spun around to see Eli, looking tired and stressed out, in full glory with purple hair. "I was actually just about to head down there. I can show you."
"Ok," I stated. Lie. I was not ok.
"I'm guessing one of you guys told her my name?" Eli asked everyone at the table.
"That would be me," James stated and winked at Eli. My jaw clenched. I don't know why, but it did.
I cleared my throat. "Well, are we going or not?" I asked.
"Yeah, let's, uh . . . go," Eli said flustered. He started walking towards the elevators, and I followed.
°°°°°°^^^^^¡¡¡¡¡^^^^^°°°°°°
"So what are you kids looking at today?" said the tattoo artist. He was a bigger man with an orange beard and an orange ponytail.
"I'm not sure . . . " Eli said and flipped the pages of a booklet that showed some designs that you could get.
"Okay, just take your time- hey, wait a minute . . . how old are you kids?" the man asked.
"I'm 15," Eli replied.
"I'm 17," I lied.
"Sorry kids, you have to be at least 18 to get a tattoo," he said and shrugged. I guess my lie wasn't good enough.
"Come on, can't you just cut us some slack?" I asked.
"Sorry kid, rules are rules."
I slammed my hands down on the table. "Listen, this place is already hell on earth. So don't try to make it any worse for us. Just gives us some tattoos to take our mind off of it, OK? Just some pain to take away from pain that is even worse, got it?" I said. He man sighed and nodded.
"Ok, listen: I like you kids, I really do, so I will be willing to make an exception," he said quietly. "Follow me."
The man walked around the counter and to the back of the tattoo parlor. There was a curtain, and when he pulled it back, to leather worn down chairs.
"You can each take a seat. I'll do your tattoo," he said and gestured to Eli, "and Lucy will do yours," he said and nodded his head toward me. "I'll be right back."
When he was gone, Eli bombarded me with questions.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"Because I think that I'm broken," I said. Lie. Everyone else thought I was broken, I didn't.
"Why do you want a tattoo?"
"To show that I'm not weak." Lie. To piss off my mother and to have a memory.
"Why did you let me cry?"
I looked at him. "What do you mean?" Lie. I knew.
"You didn't push me away as I was sobbing. Why?"
I hesitated before answering. "You cried too hard. You needed to let it out. I wasn't going to be the one to stop you."
Silence.
The man and a girl with bright green hair, Lucy, I'm guessing, came in moments later with small needles that looked like guns. They asked us what we wanted permanently etched into our skin, and we told them. Without another word, they started jabbing our skin with bolts of searing pain.
°°°°°°°
"Finished," Lucy stated and looked at me. "Do you like it?"
I looked down at my arm. Starting from my wrist and going up to my elbow were the words 'My Lies Define My Insanity' written in an elegant cursive.
"Beautiful."
YOU ARE READING
I know I'm insane
隨機I had never thought I was insane. I guess everyone else felt different.
