Journal Of A Teenage Psychopath

17

The building where I have my oppointment was practically in Timbuktu.
Inside was a large waiting room for people not being evaluated, but those that were, went through another door.
Inside there were twitching fingers, nervous foots, and dark eyes of all ages.

I sat next to the person I felt was least likely to vomit on me out of sheer nerves.

I waited.

I was sitting next to a girl.
She looked uneasy like the others, but unlike them wasn't anxiously wringing her hands to and fro.

Long, blond, wavy hair.
Maybe my age.
A ring on her left ring finger.
I stared at it.
Eventually she turned to me, and immediately I regretted my actions.

"What?"

I stare at her.
For a moment I almost wanted to start a conversation, but thought better of it and turned away.
After a moment she did too.

I started to wonder about what I might expect once I entered one of the offices for my evaluation. Each room had a saggy old door that whispered to everyone waiting about the dark secrets they held behind them.

The entire building seemed built specifically to torture the mentally unstable, and to set off-kilter the sound of mind. It's floors' had a puke white color, and a fermenting smell of bleach eking into our noses. The walls were lined with crusty brown paper, and the ceiling carefully hinted at a deep set of mold.

I was sure that if I didn't have some trauma problem, or brain defect of some kind then - that I definitely would now.

The girl turned back to me.

"I'm sorry, it's bothering me. What were you going to say?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Forget about it,"

Her brow furrowed, and then she turned away again.

One of the doors opened and a gangly teenage boy walked out, escorted by some women in business casual attire.

All eyes suddenly were on them.

Most in some state of fear, dreading that they were next.
A few seemed merely curious.
But the overall affect could be felt by the boy, and he began to shake visablly up and down.

I turned away - not wanting to do what everyone else was - but could still see the woman offer support.

I looked down at the girls ring again.

It really was a curious thing.

My mistake was expecting the girl to be looking away like all the others.

"Alright, please. You have to tell me now," she said

I sighed in exasperation.

"I was just looking at your ring. It's on the right hand. Not the left,"

She looked at it. Then a slow embarrassed smile crept onto her face.

"Heh, heh. You noticed that?"

I rolled my eyes.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it,"

"Yeah, but most people don't know that rings on the right ring finger don't mean marriage, only the left. In fact wearing a ring on the right is a show of pride in being single. Sort of a symbol of being available,"

She talked fast and with an exuberant expression on her face.

My disdain grew, but I held my toungue.