Psychopath [solangelo au]

-Prologue-

May 25th, 2016
Grade 10

Step.
One foot forward. Then, another.
Don't trip. Stay focused. Drown out the sound. Don't think. Walk. One foot after another. Right and left. Don't stop. Everything is fine.

I stalked down the sun-bleached sidewalk with my head down and hand in my pockets, contemplating how I would start this week's session. So much had happened in the last seven days, but today was probably the peak of Everest. At this point, I was accustomed to my dead sister and abusive father's presence, their voices slithering through my head at my worst moments. Today was different. In a completely unrelated way.
Today was extra weird.

My hair hung in front of my eyes, curtaining my view of my surroundings except for my shoes and the cracks in the sidewalk, so I didn't realize I had walked right past Jenny's place.

I shook my head to clear the fog in my brain, and backtracked 10 steps. And a corner.
Stepping my way up the small grey walkway, I stared at the tall grey building I had been visiting for the past year-and-a-half.

I entered, passing the old elevator and side eyeing it cautiously cautiously as I made for the stairs.
I've hated elevators all my life. They made me queasy and dizzy and my eyes would spin. And they were small. And usually cramped. Also, the incident from a couple years ago definitely made the phobia worse.

Being in a cramped elevator had caused a panic attack. I was thirteen, and I was alone. Alone with 9 staring strangers. It didn't help that my father showed up.
Obviously, he didn't actually show up. He left when I was eleven-years-old, but my mind conjured him up or whatever, and that hallucination told me things— to make a long story short.

That's one of the reasons why I was at this honey coloured, wooden door, about to knock for the 100th time.

I rapped my knuckles on the wood; the sound echoed across the empty and eerie hallway. Routine. Jenny said routine was important for busy minds like mind.

Jenny was... mine. She was a person, not an object, but she was something permanent in my life. Something routine. Something that was... mine and no one else's.
Except I heard voices draw near, and when the door opened, I was slapped with the reminder that Jenny wasn't mine; I wasn't the only one who came to see a therapist, or this therapist specifically. She always says she loves to listen to me, but who else does she say that too? I'm not her only friend, even though she's mine.

A boy who was only just older than me exited the room. He was taller than me, and probably a better talker than me. He had a more believable fake smile than me, as he nodded my way.
I dropped my head timidly and took a step back, out of his way. I was pretty good at telling if a smile was real or not. I would know; I'm an expert at the art of hollow grins.

I stood next to the doorway until he entered the dreaded elevator. Then, when I was alone, I entered the familiar room and welcoming gust of vanilla. Jenny always had a vanilla scented candle lit, because it was her favourite scent, and it soon became on of my favourites as well. Vanilla meant safe. Jenny probably had a psychology reason for the candle. Associating smell with safety or something.

Jenny, my therapist, wasn't facing me; she was at the other end of the room on her phone, texting someone. Her fingers moved awfully fast across the bottom half of her phone.

She obviously didn't know I was there; she mustn't have heard my knock. I was early, I knew, but I really didn't want to go back home after school.
I walked straight here instead, because I wanted to be in a slightly good mood while spending the hour I had with Jenny. I'm always pissed off if I've spent time at the home.