"So how would you describe what you're feeling right now?" My therapist asks in that gentle tone he always uses when he wants to pry answers from my mouth. Damn him, it always works.
It takes me a minute to ponder this response. If I said the wrong thing then more than likely he would put me back on those anti-depressants; which I hated. I couldn't think straight when I was on those. They left me jumbled and incoherent. The clock on the wall strikes 10:30 pm, a little chime rings out in the room with my heart jumping with it.
"Everything is clearer. I don't feel like I'm underwater anymore." I answer but still unsure. He lifts one bushy grey brow towards me. I twist my hands nervously.
"So would you say that the anti-depressants may have worked?" His eyes glint with interest as if I was some breakthrough for him.
My mouth feels like it's full of cotton when I answer. Tick-tock, the clock mimics quietly. Tick-tock, tick-tock.
"No."
He frowns and goes back to his notes. Back to square one. I want to roll my eyes and yell at him, but I just shrink further down on the couch.
"Have you tried reaching out to your family?" He asks while writing something down on his notepad. No, I haven't tried reaching out to my fucking family, I think hastily and crack one of my knuckles.
"Yeah," I lie and tug at my pale blue hair, "but they don't want to talk to me. They kicked me out years ago, why would they want to make conversation now?" I point out and frown. Worry lines crease my forehead so I try to smooth them out with my palm.
"Keep trying, Mason. They'll come around eventually." He says but lacks any genuine undertone.
The rest of the session skips in a blur. He tries to continue his questioning but I don't feel like answering all that much. Instead, I let him rattle off the suggestions he always makes that can 'help contribute to my asocial behavior for the next half hour.
Instead of forcing myself to listen, I mentally figure out how to clean out the attic in my home. My therapist says doing something productive like clean might help. It should keep my mind busy.
I think it's a load of horse-shit, but I'll try it anyway.
YOU ARE READING
Be My Friend
FantasyMason sells his soul to Satan in order to gain a friend. However, this friend may turn out to be a little more than what Mason bargained for.
