The Fault In Our Stars Sequel

Chapter Eight

My dreams that night are plagued with Augustus.

I am running through the scenery of Isaac's game, burning buildings all around me, the sky a smoke-filled gray, making my already struggling lungs suffocate. How unfortunate that even in my dreams I am so screwed when it comes to physical activity.

Augustus is running ahead of me, limping all the way, every so often calling my name over his shoulder. "Come on, Hazel Grace! There are children in need!" a small smile tugs at the edges of his lips, and he continues running, pushing faster and faster, leaving me behind, heaving each breath into my body as if it's my last. I need to catch up to him. Not just for the children, but for me. I need to catch up to him, see him, hug him.

Just as I reach him, I wake up.

Sweat drips down the side of my face, as if I had actually been running. I use my sheet to rub my face, sitting up. Sunlight streams through the cracks in my blinds. The multi-colored clock on my dresser reads nine thirty, so I figure I may as well get up. 

After preparing myself for the day and walking--more like stumbling-- down the stairs, I run a distressed hand through my hair, leaning in the threshold of my kitchen doorway, unsure of what to make of the sight I have the misfortune of seeing is sitting at my kitchen table.

A man, who has a smile plastered onto his face stares into my eyes, almost as if he is searching for my soul. He has a little briefcase leaned up against the leg of the table, and is wearing clothes that are too casual for a formal event, but too formal to be casual. 

Only one explanation is plausible--he's a therapist.

I fight the growing urge to smack my head against the wall behind my head.

This is not what I want to start out my day doing.

Really, a therapist wouldn't be all bad, if I thought there was at least half a chance of hope that he could help. However, this is not the case.

My family fails to understand that I am not sad to the point of being repaired. I am not a broken cell phone that you can just send into the store and get fixed, or soak in rice to relieve its damage. 

"Good morning, Hazel," the man smiles a bit too warmly at me. I shoot mom a pleading glance. However, she just gives me an apologetic look, that when you think about it should not be apologetic. She's the one who did this, therefore, she is not sorry.

"Hi." I say, crossing my arms across my chest, not leaving my perch in the doorway.

"My name is Dave Berkfield." he begins, then stops, looking at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to introduce myself. As if he doesn't already know my name. I blink once at him slowly, then stare at my mother.

She must see how uncomfortable I am, because she starts speaking. "Hazel, Mr. Berkfield is here to help. I know this might be strange, but I promise, it's not as bad as you're thinking it is."

I am shaking my head before she is even finished explaining. "I do not need a therapist, or counselor, or whatever Dave Berkfield is." my tone is a bit more venomous then what I planned, but I continue anyway. "He can't help me."

"I understand why you're so upset--" Mr. Berkfield starts.

"No, you don't. There is nothing you can do, unless you can bring Gus back!" my voice cracks as a single tear streams down the side of my cheek. Angry at my mother, angry at the world, but most of all angry with myself for acting so childish, I run up the stairs as fast as my body will allow, and collapse onto my pillow, and let the tears overwhelm me.