The Sweetest Kill (SAMPLE)

Three: Allocution

© Amber Kalkes 2015

Chapter Three: Allocution

"How are you feeling?"

I grimace at the question but answer, "Fine."

Dr. Reynolds lifts one bushy eyebrow, "Care to elaborate?"

"Not really." I answer quietly.

He's obviously unimpressed by response and begins scribbling on his notepad while I take the opportunity to study him. Dr. Reynolds is a man in his late fifties with a rather impressive white colored comb over, probing blue eyes and a cleft chin. He wears thin gold wire glasses but consistently peers over them when he talks to me. I think they might be reading glasses but one can never really be sure.

The office is fairly nice. An expansive desk against a bay window, showing a view of the parking lot below and some of the chiropractic business across the street. Dr. Reynolds sits in front of me in his fairly large brown leather office chair, his back to his desk as I face him. I drop my gaze to a loose thread on the tweed chair I'm sitting on and start to pick at it, waiting for his scolding. Sometimes I think he's worse than my mother with all the lectures.

He eventually lowers his pen and looks at me dispassionately, "Shoshanna I can only help you if you talk to me. We've been over this."

"I'm aware."

"Then you're also aware that your cooperation in these sessions was also a stipulation of your outpatient status with the hospital."

I shift in my chair a little, "Yes."

"Then why don't you tell me where you got those bruises on your face."

I wipe my already sweating palms on my baggy jean legs and stare at the entwined fingers in my lap. It's only been one night since the incident with Lawrence and I'm still the worse for it. I feel disgusting no matter how many baths or showers I take or how hard I scrub my skin. I swear I could still feel his hands on me in my sleep. As a result I kept waking up covered in sweat, shaking and crying all through out the night.

He's never taken it that far before and now that he has, I'm not sure if I can face the possibility he could do it again. That being said, I don't know what I else I can do. Calling the police seems like a waste of time. He hasn't done anything other than touch and force a sloppy unwanted kiss on me. I shudder at the memory and try to shut off the building emotion as I glance at Dr. Reynolds, who continues to watch me. He doesn't need to know about the incident.

No one does.

"I fell."

"You fell?" He repeats doubtfully.

I hum a response and nod my head, "Yes. I s-slipped on some ice and fell."

"The how do you explain the fact that they are the size of finger tips?"

My finger knot nervously on my lap, "I landed at an odd angle I think."

He sighs heavily and removes his glasses so he can look me directly in the eyes, "Shoshanna, we won't get any father in your treatment if you continue to be evasive."

"I'm not."

"You are and I won't insult your intelligence by pretending that I don't know you are," He says before sitting back in his chair, "We need to talk about what happened the night you came under the hospital's care and you've been able to evade that subject as well. I don't need to tell you that keeping these things in is unhealthy."

"I don't want to talk about." I grit out, feeling my anxiety begin to climb.

"We have to talk about it at some point, Shoshanna. You tried to kill yourself and this incident wasn't the first time. Seven attempts in the past six years is not a simple matter to just sweep under the rug."