Cure Me

7| Promise

Infinite hallways led us to her office, the shrill creak of the door whilst being open was the first thing that interrupted the silence between us. It was a comfortable kind of silence, the one that even if you didn't talk you could understand what the other was thinking, the one that didn't need to be interrupted so to not feel a sense of awkwardness.

Her office remained as tidy as the first time I saw it; everything had it's own place, nothing was misplaced, not even the pens that were carefully positioned on her desk. Even they were put so to give a decent look to the place. Everything was perfect in that room, depicting the perfection that the one who used it had.

«Please, take a seat.»

We simultanously sat down, each at their own chair, me facing her and her facing me. The desk the only thing that separated us.

She took some papers and one of the pens on the desk. She clicked the pen, the tip of it coming out to let her write down what I supposed was my name.

«First of all, I'll ask you some questions. Feel free to tell me if you don't want to answer them yet, if you feel too uncomfortable doing so.»

I nodded, calmly. It seemed that nothing was forced with her and that relieved me immensely.

«Ok, Dr. Staple.»

She smiled, a smile more beautiful and mysterious of the Monna Lisa's. I wondered if I could draw her sometimes, to always have a copy of that smile with me, to protect me from bad days.

«Please, call me Ellie.»

I blushed, nodding and humming in response. Ellie. If my guardian angel had a name, it was hers.

«Since when have you started having these suicidal thoughts?»

I thought about it for a moment. My memory often played me tricks, I couldn't remember almost anything, especially when questioned. Everything I knew seemed to disappear with a puff, leaving me speechless.

«One year, I think.»

She wrote down my answer, her hand moving carefully on the piece of paper, guiding gracefully the pen in a harmonious dance. I tried to peek, to see what her handwriting would look like but I couldn't. Certainly, it looked gracious and beautiful.

«Have you talked to anyone, sought help from relatives, friends...?»

I shook my head.

«I didn't.»

«How come?»

I froze at the question. How come I didn't sought help? Because I was scared, scared that people wouldn't understand. Which was stupid, now that I think about it. Of course they wouldn't understand if I didn't explain to them what I was feeling.

«I was scared. I still am.»

She nodded, drifting her attention to the piece of paper. I continued, a sudden urge to speak coming over me.

«I always feel like I'm faking it, like I'm not really depressed. Maybe I'm doing it for attention. If I'd speak with someone, that would confirm that I indeed was seeking attention. Plus, I don't want to be a burden to people.»

She looked up at me, with eyes filled with kindess.

«I see. (Y/N), seeking for help is not equal to seeking for attention. We both know that's not the case, or else you wouldn't have tried killing yourself.»

«Mh, I suppose so.»

She smiled again, softly.

«It will take time, to understand and accept certain things. But for now, why don't we try and see why you have such a bad self-esteem, mh? What do you say?»

I nodded, uncertain.

«Do you think you are worthless than others right now?»

I nodded again, unable to speak.

«I see... do you think you're a bad person? And that you deserve bad things happening to you?»

«Y-yes.»

Tears started forming in my eyes. She saw the sparkle in my eyes and got up from her chair.

«Hey, it's alright. We're going to get through this, ok? I promise you.»

I sniffled, unable to look her in the eyes. I quickly get rid of the tears with my fingers. I didn't like crying in front of people, showing them how weak I was. Somehow, though, I felt like I could cry in front of her. Still, I couldn't show her how much of a crybaby I was.

«It's ok to cry, let it all out.»

And with those words, I let the faucet running.