Red

I slowly put on my faded, light-blue jeans, taking my time to fasten each button. Then I slipped the gray t-shirt over my head and adjusted it until it looked right. I carefully laced up my shoes and pulled the hem of my pants this way and that, until they hung correctly.

It had been two weeks since my discussion with Deb. Since then, my visions became more frequent, but they were mercifully short. Nonetheless, still utterly confusing. The winged man never returned, but his message was relayed during every episode. Danger. Beware.

I sighed and ran my fingers anxiously through my hair. I was dead tired. My visions were coming primarily at night. Though they lasted only about five minutes, my mind would continue to run for the rest of the night, not allowing me a moment of rest. They were killing me.

For the last couple of days, I’d been up and moving around enough that the doctor said I was ready for release. Half of me was screaming and jumping for joy. The other half, however, was curled up in a dark corner, trembling. There was nothing I wanted to do less than to face my parents today. But, before I could be shoved back into their arms, I had to go to one last therapy session.

I almost would rather skip the session and lock myself in my mom’s Porsche. Almost.

Just then, a procession of loud raps on my door caused me to jump up rather violently from my bed. I swore when right knee collided with the little plastic table the heart rate monitor rested on. The knocks continued on.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, then more loudly, “Come in, God!”

The door creaked open and I whipped around, insults already on my tongue, ready to be unleashed upon this raucous person, whom I fully blamed for my injured knee. But the accusations died quickly and I inwardly groaned when I saw “Doctor” Phineas Nell, my therapist.

Nell was a short man, with a bulbous stomach and a receding hair line. He was always wearing pants that were way too tight for him and ugly-as-fuck sweaters, usually featuring some frolicking felines or scampering puppies. Or, more usual than the rest, his mother. It was always hard to look at him and reject your gag reflex.

He must’ve taken my silence as an invitation and waltzed right into my room. I grimaced as he lightly ran his hand over my duffel bag. Threats were bubbling up inside me, but I pushed them all down, reserving them for later. If I didn’t behave, Nell wouldn’t release me from therapy. I hated how this pathetic man had control of my liberation.

“I was in my office,” Nell began, his voice nasally, “and was beginning to worry when you weren’t showing up.” I held back a shiver of disgust.

“I was waiting for Carla.” I mumbled, lying. Carla was my RN. She normally walked me to my sessions. I turned my head a fraction and glanced down at the note on the bedside table, addressed to me from Carla, saying how she wouldn’t be able to escort me to Nell’s office today. Apparently she didn’t warn Nell.

“I see. Well, seeing as I’m already here, let’s take a stroll, shall we?” He smiled at me, revealing a large bit of spinach stuck between his upper front teeth. I sighed and started immediately out the door, grabbing my bag on the way.

The walk was mercifully short and silent. Nell quickly unlocked the door to his office and waved me in. I passed through with reluctance. Nell had a big office for someone who only dealt with peoples’ feelings. It had the standard maroon velvet couch and big, squishy-looking puke green chair. A mahogany desk sat in the east corner of the room, holding a pile of papers, a calender, a small lamp, and multiple pictures of him and his mother. Nell’s Princeton Diploma was framed, along with other achievements, and hanging on the wall next to his desk. A low row of books stretched along the west wall.

“Now, Gemma, why don’t you sit down?” Nell gestured to the couch.

Ha, ha, yeah right. “Actually, I would be more comfortable with our usual arrangement, Phineas.” I replied.

He frowned, “Well, alright.” he sighed, then went to lay on the couch. I smiled, lowering myself down into the squishy chair.

I absolutely hate talking about my “feelings”. For the first four weeks of therapy, I didn’t say a word to Nell. I was more than happy to waste my parents’ money.

But one day I was early for one of my sessions and Nell was speaking to my mother on the phone. Apparently, he was interpreting my silence as my brain deteriorating under all of the stress and suggested that I be taken out of the psych ward and placed in an asylum.

Definitely not somewhere I wanted to be.

So I put a new plan in effect. Sure, I’d talk...occasionally. I told Nell that I wasn’t very comfortable discussing my innermost feelings with a complete stranger and insisted that he tell me about him.

The only down side to my plan was, I have to listen to this dunce everyday drone on about his childhood. Good thing I’m great at tuning things out.

Just five more minutes...I thought now, greedily staring at the clock. For some reason, he has two of them, each on the opposite wall of each other...weird.

“...And that’s why I have that scar on my thigh.” Nell concluded, looking oddly happy with himself. I snorted quietly. The picture of his pasty white thighs being chewed up by a Chihuahua was quite amusing. Nell’s expression turned nervous. He began to fiddle with his pen.

“So...Gemma. We’ve never exactly touched on the subject of your, um...attempted suicide.” Nell choked out, nervous under my heavy glare. Seriously, it was none of his business. Actually, I didn’t think that what I did was even that bad. I wanted out, so what?

It was because of the visions, really. They’re just so...horrible. I was sick and tired of them. All I wanted was to get away from them. And I almost succeeded.

“And?” I deadpan.

“I feel that we should discuss-“ Nell’s reply was cut off by the sound of birds chirping from both of the clocks. It was finally four.

“Well, it’s been nice knowin’ ya, and I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got a ride to catch, so why don’t you sign my release papers? As a parting gift.” I coaxed, hoping my smile was disarming.

“Gemma...” Nell sighed, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “I think you should continue with therapy when you leave.”

My smile dropped. This could not be happening.

“Just sign my papers so I can leave. There is no way I am continuing with this shit.” I growled, injecting as much venom into my voice as I could.

Nell’s body suddenly went slack, his expression blank. I felt a sudden rise of power within me, not feeling the least bit of concern for his sudden condition. “Sign the papers.” I repeated, my voice soft and commanding.

Slowly, he opened up his folder, pulling out the release form. I watched with mild disbelief as he signed them. I quickly tore my freedom from his grasp and ran out the door.

It’s over. I thought, a grin on my face. Thank you God.

I power walked down the deserted hallway, fueled by enthusiasm. It slowly burnt out when I thought about the future I was so happily skipping towards. Anger instantly replaced the euphoria. I’d give up anything for my parents to show the smallest bit of support towards me. They were always so cold and emotionless. I couldn’t remember anytime when they’ve shown the least bit of pride. They never showed any interest when I was the lead in a play or when I sang a solo in choir. The just didn’t care, and that’s what really pisses me off. It’s not my fault that I wasn’t your average, every-day, cookie-cutter, happy-go-lucky teenage girl. And I don’t ever fucking want to be. I like being different. Well, okay maybe the visions suck major ass and therapy’s a bitch, but it’s better than being plain-as-fu-

“Mother fucker!”

“Ouch!”

By now I should really know better than to be in motion while having a fit. I’d whipped around the corner too fast and collided right into little Ana.

We were a tangle of limbs on the hospital floor, a bit confused and disoriented. I sighed, really not in the mood for the all the dinking around. I stopped failing around, quickly getting my bearings and helped Ana up.

“Going somewhere?” Ana questioned, her big brown eyes glaring at me. I would’ve been alarmed, if not for the fact that A a looked like a doll. She was only about 5 foot 2 inches at 15 years old, and always kept her curly brown hair in pig tails. She never wore makeup and her face was clear, lips and cheeks always rosy. She was adorable. I envied her greatly.

“I get to leave this hell hole.” I announced, waiving the papers.

Ana continued to glare, “And you were just gonna leave without saying goodbye? Honestly? I mean, God, I though my friendship meant something to you!”

Ana and I had been admitted into the hospital at the same time. And also for the same injuries, but different objectives. Granted, Ana had been cutting long before I even thought of my little escapade. She was always going in and out of hospitals. Her parents refused to admit her to a mental hospital. Mostly because Ana had them pretty much wrapped around her pinky finger and had them doing whatever she wanted. Their only stipulation was that when she passed out from blood loss or got a bad infection, she had to get it taken care of professionally.

I had to give her props- it had taken a lot for me to get the knife going. A a did it with ease. She always said that it was her body. She could do whatever she wanted with it. I respected that.

“Sorry, it was extremely last minute.” I winced as I muttered the lame excuse. Ana narrowed her eyes, and then sighed.

“Well,” she began, “at least it was one of us. So, where are you gonna go? Back with the ‘rents?”

My mood meter dropped about 10, straight into the internal-boiling-anger side of the scale. “Not exactly. Grandma.” My voice was acidic.

Ana looked sympathetic, “Shit. Tough break, girl.”

“Yeah. That’s one way to put it.” I sighed and shifted my bag. It was pretty light, seeing as during my stay I wasn’t allowed to have anything that was considered endangering to my health. Which apparently meant I couldn’t bring pretty much anything I owned.

Ana suddenly reached up and hugged me, her arms secured around my neck. I leaned down awkwardly, wrapping my arms around her waist.

“I’m gonna miss you. Take care of yourself.” She whispered.

“I promise. You take care too.” I replied.

We pulled apart, Ana’s eyes glistening with unshed tears. “And be careful, alright? I don’t wanna have to be going to your funeral anytime soon.”

I smiled. “I’ll behave. And you should too.”

Ana grinned, “Aw, but how else am I gonna say ‘fuck you’ to our stupid-ass society?”

“Um...invest in black clothes, facial piercing, and tattoos?” I offered. The piercing and tattoo idea was ridiculous; Ana had a fear of needles, oddly enough.

“I like your thinking, Gem.” Ana started backing away and I did the same, the distance between us lengthening. “Hit me up on Facebook?”

“Fuck no.”

Ana grinned widely. “See you around, babe.” she called.

“See ya.” I stared after her retreating figure, watching Ana disappear as she turned the corner. I hate goodbyes.

I sighed for what seemed like the millionth time today, and turned around to face my future.