Heaven Help You
A Possible Solution
He sat in the chair sideways, his fingers tapping a little erratically. Sometimes he could get it but most of the time...most of the time he had nothing. If they hadn't of diagnosed him as crazy before, they surely could now. It was getting him flustered. And flustered was bad. He knew it was. The last time he had been flustered...his heard ached at that memory. His stomach twisted and his eyes flicked up towards the window.
It was locked. He had already tried it while the doctor had been out of the room. Actually he had been standing beside it staring at it longingly when the doctor had come back into the room shocked that he could even move. Well that just showed that not all doctors were as smart as they seemed to think. Then again, he was good at hiding inside. He had been doing it for months now.
"Alright than Jonathan," the doctor said. "Why don't you start by just looking at me?"
He was more concerned about his twitching fingers. He wanted them to move. The right order. It was necessary that he have that back. Nothing could work until he had the movements back. They were necessary to his way of being. They were a part of who he was. The doctor didn't seem to understand that. No one did. He didn't expect them to anymore. Once he had hoped that they might, but now he knew better.
Another heavy sigh. Exasperation. He knew that emotion well. Everyone seemed to feel it about him. He couldn't well blame them either. He was a mess. A terrible, terrible mess. And if they hated them, well than it was all for the better. He should be hated. Hated and reviled even.
It made life easier.
"Can you look at me Jonathan?" the doctor asked.
He ignored him. The doctor didn't matter. He couldn't save him. He couldn't help him. He should just unlock one of the windows and push him out. He wondered if the doctor wanted to. Probably. He just didn't seem to have done it yet. He would eventually though. Maybe he could make the doctor do it. Maybe he could get the doctor to kill him. He liked that thought. No one would blame the doctor. The doctor would be praised and he would get to die.
The idea had his lip twitching as a smile tried to touch it. A spark touched his eyes. His fingers started to move. Two. One. Three.
It was locked. He had already tried it while the doctor had been out of the room. Actually he had been standing beside it staring at it longingly when the doctor had come back into the room shocked that he could even move. Well that just showed that not all doctors were as smart as they seemed to think. Then again, he was good at hiding inside. He had been doing it for months now.
"Alright than Jonathan," the doctor said. "Why don't you start by just looking at me?"
He was more concerned about his twitching fingers. He wanted them to move. The right order. It was necessary that he have that back. Nothing could work until he had the movements back. They were necessary to his way of being. They were a part of who he was. The doctor didn't seem to understand that. No one did. He didn't expect them to anymore. Once he had hoped that they might, but now he knew better.
Another heavy sigh. Exasperation. He knew that emotion well. Everyone seemed to feel it about him. He couldn't well blame them either. He was a mess. A terrible, terrible mess. And if they hated them, well than it was all for the better. He should be hated. Hated and reviled even.
It made life easier.
"Can you look at me Jonathan?" the doctor asked.
He ignored him. The doctor didn't matter. He couldn't save him. He couldn't help him. He should just unlock one of the windows and push him out. He wondered if the doctor wanted to. Probably. He just didn't seem to have done it yet. He would eventually though. Maybe he could make the doctor do it. Maybe he could get the doctor to kill him. He liked that thought. No one would blame the doctor. The doctor would be praised and he would get to die.
The idea had his lip twitching as a smile tried to touch it. A spark touched his eyes. His fingers started to move. Two. One. Three.