Sunflower

“You look nice today.”

I quickly remember what I’m wearing. My loosest navy sweatpants and a light blue hoodie. I don’t try too hard when it comes to clothing. It makes it look like I actually give a fuck when I don’t.

“I feel like the ocean.”

“What makes you think that?” I shouldn’t have said that, but it’s too late. She’s intrigued now.

I shrug. “The colours of my clothes.”

“Huh.” She glances down at her notes and back at me again. “Any other reason why?”

“Nope.”

“Alright, well I’ll suppose we’ll get started.”

“You’re the boss.”

Pause. “How are you today?”

“Do all psychiatrists have to say that at the beginning of a session? You’re like a walking cliché.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

I pull a lighter out of my pocket and begin flickering with the light. “Here’s some friendly advice, try a bit harder if you want to get some answers out of me.”

“Are you implying that I’m going to eventually get some answers out of you?”

I smirk and stop flickering, if only for a moment. “Maybe.”

“Why maybe?”

“Because these sessions amuse me and I like watching you squirm as you try and get answers that, with the way you’re going, won’t be for a while.”

“You’re very confident about that.”

“I’m confident about a lot of things.”

“Were you confident that night?”

I pause. She’s a smart one, this psych. Every other psychiatrist before me has been scared of me, scared of what I could do. I like this psych though, not that I’d admit it to her face. She’s the only one willing to stand up to me.

“I was confident a lot of nights.”

“You didn’t give me a definite response.”

“You didn’t ask me a definite question.”

“Let me try and clear it up for you then.” She clears her throat. “Were you confident six months ago, on April the 28th?”

I stop breathing for what feels like a minute. My heart beats erratically. I can feel the palms of my hand sweating as I struggle to form a coherent thought.

“I was a lot of things that night,” I whisper.