Walking Toward the End

"Lunch time," a nurse opens my door.
Turkey on wheat.
"Wheat, huh? Is white too classy for you?" Moriarty mumbles in my ear.
I smile dryly at her as I take it gratefully. A bottle of water sits on the table with small pills next to it. I stare at them. I'm not even sure what they're supposed to help with; he isn't going away anytime soon.
"Be sure to take those," the nurse says as she shuts my door again.
"Pills," Moriarty murmurs. "What you hate so much, yet what got you sent here in the first place."
I grit my teeth and force myself to look up from my sandwich. His deep eyes stare back at me, showing myself in their reflection. A craving smile spreads across his face as I feel he is staring right through me. He can see everything I have ever done; all my regrets, mistakes, loves and losses. I am frozen for a moment before a small thump jerks me back to reality- or as much as I can get around here. I stare at my sandwich on the floor.
"Time for another six hours of starvation!" He blows a party horn.
"Will you shut up?" I growl. Sliding a hand under my mattress, I search for the supply of crackers I keep.
"I was starting to get lonely, you were ignoring me for so long. So glad we can become buddies again." He says with a snicker.
"Since when were you sassy?" I nibble on a cracker.
As much as he annoys me, it's the most contact I get in my ward. I like to keep to myself most of the time, when I don't have to go to Group. They call it 'friendly meetings' but what they mean is pretty much 'support group for the unstable'. Not that I'm stable or anything.
During the day I distract myself with mind games. Chess in my head, war strategies, anything to entertain myself.
I almost never know what time it is, so when it's time for Group, is only to guessing. I'm in the afternoon Group, so I have the entire morning to prepare on what answer will give them the least out of me when common topics are discussed. I've been in for a couple days now. I see the doctors and nurses watching me sometimes, as if they're trying to figure something out about me, but they don't know what it is. Sometimes I even walk into a room and their conversation stops completely.

"Eveline?"
I squint at the ceiling, the chess board in my mind.
"White's almost won," I mutter.
"She likes to play chess in her head," my nurse explains. Someone new, then.
I sigh as the game is finished and look at the visitor. She wears a name tag with her picture, so she's staff. The tag is at least a year old, so she doesn't come out much. A clipboard, taking in all my surroundings, and a kind, close-lipped smile.
"Eveline, I'm going to talk to you," she begins, but I cut her off.
"You're my therapist." I state.
She nods with her mouth in a small, surprised smile.
"I'll leave you two," my nurse says as she closes my door again.
"Now, has anyone told you what they think you need to stay for?" My therapist sits in a chair.
I shake my head.
"Well, mostly because they believe you're schizophrenic. Just a bit because they believe you're antisocial."
"Basically a sociopath. In that case you're right."
She gives a breathy laugh. "You call yourself a sociopath?"
I shrug. "If it's true, why not?"
She leans forward in the chair. "I do not believe you're a sociopath. Whoever told you that is lying. Now, who do you see?"
I pull my legs to my chest. "Moriarty."
She mouths the name as if it's foreign. "Jim Moriarty?"
I nod.
"Is he here now?"
I point to the desk he sits on.
"What's he doing?"
I sigh. "Singing Eye of the Tiger."
She cocks her head as if that is the strangest thing she's heard all day, even with this lot.
"...Okay. Now, do you interact with him?"
"Sometimes."
"Does he taunt you, make you feel bad?"
"Pretty much."
She purses her lips. "I feel like this conversation is one-sided. Can you try to give me an entire sentence?"
"Okay."
"Why don't you make friends?"
"I don't want to."
"Why don't you want to?"
"Because I had a friend. Someone used me to get to her."
"And where is she now?"
I look down, silently clearing my throat so it doesn't crack. Once I'm ready, I look into her eyes and hold her gaze. "She is dead."
I can see the gears turning in her head, trying to think of what to say.
"Don't say you're sorry. It's pointless."
When she checks her watch, she taps her fingers on the chair and stands up. "It's your Group time, I believe."
I nod and stand up with her. As we walk out, she pauses at the hallway where we will part.
"Death happens, but we carry on. It isn't your fault, alright?"
I give her a small smile. "Isn't it?"
I turn my back on her with those words and make my way to the room Group will be held in.

"Eveline!" Dr. Stephens exclaims, jerking me back to Group. "Why don't you pick a topic today?"
I sigh. "How about why we have to have Group?"
A couple other patients mumble in agreement, while others glare at me.
"Eveline," the doctor takes off his glasses in the way that tells me he means business. "Everyone needs a support group. Those who claim not to have one are the ones that need it most."