Monsters 04: Session Two

The first thing I see when I enter your office that day is that damn pad; its yellow pages waiting for me to speak so it can collect again.

“How are you feeling today?” you ask softly.

I take a seat across from you. I stare at the wall behind you and close my eyes before I answer.

“Fine,” I say. “How are you?”

You shuffle some papers. I still have my eyes closed, but the sound is unmistakable.

“Good,” you say. You have a slight edge to your tone. I wonder what’s wrong but I don’t bother asking.

“Good,” I said awkwardly. I run a hand through my hair and open my eyes. You are looking at me. I let out a slow sigh.

“Can I help you?” I said. I knew how it sounded. I shrugged. “Sorry.”

You smile again, and this time, you don’t pick up the pad like you normally would. Instead, you lean forward and give me a new option.

“If you want to talk about something new today, we can.”

“Otherwise?” The edges of my mouth hitched up. “Maybe you’ll let me leave early?”

“Quinn.” Your voice is soft, but I can hear the frustration. You’ve never called me by my first name in four years. “Or we can talk about something old.”

I knew what that meant.

“Listen,” I started.

You cut me off swiftly. “I know you don’t want to be here.”

“Is it that obvious?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Of course.” You nod. “But I can’t let you go -- not yet. I am authorized to keep you here until your scheduled time to leave. You should know that.”

Right. I knew that. But that didn’t mean I still wanted to sit and talk.

“Your mother was a nice woman, wasn’t she?”

I see you’re holding my file, with your finger on part of the page, and I want to leap over the desk and snatch the folder from you. Don’t you know those words are lies?

“Was that right?” You see I’m really not up for answering, so you try again. “Quinn, what was your mother like?”

I shut my eyes again. Behind them, beyond my eyelids, I see her. I see her sweetness to my father, before he realizes how she truly is. I hear her soothing voice in my ear, telling me it’s okay that daddy left. I heard the change in her voice days later. She told me that he left because of me. I was a horrible child, she said, and she wondered how I was still alive.

I heard her praying to God one night, though she was far from religious, asking him to take me back. My own mother didn’t want me, and what was worse, she thought my existence was wrong.

The police had questioned me after they had come with the ambulance to take her body away. I was alone and terrified. My father was called. He never showed. I had no one.

At fifteen, I knew the truth. She hadn’t killed herself because my father left. She let everyone think she was so depressed over his decision, but only I knew the real reason. The words fell from my lips before I could stop them.

“My mother killed herself to get away from me.”