"Tell me what you see."
God. I hate that line. That and, "And how does that make you feel?"
How does it make me feel? I can't close my eyes without seeing blood. How do you think that makes me feel? He puts his pen down with a sigh and takes his glasses off to rub his eyes, like he's stressed out.
"If you don't cooperate with me, we are never going to get anywhere, you know."
Like he cares. As long as he gets that big fat check in the mail every month, he doesn't give a crap whether I cooperate with him or not.
"Look, can you just prescribe some pills so I can get some sleep?'
Since you aren't doing anything else constructive for me.
"I told you already," he says slowly, like I wouldn't understand if he spoke like a normal human being, "medication won't solve your problems, it will only cover them up. Like air freshener, it doesn't get rid of that stinky smell, it just masks it."
So freakin' condescending. Like I give a damn about his air freshener or his stupid analogies.
My stomach turns.
I can smell the coppery scent of blood.
It's all around me.
I look down.
Oh, God...
No!
I didn't do it!
Close your damn eyes!
Stop judging me! Stop-
"Hey! Are you even listening to me?"
Damn it... I dozed off again. It happens all the time, since I won't let myself get any decent sleep. When I sleep, I see things... I wipe some sweat off of my forehead. The jackass is still talking, so I respond.
"Look! I don't feel like talking about it, okay?"
He blinks. Stands up.
"Then," dramatic pause, "I'm afraid we have nothing left to discuss for today."
Prick.
He turns around and walks out. The door swings shut behind him with a clang that echoes down the corridor. I listen to his steps and the wardens until they have completely faded away. And I am left in my cell all alone.
Nothing but me and my nightmares.
The coppery smell of the blood.
And those eyes.
Those eyes like dead fish have...
Close your damn eyes!
