Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen Now

"You said Emma was screaming. Those are your exact words. Do you remember you told the police this, Heather? You said you heard her screaming from the path?" I ignored him and just stared at the clock, watching the minute hand move forward.three minutes.I smiled smugly at myself.Another hour passed, and once again Dr. Peterson could only get a few words out of my mouth.I noticed that he also glanced at the clock on the wall.He'll be angry for a while, so I'll be happier.All the qualifications in the world can't hide the fact that no matter what, he won't make any progress with me.

No matter what he said, no matter how he felt, I was the winner. I moved in my seat, ready to stand up.Prepare to take the long walk through luxurious corridors to return to wards with shiny linoleum floors and bare white walls that family members and visiting dignitaries will never see because they are the heart of the hospital. In the depths is Peterson's personal little empire.The guard coughed softly behind me, and I knew he was reminding me that he was always there.If I made a sudden move, like I used to do, to rush forward and bump into Dr. Peterson (which I did pretty well, I must say), he would have stopped me.At least he thought he could stop me.I'm not so sure.But he's a big guy, and he's young.

It doesn't matter, anyway, I didn't intend to attack Dr. Peterson today.I'm just ready to leave.Back to my lifeless life, staring at the walls and the TV, at the other "patients" who were the real psychos.I'm always staring.This is how I stare at Dr. Peterson now, until he gives up the slightest chance of convincing me and dismisses me. He stopped looking at the clock and returned his gaze to me.I noticed that just when he noticed a change in the way I was looking at him—no longer outright contempt and disgust, but anticipation of relief—the corners of his mouth twitched, though I hadn't seen that yet. For the emotions under the expression, he put on other expressions.

"What's the matter, Heather?" he asked me calmly. It's so calm.My brain picks up his strange tone, too friendly, too pretentious, but I'm so intent on getting out of this office that I don't pay attention.And, I spoke.He has always strictly followed the schedule, so there is nothing he can do now. "It's time," I said.The tone is monotonous.This is another thing I do a lot. "Ah, I know." He remained calm.Still complacent.Am I missing something? "Heather, I have double time for you today. I think you and I need to start over, after all, today is the one year anniversary of that..."

His words faded away.My ears buzzed, shocking echoes throbbed around my head.two hours.Not an hour.I couldn't help feeling dizzy. too difficult.I'm sitting here pretending I don't care, but it's so hard.Of course I care.Not about Peterson, but about Martin, Emma, ​​Dodge.I even cared about Darren.Not talking about it, swallowing it back, hiding it deep inside, doesn't help at all.I have a hard shell: indifferent, show no emotion, show people with a cold face.But my heart is burning, suffering in dire straits in my own purgatory.And, he's well aware of that.Asshole Peterson knows he won't stop until he gets all the secrets out of my mind, bit by bit.

Hate surged through my body and I clung to it, using it to brace myself until I could feel the ground beneath my feet again.Until I can feel that I can superficially control myself again.It's all too fragile, though.Unlike contempt, anger came in waves, and when it receded, it was my moment of vulnerability. I took a deep breath and forced myself to look directly at Dr. Peterson. God, I hate you.But you can never beat me. "Very good." I said through gritted teeth. He smiled at me; that was another hateful thing about him.The anger burned hotter.I didn't do well today.Maybe it's just because it's today, it's been a year since that happened, yes, I noticed it before he kindly reminded me.

"You don't like Darren, do you, Heather?" He's not exactly a people-pleaser.I didn't nod or speak, I just stared at him, waiting for him to make a move.Seeing this, he procrastinated, taking a sip of his expensive soda.The hiss as he unscrewed the cap was just right: it was like a snake spitting out a message, and he was the snake. "You're jealous of him. Because he stole your friends. Right?" I raised an eyebrow in contempt.Dr. Peterson leaned back a little, and I could even manage to smile a little. No, I'm not jealous of Darren.But maybe there is a point now, after all, at least he doesn't have to sit here and listen to this nonsense.

"Do you want to know what I think, Heather?" No, but Peterson wasn't really asking, "I think you're trying to get Darren out. I think he's suspicious, so he's stuck in your hand." It’s a thorn in my head. It’s easier to deal with him than Martin, isn’t it?” I looked away.I didn't look at the floor, that would send the wrong message.I looked again at the certificates on the wall in beautiful glass frames.Stupid Dr. Peterson, they can be used as weapons too.I tried to suppress my anger with my sarcastic and humorous thoughts, but I couldn't silence his voice. "Emma might come back to you without Darren after all. Is that so, Heather?"

I suppressed a flood of sadness: Emma wasn't coming back, never again. I don't want to think about it.I don't think about it.I gritted my teeth, using waves of anger as armor.Too bad it won't protect my heart, which is what Dr. Peterson is most interested in.Panic gripped me and I almost fell out of my chair.I can't control myself, I can't calm down, I hope to get out of here quickly, so as not to do something stupid, such as let him explore my heart. "I want to go to the toilet." I said. This strategy is too childish, but I see it as a lifesaver.I looked at him beggingly. At this moment, I hated myself more than I hated him.Please, please, you've made me suffer so much, please grant me this request.

He shook his head. "We're not done talking, Heather." "I have to go." I insisted, "My period is here." This is pure lies.As he pondered my request, he looked down at my file, wondering if there was a real menstrual period recorded there.They kept very detailed records of what medicines I took and what I didn't; my weight, height, nail length; my emotions; what and how much I took.I wouldn't be surprised if they recorded my menstrual cycle. The idiot university where Dr. Peterson got his doctorate must have taught them to show kindness strategically, because he nodded slightly in acquiescence.I stood up, thinking I was going to get out of here, but the guard led me to an inconspicuous door on the left.He opened the door, and inside was a small room, only one square meter in size, with a very small circular sink.There is another door over the sink, half open, and a silver-white ceramic toilet can be seen.It seems that there is no escape, but at least you can escape for a while.Mr. Peterson didn't catch my lie because he didn't ask me if I needed pads or anything like that.

The guard was standing right behind me, and I glanced at him uncomfortably, surely he wasn't going in with me?Fortunately, he stood still in the room with the sink and let me go into the cubicle alone. There was a mirror inside, and the mirror was in the toilet, not by the sink.I don't know why - did Dr. Peterson send his patients here to introspect?I saw myself in the mirror looking at me, and for a split second, I saw something.Dark, evil, terrifying, like a deadly halo, hovering above my head.Startled, I screamed involuntarily, but I gagged just in time to keep my screams out of the claustrophobic space.I blinked and the thing was gone.My heart is still beating wildly. I slumped on the toilet seat, covered my face with my hands, concentrated, and resumed normal breathing.I knew Dr. Peterson would never have the patience to let me spend the rest of my "counseling" here; five minutes at most before I had to face him again.At that point, it is very important to calm down. inhale.exhale.inhale.breathe.I count my breaths.Slow down your breathing gradually.It was much harder to tame my pulse.It raced through my veins, screaming. Someone knocked lightly on the door.is calling me.I stood up, sniffed, and swallowed.To pretend it was the end, I flushed the toilet.Then, I smooth my clothes and open the door.The place was so narrow that I struggled to squeeze past the guards to use the sink.I wash my hands slowly, using the expensive soap dispenser, which, when pressed, releases a pearly liquid soap that smells like oranges.Pretending not to be nervous about that Tarzan of the ape standing an inch behind me, I slowly applied the hand sanitizer and rinsed my good hand.Soon, the door opened, and Peterson sat behind his desk smiling pleasantly at me. The leather was still warm when I sat back in the chair.It's supposed to be comfortable, but it actually makes me feel like I'm on pins and needles. "Where did it go?" Peterson asked. Trying to look at ease, I glanced around the room, looking over the clock.Forty minutes to go.I can last forty minutes. "Emma." He swaggered out her name, as if he had really forgotten where we were, as if he hadn't been sitting there plotting the trick when I hid in the toilet. "You disapprove of her being with Darren, don't you? In fact—" He flipped the pages of paper in front of him covered with handwriting, "you despise the relationship. You said that since they met , she got silly and shallow. You called her annoying more than once. Remember when you said that about her, Heather?" He paused. "You think you're better than her?" Yes. No, maybe. no. But I never believed her. As much as I was mad at my parents, the police, Dr. Peterson, and everyone else who wouldn't listen to me, I didn't believe her.