16. 09. 2018.
There was a storm outside. I could hear the heavy rain falling on the damaged window, and see the lightning strike just a couple of inches away from the window.
The room was so dark that not even the twelve bright orange candles can’t light the darkness in the room. The candles cast a shadow on doctor Boseman, who was sitting on a chair in front of the window. Both her arms and legs were crossed, and her face was too deep in the shadows for me to see it. But I could tell she was frowning. I knew her that good.
“It’s been thirty minutes since you came, and you still didn’t say a word,” she commented.
“I don’t like the weather,” I whispered.
My eyes traveled to her face when her hard gaze captured minute. It was at that moment I saw the frustration in her eyes. She was pissed off that I didn’t talk today. But the truth is, I don’t have anything to tell her today. All of my toys have disappeared or are already broken.
“Why is that?” she asked.
I let a dry laugh. “You psychologist love to use that word, don’t you? Why don’t you like the weather? Why this? Why that? Don’t you ever get bored asking that?”
She stared at me for a moment, trying to figure me out like she always does.
“You are not in a good mood today.” She unfolded her arms and leaned further into the old orange sofa.
“No.” I looked down, catching myself tapping on my knees with my fingers.
“Is it because of Roman’s death?”
I immediately stopped tapping my knee and curled my fingers into fists. “I don’t give two shits about his death. He deserved to die. The way he used people, especially women...” I stopped for a moment, “He deserved to die. His death doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Then why are you acting so aggressive towards me today?” she asked, “I didn’t do anything to you.”
I took a deep breath. “I know, and I apologize for that, but I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep for two days.”
“Does that have to do with your father?” Here it was, the question I always hate to answer.
“He is acting out again. He got drunk home and pretended to faint. My grandmother had to come to help us.” The anger in me started to rise again, and the only thing I wanted to do right now was to kill my father.
“Why didn’t you call the paramedics?”
“We did, but they wouldn’t come if he could talk,” I paused for a moment, “I wanted to kill him. This was our chance to suffocate him with a pillow and bury him in the forest.”
Doctor Boseman stared at me, watching me how I breathed heavily, how a tear slid down my pale face. She stood up from the chair, walked towards me, took a seat next to me, and hugged me. For the first time, I let someone touch me, to hold me close.
“He will pay for that. I will make sure he pays for everything he does to you,” she whispered in my ear.
I moved away from the hug and looked at her with watery eyes. Doctor Boseman took two pills and a glass of water from the table and gave them to me. I took the pills with shaky hands and placed them into the mouth. Next, I reached for the glass and took two large sips of water, feeling the pills slide down my throat into my stomach.
“You are such a good girl, Monica,” she whispered.
Yes, I’m a good girl.