Writing Prompt/Random Writing idea I had
Her body crumpled to the ground, the light in her eyes quickly faded and her last breath whooshed out. The pure, unadulterated joy I felt at the sight of her was terrifying. I'd never felt such happiness, never thought I could. I remember crouching down over her, my fingers feeling for a pulse just to be certain she was dead. "I did it," I murmered to myself, "I really killed her."
The images of my mother collapsing to the ground played over and over in my mind as Doctor Brink scratched down notes in the faded brown leather journal I've become so familiar with. "So, tell me Jonathan, how do these memories make you feel today? Anything new?"
I glanced away from his hungry, prying stare and folded my hands in my lap, as if praying for the power to hide my true emotions, for the thousandth time. "I feel... Sad, remorseful. Angry, even. My mother was a cruel woman, never did shit to make my life better. But killing her?" I gripped my hands tighter, willing my face to remain grim. "It's unforgivable and she didn't deserve it." I ground the last part out, my heart pounding under the pressure not to smile.
"Remorse is good, Jonathan. It wouldn't be normal for you to not feel it." Normal? Nothing is fucking normal about me. If only he knew. "Tell me about the anger, that's something you haven't mentioned before. Anger towards your mother? Yourself?"
"I guess, more at myself than my mother. I lost control, that shouldn't have happened, I never should have thought about it in the first place." Bullshit, it's all bullshit. I was in complete control, and my mother brought it on herself. The bitch was a monster, the only reason I'd possibly be angry at myself is because I was caught. But what 14 year old wouldn't be caught?
"This session has been very successful, you know this, right? All these feelings? They are healthy, I really think the therapy and medications are working. Don't you agree?" Doctor Brink sat up straight, his eyes searching my face for some sign of, what, gratefulness?
"I totally agree, thanks, Doc. I don't know where I'd be right now if it weren't for you're help-"
"And the medication? You are taking your meds, aren't you?" His gray, thinning eyebrows bunched together in concern.
"And the meds, they really help put everything in perspective, they clear the fog, you know?" My hands fan out in front of me, as if physically pushing the metaphorical fog out of the way. Brink likes all that metaphorical shit. I swear, he gets off on it. Truth is, though, I haven't taken the meds in months. Chlorpromazine, or some shit.
"You're showing so much progress, I'm very sure that within the next year we can rehabilitate you back into society. Would you like that?"
Back into society? What kind of fucked up nonsense is this? "Shouldn't I go to prison? I mean, I killed my own mother..." The confusion written across my face is the first real emotion I've shown to him since I started seeing him.
"You were 14, living with an abusive mother and you have bi-polar disorder. The odds have been in your favor. And you have an amazing lawyer. You'll be 18 in 3 months, you'll be maxing out of juvie and the court has ruled, due to your progress, that you will be able to re-enter society. With mandatory visits to therapy, of course."
theartofmadeline
kaledo-art
dailybridgerton
discoholicmusic
areudirty
kianamaiart
