The pointed hands crawled sluggishly round the number-scattered face, each minute feeling like an eternity. I listlessly picked at the blue thread in the cracked leather chairs of the waiting room, wondering what my fate would be this time.

A sphere of pitch-black anxiety was slowly growing inside my rib cage, making my hands shake and my feet tap a staccato rhythm on the linoleum floor as rivers of fear ran through my veins. Calm down. This will help you. It'll help you get better. You know that Mum said this medication should work. But if it didn't? The unspoken words had lingered in the air when she told me, along with the answer to the question. Then you might not get better, mightn't you Eve? You could be stuck like this forever. You could end up being an abnormal crazy person for the rest of your life. You'll probably end up scaring people if you're not careful.

"I will not!"

 In an instant, fifteen pairs of incredulous, feared eyes were drawn to me, revealing that I had just spoken out loud. I looked at the floor, my hands trembling. "Sorry," I muttered to no one in particular, knotting my hands together to stop them shaking. Mum shot me a worried glance, her fingers squeezing my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me. Cheeks pink with shame, I disinterestedly flicked through the Sci-Fi novel I had brought with me, but failed to get into the story. If the bad thoughts made me speak out loud by accident before I was even on medication, then what would I do in future? I had heard that with some types of medication, you got worse and then you got better, but what if I just got worse and worse with no recovery? Before I could dwell on the thought for too long, the all-too-familiar specialist appeared in the doorway and called my name. I shuffled into her room, Mum at my heels, feeling the fifteen pairs of eyes follow me out of the waiting room.

After ushering us both inside, the specialist closed the door behind her with a click. That simple gesture managed to make me feel uneasy, even though I knew deep down that my worrying was unnecessary. As we sat down, it occurred to me that I still had no idea what her name was, due to the lack of nameplate on her desk, which was extremely odd. I had assumed that Dad knew who she was from the last visit, but her identity still remained a mystery to everyone. She clasped her hands on the desk in front of her and shot me a dazzlingly fake smile before opening a familiar file before us. I noticed that, from the lettering on the front, that it was the same file that Leo had been given by Mum at that first therapy session. How did she get hold of that? I wondered as I watched her flick through it. Maybe she's a psychokinetic serial killer, a voice helpfully put in, planting a seed of doubt in my head. She probably stalked you long before you came to see her, and possessed you and made you think that you needed to come to her instead of the other specialists. Then she lured you in with her smiles and false reassurances and medical knowledge and, when the time is right, she'll pounce. Just you wait. I glanced at her warily out of the corner of my eye, almost quaking with newly-found fear. My eyes flickered over to the locked drawers in her desk. You see those drawers, Eve? Those are her weapon drawers. She probably keeps all kinds of things in there, all ready for her sudden attacks. Meat carving knives, sleek black .48's... the list goes on. The words wormed their way into my brain, making them so believable that I couldn't help shying away from the supposedly weapon-filled drawers. Shut the f- up! They're just paper drawers! You're trying to scare me! The voices sighed. Okay, honey. Believe what you want to believe. But you know what they say-pride comes before a fall, my dear...

I had to curl my fingers into fists to stop them from quivering.

Dragging myself back into reality again, I looked around her office. As far as I could tell, nothing had changed since my last visit. The walls were still bare blocks of solid colour, save for the familiar block-print sign which read: 'Instant and accurate diagnosis of any illness, physical or mental, is available here!' The 'instant' part had been proved already, but I wasn't too sure about the 'accurate' part... 

"Hello? Are you there, dear? Or are you in a world of your own?" Her pale, snake-like fingers waved around in front of my eyes, trying to detach me from my thoughts. I looked up from my feet to find her baring her teeth in what was probably an attempted smile, but was more akin to the malicious grin of a shark that had caught the scent of blood in the water. "W-what?" I stuttered, not knowing why  she was flapping her hands in front of my face like a deranged bird. Her grin stretched even wider, and I fought the urge to cower away from her into the lumpy seat. Her white-as-paper hands reached into one of the drawers, and, although I knew it was irrational, my heart sped up in fear. But, instead of pulling out a meat knife or revolver, she dropped a small bottle of pills onto the desk and pushed it towards me.

"Your new medication, Eve," she remarked triumphantly, her plastic smile still fixed firmly in place. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands uncertainly. The name of the drug was Fluoxetine, and I recognised the name from when Dylan and I had been talking about medicines a few weeks back. "Take two pills a day and I promise you'll see results soon enough," she smiled, drumming her fingers on the desktop. The vexing noise raked over my ears, and I wanted to grab her hands and scream at her to stop.  As I read the label, I frowned, noticing something. "It says on here that patients aged thirteen to seventeen are supposed to take one per day, not two. And are you sure that I don't need a prescription for it?" I raised one eyebrow at her questioningly, trying to conceal my anxiety. For a split-second, I sensed her protective walls starting to crumble, her façade beginning to break. Then she composed herself, and said, "Eve, do you doubt my medical knowledge?" I gulped, seeing the brewing storm in her eyes. "No."  Her smile returned, accompanied by a glint of malice. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another patient to see to, so here is the medication. Call if you have any problems." She slapped the bottle of pills into my outstretched hand and I fled, desparate for the freezing atmosphere after breathing in the stale air of the prison that was her room.

It was only afterwards that I realised that she hadn't given me a number to call.

Hello! 

What do you think of this mysterious specialist? If the next update is slightly late, I'm sorry. I've got tons of homework and have problems that I need to fix. But hopefully I'll post on time.

FeistyPebble x