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I’d barely knocked before the door was ripped open. Drake was terrifying, staring down at me with a deadly calm that had me questioning all my life choices.
Something about him felt different from anyone else. He wasn’t just quick to bite out his words and snap at the easiest moments, an evil seemed to lurk just under the surface.
And if you were unlucky enough to draw him out, you’d be lucky to get out with your life.
I had a feeling that many didn’t.
He was the only one who rarely shared in group. Though what he shared on occasion was enough to make you want to cover your ears and run. Trauma wasn’t a competition, we all carried it differently, but if it was... he’d win.
His scent of rich, dark chocolate and spicy chili hit me. It was spicy, savory, and sweet at the same time. My mouth watered and some of my panic slipped away.
“We have group therapy to welcome our new girl. Nurse Drew asked us to meet in the common room in a few minutes,” I blurted. He ran a hand through his shaggy, black hair and clenched his defined jaw. His face reddened slightly in annoyance, but he blew out a breath and nodded.
That was enough for me to turn and run away, back to the others who were waiting in the common room.
So was curiosity.
What would we find out about Harlow? Was she just as fucked up as the rest of us?
Harlow
Monday Evening
Group Therapy
We all sat awkwardly in a circle, waiting for the doctor who would lead our group therapy.
For a room that was supposed to be for healing and sharing, it wasn’t exactly neutral. The walls were painted a bright, sunny yellow.
There was an attempt at art on the wall but from the even brighter squares and empty nails, someone had removed most of it. Wooden chairs awaited us when we had walked in and the others flocked to them out of habit.
My body still ached from tension, and every time I shifted, my thighs and core ached. I was clearly bruised and hoped it would heal quickly. I had enough to deal with here.
The last thing I wanted to do was be here talking about my fucking feelings.
If I started talking, I was afraid everything would spill out, and where would that put me?
Shadows pulled at my vision, filling in any dark spaces in the room. Usually, I would go days without visions when medicated, and I couldn’t fucking wait to have my first meeting to figure those out. But with the stress of coming here and meeting Dr. Vane… well, I had a feeling I might as well get comfortable with the bastards.
“Alright, thank you for coming today. We thought it might be helpful to ease Harlow into things,” a man said as he came in. He was dressed in khakis and a sweater and had a smile that reminded me of Mr. Rogers. His gray hair and wrinkles paired with it almost made him seem approachable. He was a beta, a designation fitting for a job like his.
It was the strange, manic look in his eyes that made me second-guess that vibe.
“Aw, it’s time to share,” Monty drawled from outside our little circle. He skulked around us, like a shark circling a raft. My eyes narrowed on him, and he stopped, as if surprised. “Why the cold shoulder?”
“I called for you,” I muttered quietly.
“What was that, Harlow?” Dr. Bradley asked with a smile. I glanced up at him and shook my head.
“Nothing,” I said in a hoarse whisper. Monty refused to answer my question so I focused on the group instead, cringing as I realized all eyes were now on me again.
“Well, while the attention is on you, why don’t you tell us about yourself?”
What was this, preschool? What the fuck was I supposed to say? Oh hi, I’m Harlow. Exorcism survivor, and I’m crazy as fuck. I see shit that would make a grown man pee his pants. And I talk to myself often. Well not myself but you won’t see them, so it doesn’t make a difference.
Yeah, fucking right.
“I’m Harlow. I have schizoaffective disorder, so I see and hear stuff that you won’t. I refuse to say it’s not there, it’s real for me,” I said. The tone was sharp but he didn’t falter. Instead, he seemed almost understanding.
