DEMI
The room is white. It isn't hospital-white though, or sterile but simply… white in a very intentional way. The pale cream walls with muted art are almost too calming, as if silence had been painted into the canvas. A candle flickers in the corner, the kind that smelled faintly of cedar and citrus, and meant to make people breathe deeper.
I didn't.
With my hands tucked in my lap, I sat stiffly in the leather chair, refusing to touch the cup of herbal tea waiting on the side table.
My uncle thinks therapy would "stabilize" me, especially after my examination with doctor Ezra. I just think therapy would be another interrogation but in a softer costume.
I couldn't bear it. Doctor Ezra's eyes, the barrage of questions meant to find the gaps in my memory, the palpable weight of hope flickering in Anna's eyes, Ashton hovering in the hallway with bated breath. It was too much. I felt like a ghost who had somehow inhabited the wrong body and everyone was desperate to exorcize me.
