Page 105 of Echoes

"Good morning, Ms. White!" he says happily, bouncing around.

I'll never get over how someone can be so energetic and carefree in the mornings, so content with life despite their surroundings.

I pop myself up on the examination table, muffling a yawn. "Morning."

Dr. Markel gives me a quick look-over before ducking into his office. I hear the key turn in the medicine cabinet, before he returns with a clear plastic bag, a white pill inside. I spot my name on a label, fixed to the front of it.

"Here's your slow release painkiller," he says, plucking open the bag to dump it into my palm.

I quickly throw it back into my mouth, taking a cup of water from him. Swallowing, I chuck the empty cup into the bin in the corner, wondering if I still have blood in my hair. I supposed even if I did, it wouldn't be overly noticeable, my jet-black hair hiding all my secrets.

The doctor scribbles some notes on a piece of paper, shoving them into a manila folder with my name on it. "As usual, let me know if you have any issues with pain," he says, waving me off as he hums'Ring Around the Rosie'to himself.

"Ring around the rosie. A pocket full of posies. Ashes… Ashes… We all fall down…"

I give him a brief nod, meeting the guard in the hallway as we head down to Dr. Elsher's room. I'm not keen on seeing that quack again, but I have little choice.

His doorway is open when we arrive, his stern face looking up from his desk, uninterested, as I walk in.

"Ms. White," he sighs. "Are we going to make any progress today?"

"You tell me," I mumble, flinging myself into the chair across from his desk.

Dr. Elsher shakes his head, making a note in my file. "Uncooperative, as usual."

"Maybe you could try being less of an asshole," I suggest. "I don't really vibe well with that."

He ignores me, raising an eyebrow as he makes another note.

We sit in silence, my arms folded as I wait for him to speak. Finally, he looks up, putting his pen down.

"Frankly, Ms. White, I don't believe you have the capabilities for successful therapy."

"So, you're saying I'm incurable."

"I'm saying," he says a little louder. "That until youwantto be helped, you're going to remain as you are."

My eyes narrow on him. "What's wrong with who I am?"

"Tell me—do you have any remorse for your father's death?" he asks, blindsiding me.

"Of course I do," I sputter. "I think that was made clear in my notes with Dr. Smith and from the court documents."

Dr. Elsher leans back in his chair. "Dr. Smith didn't make excessive notes about your sessions. Most of your initial sessions very little was discussed. It appears he only really targeted your mental health, not the actions that led you here."

I raise an eyebrow, annoyed. "ObviouslyI'm here because I accidentally killed my father while attempting to take my own life. The whole event is the reason for my mental health."

"Is it?" he snorts. "I'm going to assume because of your childhood you already had these mental illnesses. I'd say they very much contributed to your father's death."

I clench my teeth, trying my best to remain composed. "That's a very clever observation, Doctor. Of course it was linked—did you not just hear me? I was trying to kill myself."

"With a fire though?" he questions, scoffing at me. "What made you decide on that? Because surely a reasonable person would expect that a fire would have the possibility of inflicting harm upon others. Most people who commit suicide opt for different methods such as asphyxiation, exsanguination, or unloading a bullet into a main organ. Most of these methods would be far quicker, less painful, and without the risk of harming others."

I stare at him, angry at his audacity. He's known me for a short amount of time, and already he thinks he knows me better than I know myself.

He's trying to insinuate that I intentionally killed my father.

Nothing to do with the fact that my house—the same one I found my dead mother in, the same one I received all my abuse and torture—was the catalyst. I wanted to escape, I wanted to leave.

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