Epoch: Blackened

Chapter Three: Remorse is for the Dead

She stares at me, crystal blue eyes so sharp and intelligent behind her thin rimmed glasses, sliding ever so gently down her nose. Her blond hair hangs just above these glasses, with bangs perfectly cut. The back is drawn into a professional bun, all the perfect shade of gold. She has an intensity I haven’t seen in any of the others.

I like that. Or maybe I’m just a sucker for the glasses.

The silence drags out between us, I’ve done my part for the day, explained another piece of me, another memory of the good times. But today she only seems interested in staring at me. Normally when people stare at me I get angry.

What she wants to hear rattles out of me. My voice has only gotten worse and worse since then, something I was breathing ruined everything. My voice was never something that could read a child to sleep, but now it’s reminiscent of the sound of an engine dying.

“Terrible. I lose sleep every night. The guy we ate could've really used mustard. Note for next time. Can we get more of those ink blots?” Her expression flickers, only an instant but I catch it regardless. I guess I slipped, always do. I don’t know what they want to hear.

That the war drove me crazy?

That I feel bad?

That I dream of holding fish?

I like the ink blots. They remind me of a character I really liked. Didn’t think twice about things, only saw one way. He had some silly notions about right and wrong though. It got him killed, but he never gave in.

Oh, she’s talking to me again.

“Ian, are you afraid to let anyone inside?” I can’t help but say this.

"God yes, doesn’t the Army frown on that? Or did they let that go a long time ago?" She sighs, a peculiar motion where she blows air out of one side of her mouth. Bangs rise and fall. She speaks again, voice still so professional despite the lapse,

“Afraid to open up to anyone is what I meant.” All the other psychiatrists couldn’t last more than an hour with me. Not even enough time to classify me, medicate me. Fix me enough to fight again. I like this one.

“You want me to open up Stefanie? Because it may give you nightmares.”

She nods; no hesitation. Fine, here goes.

I open my mouth again, and start to rasp out another story.