The Survivor

Chapter 27

  As I walk inside the building, it's this beautiful clean looking place. The entire floor is open glass. There's plants on either side of the desk. I wait in the line until I get called over. "Next!" I walk up the the man who's open. "Hello, how may I help you?" The man asks. He's about six foot with brown eyes. He's more on the thiner side and he's in his mid sixties. He has graying hair and slowly going bald.

  "I'm here to see a Dr. Miller," I tell the man at the front desk. "Fifth floor, room 512," he tells me. I thank him and make my way to the elevator. I walk in and as the elevator door closes I hear, "Next!"

  On the ride up I can't stop shaking. My hands won't stop moving and my right leg won't stop shaking. What's wrong with me? Once I get to the fifth floor, I step out of the elevator and am welcomed by a plain white hallway. There are some painting that you would see in a hotel on the walls but nothing fancy. You can tell that they tried to spice up the room, but by doing so, they just made it sadder.

  I make my way to room 512. As I'me getting closer, two women step out of the room and are standing in the doorway. The one has blond hair that's up in a tight bun. She has blue eyes, and she's about 5'4 and probably weighs 110 pounds. Her eyes are red and puffy, most likely from crying. Her make up is rushing down her face. She looks like a complete and utter mess.

   "It'll be ok. Just remember what we talked about," the other lady says. The lady crying walks away and waves goodbye. I watch her leave, with her yellow dress trailing behind her. I watch until my attention is turned elsewhere.

  "Mace?" It's definitely the shrink. She has thinner shoulder length brown hair with gray streaks. Her eyes are brown and she has a sharp jaw line and defined cheek bones. She's wearing a navy blue button down long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below her elbows. She has on  jeans, paired with black heals. She's probably about 5'2 with out the heals. She's in her mid forties, and maybe 127 pounds.

  "Why don't you come in and have a seat Mace. That way we can get the session started," she says with a smile. Most likely fake. I walk into her office and there's a grey couch up against the right wall. Above it, is a painting of white birch trees. On the other side, close to the wooden desk, are two matching gray chairs. There's a coffee table separating the couch and chairs. On the coffee table is a vase of wild flowers. There's the iconic blue rug covering up the floor.

  "You ok?" Dr. Miller asks. "I realize that I'm just standing in the doorway, analyzing every little detail. "Uhh yeah. Sorry, force of habit." The Marines tought us to take in our surroundings and to analyze everything. "All good. Why don't you have a seat on the couch," Dr. Miller tells me. I walk over and take a seat. I look the wall to my right, which is entirely made out of glass. I can see the buildings towering over this one. There's a little table to my left with a clock and and a box of tissues. Tick tock.

  "So, Mace. Do you know why your here?" She asks. "I'm here because my General told me I had to be," I answer. Tick tock "Have you been to a therapist before?" She asks. "Yes." I feel like I'm being interrogated. My leg is bouncing and I can't help but feel a strange feeling in my gut. "Great! Then that brings me to my next question. Why did you see one?" Of course, I should have seen this question coming.

  I don't answer and I just look down to my restless leg. Tick tock. Tick tock. "It's ok to be afraid to talk about your feeling," she tells me. "I'm not afraid," I protest. "So, then answer my question." She's determined, I'll give her that. "My mother died when I was twelve," I state. She's gonna say 'I'm so sorry, how did she die.'

  "I'm so sorry. How did she die?" She asks. Called it! "Cancer," I lie. "How was your father?" She questions. That's another reason I don't like therapists. It's a one way conversation, where you just get bombarded with questions. "He's in prison," I tell her. "How do you feel about that?" She asks. She crosses her legs and rests her arms on the arm rest. "That piece of shit deserves it," I say bluntly. Tick Tock.

  "I see... Now, I did talk to general Logan a little and he gave me a brief paper on you," she says. She reaches beside her and digs in her purse. She ends up pulling out a file that says Williams, Mace. She opens it and skims it real quick. "It says that you went MIA less then a year ago." Tick Tock. Tick Tock. "It says that you and your teammates were taken captive. Let's talk about that, shall we?"

  I look down to my hands and start picking at my calloused palms and fingers. My leg starts to bounce faster and faster. I get a wave of anxiety, fear, and dread. Flashes after flashes fill my head. Tick Tock. I still can't tell which time was worse, the first or the second time with Hassan. "Ok," she says, changing her position os seating. "Where did you go?" She reframes.

  "Iraq," I tell her. Still keeping my gaze towards the floor. "What happened when you where there?" She asks again. "I don't want to talk about it." I'm finally able to get out of my hypnotist and look to my left. My gaze going towards the door.  "I want you to try," she pushes. I take a minute to think. "I-I lead them into the mission. I thought we could take it, but I was miss lead," I tell her, trying to push down the lump in my throat.

  "He-he took us. He took my team. We were there for almost ten months. I escaped after watching my-" but I can't bring myself to finish the sentence. "What happened Mace?" The shrink repeats. MY mind goes back to being there. Tick Tock. My mind goes back to being in that damn forsaken place.

  I'm hanging from my wrists. Tick Tock. Sitting in a chair, being bent back, while there's a cloth over my face. They're pouring water over the cloth, taking my breath away. TICK TOCK. The different types of torture that they used on me and my team. "I-I had to watch ev-everyone." Tears are now threatening to fall and I can't hold them back. "Everyone, died right infront of me." My voice is shaky and the lump in my throat won't go away. TICK TOCK. TICK TOCK.