Katherine Prescott is back to show everyone she's not just a victim or a girl who went crazy, but what happens when ghosts of the past come back to haunt her and Sidney.
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"A dollhouse?"
"where did you fit in? In this 'dollhouse'?"
"I didn't,"
•...
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RIP Kirstie Alley
Today was my first official check-up since leaving Westin Hills. Dr. Myers was personally coming to Windsor for our appointment, and I was curious whether that was a good thing or not.
My punching Gale had been well documented once again, though just as the last time, she hadn't pressed charges. I assume it's because of her trying to get a sneaky interview, and she doesn't want to tarnish her 'reputation.'
That hadn't stopped it from making the news or being published in the local paper. Both my dad and Sue had called after seeing the paperback in Woodboro 'Local teen hits opportunist reporter Gale Weathers'.
Another tally on my aggressive behavior chart ready for my next mental health check, but also a wave of 'fans' who had found a way to write or call me.
My small interview was given while walking across campus to my next class with multiple microphones pushed in my face. It didn't help when I told that reporter my only words were, 'Talk shit and get hit.'
At least Gale could probably get a book out of it. I would love to read another book with a whole chapter dedicated to me and my psychological problems.
The last one even showed a picture of me punching her outside the police station.
Gale's book had been sent to me in Westin Hills, and the chapter about me had been bookmarked and highlighted. The rest had remained untouched as if my chapter was the only part that mattered.
Like the flowers, I had no idea who sent it, only that they weren't happy about my portrayal or so the notes they had scrawled into the pages. I had fun reading them, though - it was refreshing having someone on my side.
But now I had to see the sole woman who could snatch all my hard work back from me in a second. I could be locked back up without a thought if she believed I wasn't doing well enough.
That was a scary thing to have hanging over my head.
Slipping on my doc martens, I picked up my bag and quickly put it over my shoulder, briefly checking the alarm clock beside my bed for the 3rd time in the last 5 minutes.
Time management was something I was still getting used to. You never really have to worry about the time when your days are planned for you inside the hospital.
Opening my door, I frowned, seeing a bundle of brightly colored flowers lying on the ground. They were identical to the ones I was getting back in Westin Hills.
Picking the bouquet up, I dropped my bag on the bed as I looked the flowers over to see if there was a message or any identifying notes. It would be nice to finally figure out who was sending me flowers.
