• Chapter 1
    Albert Einstein was brilliant. We all know that. But do we all know that he wasn’t all about science? He once said “Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love. How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That’s relativity.” I left my hand on the stove for a minute once. It burnt really bad, but it didn’t feel like an hour.. It seemed like forever. Like it would never end…

    My heart pounds in my chest. The throbbing in my head increases. My fingers wrap around the edges of the sleeves on my too big slipknot sweatshirt. The black nail polish peeking through ever so slightly. I fidget mindlessly. My foot taps on the carpeted floors, my finger traces the patterns in the cheaply upholstered couch. This is stupid, I think. Why should I have to see a shrink? There is nothing wrong with me. Just because most people are incompetent and ignorant doesn’t mean there is something wrong with me. This is foolishness. My head shakes, messing up my already messy hair.

    Then the shrink comes in. Her black pumps click the outside of the door. The knob turns and a tall brunette walks in. Pale skin, green eyes. Her skirt is far to short for any woman in the office. Her stockings a sheer black. The blouse she wears dips down and reveals to much cleavage. Her hair bobs up and down with every sleezy walk she takes. She finally makes it to the solid colored suede chair across from the couch. She crosses her legs and lifts, obviously fake glasses, to the bridge of her nose. She smiles a sweet smile that is as expensive as her new boobs. The teeth behind her lips recently whitened. I roll my eyes. I’m probably older then this chick and she is going to tell me how to live my life. “Hello Miss…” She pauses and looks at the paper, she expects me to trust her and yet, she doesn’t remember my name. “Miss Aleigha.” I throw one, what’s up, nod and don’t say anything. “Why are you here today..?” She asks. “My aunt thinks I’m crazy..” I say nonchalantly. My eyes flick to the wallpaper. It’s ugly. An odd blue color, the ocean maybe? Is the ocean supposed to be calming? Because it just makes me throw up. “Are you?” She asks. She must be new or something. If I really was crazy why would I admit it? Oh right, cause everyone tells the truth, oops sorry forgot. That’s why when someone murders another person and the cop asks “Did you do it?” They automatically say “Yes” I smile at her, as sweetly as possible, “Yea, I am..” She looks at me confused, obviously she is stumped. Poor lady cramped her brain, “Why do you say that?” She asks, is that the best she has? “Look Miss…” I look down at my invisible clipboard. “Miss IQ of 89.. I have better things to do then talk to someone my age about how to live my life. Let me guess.. You were going to ask me what was wrong, then what happened, then how it makes me feel.. Correct?” Her eyes press down to the paper nervously, then back at me. “You’re what? 19?” My eye brow arches. I can do that cool thing where you raise one eyebrow. “I’m 22..” She admits sheepishly. “Well I’m 15, and I can tell you right now, I have read more psych books then you.. Go back to school, and get your degree. Dance on a few bars, drink a few beers, and stop wasting my time..” The girl’s look is a cross between horror and amazement. “Don’t dare talk to me like that!“ She attempts the whole ‘I’m older so listen to me’ thing and points one long manicured finger at me. Her baby face struggles to hold a stern look. I almost feel bad for her… Almost. I lean back and run my eyes over her, the skirt she wears is ever so slightly crooked. Her stockings torn just above the hem. Her hair looks fine but to someone of her standards, it wouldn’t be as relaxed as that. I look at her, she looks at me. She is the kind of girl I do everything I can not to become. Preppy and stuck up, full of themselves and arrogant. “You sleep with your boss and his wife has no idea, but when she comes around, you act like her best friend.“ Now I scowl. How I knew that, I have no clue. But it’s she has been doing something other than counseling troubled minds. Maybe she had been counseling boys to loose their minds, but that’s the closest she is going to get to therapist. She stares at me in wide-eyed horror and scurries out of the room, tripping on her 4 inch heal. I withhold a laugh. That might ruin the moment.

    Sigh. My aunt won’t be here for another 45 minutes. What are they going to do with me? I put my dirty white tennis shoes on the off white and beige couch. Lines run along it making it look old. Resting my head back and closing my eyes, unfortunately my 3.345367 seconds of peace are rudely disrupted when a new shrink walks in. One of my eyes open, peering at her. This one is middle aged. Not slutty or parasitic. She is beautiful actually, in an old, grandma, middle-aged sort of way. Her shoes are nice. Heels with a small heel, classic. Her pencil pin-striped skirt stops at her knees, revealing her great calves. The shirt she wears is cute, and the jacket finishes off the look. Her nose is straight, her jaw line strong, and her neck long and elegant. Her hair is or was black. Now silver strands highlight it. She wears her age well, I think. She was certainly the heart throb in high school. I sit up slowly, staring at her. Something… Something makes me want to make her proud. She sits down in the same chair the first one sat in, completely relaxed. Her deep set eyes look at me, piercing really. Lines cover her face, but they aren’t a burden, it’s like they were meant to be there, to show how wise she really is, how amazing. I feel an awe for this woman whom I haven’t even met. My feet slowly reach the ground without me realizing, I sit up straight. “Aleigha..” Her voice rings in my mind. Why do I feel like I know this woman? Like we are connected. I don’t say a word. The skin that covers her is ever so slightly tanned, and fragile, once pale, but smooth. I look at my hand. It looks like caramel, but it’s not smooth. It’s rough and ragged, my hand isn’t manicured and I suddenly very insignificant. Like I’m nothing. “Aleigha…” Again I hear her voice. “What?” I snap, not meaning to. “You are not crazy.”