She looked up from her pen and pad and tried to lock eyes with me. I immediately darted my eyes away, causing her to stop speaking. I glanced around the room some more, trying to find one thing I could focus on to distract me, but it wasn't working. My mind drifted back to why Theo had been in her office.

Was he here for therapy too? What was wrong with him? Maybe anger management problems?

"Remy," she softly cast out to me, "You're not gonna get anywhere with me if you can't look at me." I slowly started to turn my gaze back to Dr. Louis. I always found it hard, looking at people straight in the eye. It was weird‒‒and I don't think I felt abnormal in that sentiment. Beth would always nag that it was so very rude to stare whenever Tina had a deathly glare-down with any man on the street that dared lay a wandering eye on Beth.

This lady in front of me, though, seemed warm and welcome enough upon second inspection. I still wasn't brave enough to hold her stare for more than a few seconds at a time, but as soon as my eyes drifted within the latitudes of her chair she felt apt enough to continue speaking.

"I had a look at some of your last provider's notes, Doctor‒‒umm‒‒Ackerman, correct?

"Yes. Dr. Ackerman. She was my doctor at Haven Bridge, and we just always kind of went back to her, since she was one of the few providers in the area I actually got along with."

"Remy, according to your file you've seen an extensive network of mental health professionals in a densely populated urban center, nine different CBT therapists, four caseworkers, six different psychiatrists..."

I was beginning to sweat. I felt I had to respond with something, but I didn't want to open up any doors for interrogation, so I stayed stone silent. Keenly sensing this, Dr. Louis remarked instantly, "So it says you were placed in foster care when you were five after you were taken from your parents' home by child services."

I nodded silently.

"Well come on. Don't be so shy. Speak up a little." I still couldn't manage to speak though, so the good doctor simply smiled and looked as though she was moving along.

"Yes," I forced myself to reply.

"It doesn't disclose why the police took you away from your family. Care to comment at all?" she asked.

"Umm... they said my parents and family were involved in some criminal activities and they were sent to prison," I replied.

"Okay," Dr.Louis said. "And how well do you remember your parents?" she asked sincerely.

"Not much... Not really anything," I answered sorely. "Honestly, I don't have any memories before the foster care home. The thought of anything from the past always gives me a headache."

"I see," she took a moment to ponder her next words, "You know, sometimes traumatic events can cause someone's memories to be temporarily erased. It's called dissociative amnesia." She raised her brows staring at me with a displaced, but warmly earnest humor beaming from her wise old eye.

"Oh," was all I said. The previous therapists I had seen were never so frank on first appointments, but she was going right in, and with a smile on her face at that. It's not like this was my first time hearing an explanation of memory loss, but her directness made me drop my guard a little.

She continued on perusing my file.

"You were placed with a foster care family and then when exactly were you diagnosed?" My eyes widened. I always hated this part of the ice breaking.

"Six... Or seven, I think‒‒No, six."

"Yeah," she scoffed, "Seems a bit too early childhood to just land on schizophrenia and call it a day." I dropped my head as she mentioned the dirty word. I never felt like a crazy person, but then that word made me feel so embarrassed and guilty. "No matter. I'm sure there's a reason for it." She plopped my file back onto her desk. "You don't seem crazy to me, Remy."

"It's true, though." As comforting as it was to hear her say that, I felt urged to fill in some gaps, "When I went to live with my first foster care family, they found me talking to myself. Apparently, I told them I was talking to a wolf. At first, they thought it was the playful thoughts of an eccentric five-year-old, but I apparently got out of hand. One of the other foster kids was bullying me at the time and I retaliated and bit them. I became out of control, animal-like, mimicking a rabid dog and I wouldn't stop this act for a whole week."

"I was sent to an orphanage where I was given a psychiatric evaluation. The doctors could only explain my behavior to be schizophrenia. I was diagnosed and immediately placed on a heavy antipsychotic medication regimen."

"Hmm, and it shows your only main delusion was a wolf you spoke too. Doesn't really defer to anything else. Nothing too violent. Certainly nothing psychotic. Just a little self-defense." I was waiting for the other foot to drop here. Normally therapists looked at my record and started losing their shit.

"Now, it also says here that you were placed in a second foster home when you were ten but you were shortly returned when you...stopped taking your meds, it looks like."

"Yes," I said sadly. I didn't like remembering that incident. "My, uhh... foster sister at the time‒‒she didn't much like me, and started hiding my pills. I couldn't find them for weeks. I was afraid to tell my foster parents so I desperately tried to look for them myself. The lapse in my regimen caused me to have another episode of my schizophrenia. I didn't bite anyone this time, but apparently I became a different person. The sudden personality change made my foster parents freak out. They soon found out that I was off my medication, and I was brought back to the orphanage. They thought I was too much for them to handle."

"And then you were adopted by your current parents, Tina and Beth, five years ago. Is this correct?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied quietly. "And I was thankful for them adopting me. They were the best thing that could have happened to me."

"Ok now that I'm up to speed, I want to ask you how you're feeling currently? How are you adjusting to things in Rosewood Creek?" she prompted me.

"I'm doing well. I made a friend and I like the classes I'm taking," I replied.

She sat quietly, nodding her head. She was waiting for me to continue. All the therapists and doctors did this but I didn't feel like filling the void of the conversation. I let the silence continue on. It was a battle to see who would cut the awkwardness and I personally could care less if I stared at her for the remainder of the time.

"That's good to hear," she broke first. They always do.

"So how are your medications working for you? Are you experiencing any positive symptoms?" Dr. Louis asked.

"Yeah‒‒I mean, my medications are fine. I haven't experienced anything new, though," I answered her, lying a bit. The medications weren't working. I just didn't... I didn't want to admit it.

"Are you sure? You haven't experienced any hallucinations, delusions, illusions, or flight of ideas?" she restated her question.

"Nope," I said, as I tucked my hands into my jacket. I lied again. I was starting to get a headache. Why did I always have to make things difficult for myself? All I needed to do was be honest, but it was just so hard. I felt I was always on the edge of a cliff: the help, the love, the affirmation, everything I ever wanted was over the ledge. All I had to do was just jump, but I never did. I could never be brave for myself.

"Well, I'm glad I got to speak to you today. I would like to see you in the next three months. You are more than welcome to book an appointment with me in between that time if something pops up," Dr. Louis said.

"Thanks. I appreciate it," I replied back. It was almost done, just a few more seconds and then I would be free.

Dr. Louis got up and shook my hand and walked me out to the foyer. She briefly chatted with my parents as I stood awkwardly in the hallway. I dropped my head and glanced at my worn vans, sliding them in a small circle on the pinewood floor.

"Let's go, Remy," Tina said and I followed behind them, out the door.

"Remy?" I heard a voice say. I turned around and saw Dr. Louis waving me back inside the door.

"Yes?" I replied hesitantly.

"I'm always here to talk if anything strange happens to you. Keep that in mind," she politely said as she waved goodbye.

"Thanks," I said quietly and then left...

Anything "strange"? What is her deal?

I furrowed my brow. Did she know something I didn't? Whatever it was, I didn't care. I walked out to our light purple Prius and hopped into the backseat. I put my headphones on and tried to bury my unsorted feelings, leaving it for another day for me to address them. 

A/N How do you guys feel about Remy's condition? What are your thoughts? Let me know in the comments! Loved to hear your feedback. Thanks again for reading my story! Please make sure to subscribe for more updates.