Group Therapy Part II:

Evan Begins

I tore my gaze away from the window as Dr. Giles walked in and observed the small group of misfits. My eyes roamed the group, and I noticed that the woman across from me was staring at me…intently. I looked over my shoulder, silently hoping that she was staring at something beyond me, but her eyes met mine when I looked into them. Crystal blue. Damn. Just like Macy’s.

“Well, good morning folks,” Giles said in a country accent. I cringed. How did someone that southern end up all the way out here in California? I looked over at Giles, who had sat down by now, and examined him. Typical southerner. Blue jeans, collared shirt with those completely tacky ties they wore with the medallion on it, and a huge belt buckle. Thank god he wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat, or I think I would have shot myself right then and there. I blinked and turned my gaze back to the woman sitting across from me, but she wasn’t staring at me anymore.

“I said, good morning y’all,” he reiterated.

“Good morning,” we all lazily replied. If this was the way it was going to be every morning, I might just puke. I began to drum my fingers on my leg and waited for him to continue. Instead, he sat there, examining each and every one of us in turn. When his eyes fell on me, I could see the interest in them. It was un-missable.

“The goal of this here program, I’m sure y’all know, is to build a sense of trust within yer small group so you can share why you think you’re here, and hopefully find the solution to yer problem. All of us are here to help each other, and I’m in my office any time ya need me,” he said in his slow, southern drawl. His eyes, I noticed, kept darting back and forth between all of us, and finally they rested on me. Small and watery, and made smaller by his smile, an obvious attempt to get on my good side. He held his hand out to me.

“Why don’t you start, young man? Start with yer name and age and how ya got here,” he said. I breathed in deeply and sighed, sitting forward in my chair, my elbows resting on my knees.

“I’m Evan, twenty-six years old, and I landed in this dump on account of my friend Jesse,” I spoke quickly. I whisked the hair out of my eyes by snapping my head, and discreetly looked to see if that girl was watching me again. Yep. Her eyes seemed to bore into me, as if trying to see straight through me. You know, if she wanted to see through me, she could just stand up and look at the wall behind me.

“All right, next,” Giles said, gesturing to the person next to me. I turned to him. He looked a bit older than myself, or maybe the same age. His hair was in the “between” stage of wanting to be long and restraining to be short, and it lay a blonde mess on top of his head. His eyes were a murky green and kept darting towards the woman’s leg, which was incessantly bouncing.

“I’m Ryan, twenty-eight, and…I…overdosed,” he pushed out. Was he ashamed, or was he just distracted by her ever-bouncing leg? It was beginning to bother him as well.

“Now yer turn, little lady,” Giles spoke. How cheesy could this guy get?

“Well, I’m not so little anymore, sir. My name is Brook, and I’m twenty-five,” she said quickly. Maybe she was ADD or something? For god’s sake, give the girl her medicine before she comes here. I shook my head and turned my attention back to Giles.

“You just here fer enjoyment, Brook,” he asked, his watery eyes on the verge of being prying.

“I’d rather not say, Dr. Giles,” she responded, a look of embarrassment coming over her face. She even blushed a little. How cute.

“All-righty then, you don’t have to tell us,” Giles answered, bobbing his head to reassure her, “Now we’ll start with some simple exercises…”

As soon as our session was over, I bolted out of there like there was no tomorrow. Giles must have thought we were children, making us sing old nursery rhyme songs like that. The man had issues of his own to deal with. Who gave him his job anyways? Whoever they were, maybe they needed to get their heads checked.

My thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched voice from behind me. Damn. Please don’t be Brook. Please don’t be Brook. I pivoted on my foot. Dammit. It was Brook.

“Hey…Evan, right,” she asked, an eager look on her face.

“Uh, yeah. Who wants to know,” I asked. I thought I might as well be suave about it.

“Me, actually. I was wondering if you wanted to grab a cup of coffee in the lunch hall,” she asked. Do you really need more caffeine? I thought. I closed my eyes and half rolled them in exasperation and tried to grab for an excuse from thin air. Nothing came.

“Sure. Why not,” I sighed. She smiled and showed her brilliantly white teeth. The kind of white teeth that made smokers jealous beyond reason. I only half listened to her rapid fire questions, which I tried to answer before she moved on to the next subject, and instead spent our walk examining her.

She wasn’t thin, which told me she wasn’t bulimic or anorexic, but she wasn’t fat either, which told me she wasn’t here for over-eating. (I’d heard about that happening before.) Her hair was mid-torso length and red. Red has always caught my attention, so I spent a while examining the facets of her vibrant, curly hair. Her face was kindof…heart-shaped, and her eyes were round and the same, unfading blue I had seen in Macy.

I averted my gaze at that thought. Damn, I had to stop thinking about Macy, or I would get worse, like before. I also had to stop saying “damn”, but I wasn’t going to focus on that too much.

We reached the wide, double-doored entrance to the lunch hall and I started listening to her voice again. She was going on about some soccer team that she was “in love” with and wanted me to watch a game with her sometime. I nodded my head on cue and she laughed, grabbed my arm, and lead me over to the coffee counter. All of the machines were labeled “DECAFF”, but I seriously doubted that this girl didn’t have a way of finding some caffeinated coffee.

A couple minutes passed and we finally sat down at a table together and she, miraculously, stopped talking. I looked at her and noticed she was taking a sip of her coffee. Oh.

“So,” she said, “I can tell you don’t want to be here.” I looked back at her form staring out the window.

“What did you say,” I asked.

“I know you don’t want to be here,” she repeated. I stared at her in confusion.

“Then why did you ask me to coffee?”

“Because I wanted to ask you if you’d tell me your story,” she stated, gazing at me again with her demanding cerulean eyes. Somehow, they broke down the solid stone wall around my heart, like Macy’s eyes seemed to do. I sighed and looked away from her and out the window. People were walking by, only paying mind to themselves, never looking at the people walking right by them. I doubt they even gave a damn. Just like Macy.

I looked back at Brook and sighed again. Meeting her eyes and shoving away my coffee, I leaned forward on the table.

“I was on this internet chat room site when it all began…”

Author’s Note: Hey everyone. Please let me honestly know what you think of this chapter. I was pushing myself for inspiration today, because I hadn’t updated in a while and I don’t think I like this chapter all too well. Your feedback would help me a lot. I also think, reading back on this chapter, that it turned out to be a transitional chapter-which I’ve found that I suck at writing. So, please tell me what you think. Give me constructive criticism, but give me something.

Always, Irony