Chapter 1

Joy fixed her gaze stubbornly on the overly happy, picture perfect smiles of children and their parents that the ward claimed to have "healed".

"The mission of the Department of Psychiatry is to assist in developing resources to advance the treatment of the mentally ill and improve the mental health of children in need. We are dedicated to the advancement and dissemination of knowledge pertaining to mental disorders, dedicated to compassionate and ethical behavior in patient care, teaching, and research. We actively foster relationships amongst our members..."

Joy ground her teeth and flicked curly dark brown hair out of similarly colored eyes. She couldn't stand it here. It smelt like a public toilet, it looked like the interior designer had simply given up on making it look half decent and had instead plastered some off-white sludge onto the walls, and it was much too spacious. Like the psychiatrist could press a hidden button her desk and round up a dozen bodyguards, ready to corner her and hold her down like a rabid animal while freedom was in the other three corners and out the door and back to the days when everything was alright.

Joy's thoughts were interrupted by the jingle of bells and the annoyingly soft closing of the door when you know the person is pitying you, walking on eggs around you, pretending to think that shutting a door as softly as possible was going to "calm the volatile child" when all Joy wanted to hear was it slam into pieces, and maybe leave the Dr. permanently deaf from wood chip shrapnel.

"Joy? My name is Dr. Bibi Morgan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The doctor held out her hand, although Joy didn't really care what was happening behind her. She was still trying to burn holes in the dots on the i's and circles into the o's of the mission statement.

"Joy, please," her father sighed wearily. Slowly, Joy swiveled in the chair. The only reason why she was even bothering to grace Bibi Morgan with her presence was because her father believed that this young, glasses-donning, nose sniffing, all-smiles freak could do something to help. Middle aged with salt and pepper hair and tired, gentle eyes, Joy's father was trying to do everything he could to get his daughter back on track. He knew all too well how she was feeling; after all, he too had lost a loved one in the ordeal.

And he didn't want to lose his daughter.

Every time he looked at her, there was the spitting image of his wife. Thick, dark brown curls mid-back, I-dare-you brown eyes with dark eyebrows and eyelashes, and a tendency to smile or burst out laughing when nobody said anything. Lately, however, this was an appealing trait that was slowly disappearing under a veil of depression, unbelievable obstinacy, and apathy. Already they had been to five different places in the state; he had even offered to home school her, if she wanted more time at home.

Rejection. Just as she rejected everything else that was supposed to be helping.

Her father did not understand, however, that Joy needed no help whatsoever. As she glared at Bibi Morgan's forehead, now content with burning a hole in a very irritating mole just above the rim of her glasses, she almost just got up and left. Joy didn't want all of these people thinking they could try and help her, prying into her life, trying to squeeze every detail about everything. She had no intention of telling them the memories she and her mother had shared, of letting them in on her laughs, her joys, her sadness. It was something of theirs alone.

"Joy, I understand that this is very difficult for you. I've had many different children, some even younger than you, come in here and they've had just as much hardship as you have--"

Joy fumed. "So, you're saying that because I'm older, I should have it easier?"

"No, I didn't say that." Bibi Morgan was starting to talk to her like her like she was 3, and she didn't like it.

She crossed her legs nonchalantly and gave a sarcastic smile. "Sorry. Won't interrupt again. I'll let you get on with reciting your little speech thing, and then hopefully I can stop wasting my time and get out of here so you can go blow the money I'm wasting."

Joy crossed her arms and glared at the lady. She didn't care that she was acting immature.

"Joy, I just want to help. Your mother would have wanted you to move on--"

"Weeell then, I think that wraps up today's little bit of exploiting and brainwashing. Let me tell you something, Dr. Morgan--you never knew my mother and you don't know me, and however cliché and "oh-it's-her-teenage-years" this sounds, you never will. And if she was still here, I wouldn't have to know you either."

She stood abruptly, body tense, and gave a curt nod to her father. Stalking out of the office, she grabbed the doorknob and gave it a good hard yank.

x

David White winced as his daughter exited the room, and couldn't contain a sigh. He rubbed his fingers on his temples.

"I'm sorry."

Bibi Morgan gave a little wave of her hand.

"Oh, it's no problem, Mr. White. I take it your daughter and late wife had a very close relationship?"

"Closer than I will ever get to her."

He trailed off into an un-awkward silence, and suddenly felt very tired.

"She isn't usually like this..." He gave her an apologetic look. She was adjusting her glasses and waiting patiently, a small, trusting smile on her features. "Joy is...Joy is exactly like her mother. I guess you can kind of get a feel for what she thinks of you..."

"Oh," Dr. Morgan gave a listless little laugh and twirled a pen between her fingers, "she obviously hates me. Which is why, Mr. White, I'm afraid that her coming to me will definitely waste your money and everyone's time."

David looked at her, somewhat in pain, and somewhat incredulously.

"What?! Oh, my god...I just...I'm sorry."

"Now, let me finish. I propose to you this: Joy needs to interact more with people that are her age. I can see it in the way she holds herself; she has this idea that everyone thinks that they are superior, and this is just one of the things she resents. She needs someone that can relate to her, tell her all that teenage stuff about "friends for ever" and someone that agrees with her and understands or whatever--I don't care. Someone from her school needs to be her buddy."

"Joy is not as "teenagery" as you might suspect, Dr. Morgan."

"Let's lose the formalities; call me Bibi."

"Likewise."

She smiled.

"And in response to your comment, I am fully aware that what has happened has matured Joy much more than either of us would like to admit. Some of that fun that she'll have out of bungee jumping, skydiving, looking out of the Eifel Tower with her fiancé will give her little reminders of the way her mother decided to end her life. But this is what we are trying to undo." She suddenly opened a desk drawer and rummaged around until she pulled out a pad of paper.

"I'll write this to the principal of your school, signed as a registered psychiatrist. I have no doubts that it will be accepted. University is coming up too, isn't it." She asked, scribbling in a surprisingly slanted left-handed scrawl at the same time.

David sighed and scratched his head. "Yes, that too. She used to be one of the best. I just want her to get back up there, know that there is more in life."

"And because I am interested to see what Joy says to this fellow classmate that she so adamantly refuses to tell anyone else, and, of course, to make sure she doesn't do anything drastic, I want a hidden microphone on this kid. I assure you, David, it's all for the best."

David slowly pushed his tall, lean frame out of the chair and took the paper in Bibi Morgan's outstretched hand.

"Let's hope this works."

Bibi Morgan observed the man as he made his way for the door. He was no older than his late 40s or so, but looked to be about 10 years older than he actually was. The man needed a long vacation and needed to attend some sort of "born again" seminar, or take a bath in the Ganges.

"And if it isn't too bold of me to suggest, you should get yourself a female companion as well."

David raised an eyebrow mid-exit.

"That is too bold."

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Mission statement from various websites

r+r,

OLB