Tyler, age 15. :

I sat in the most uncomfortable plastic chair in the facility, I'm sure of it. It wouldn't surprise me if they purposely place the chair here for me, just to spite me. Everyone was out for my head, I could feel it. Even strangers, I could feel the hate within them radiate from the bones rotting away inside of them. Especially, Dr. Lee, I'm sure she hated me the most. 

I stared at the wooden desk in front of my direct line of vision. I took in the unintentional artwork that was the grain of the wood showing through the dark stain that was chosen. I wondered when the tree this desk was made from knew it was going to grow up, get killed, and be a desk some day. Did someone grow this tree just to make a desk? Or was that also unintentional? The world may never know some of its wonderful little secrets, I suppose. 

Dr. Lee came into the room, a manila folder in hand with dozens upon dozens of papers within it. She smiled her wide grin that showed her stark white teeth that terrified me to my very inner core. She let her lips retouch each other before sitting down, and I couldn't help but feel a pit form in my stomach. Except, this pit is just as old as I am.This pit formed on the same day I was birthed. This pit would be forever stuck in the smack middle of my stomach until the day my body gives up, and I am pronounced deceased. 

"We are upping your medicine," She stated in that tone that sounded way too happy for her facial expressions. 

I gulped with fear weighing on my shoulders as if it were a wet blanket, left in a week long rain shower. "I'm fine," I responded to her, knowing for a fact it would do me no good. She never believed me, no one ever did. Instead of trying to understand, everyone jumped to the gun, insisting that I was ill. Everyone is always so fast to kill creativity, but no one can grasp the fact that maybe creativity and a touch of insanity go hand in hand.

"Do you still see him? Is he here right now?" 

"He's my best friend, I see him every day. Why would he even be here? This is my session."

Without saying a word she slid, yet another, bottle of pills my way from across her desk. "I am sure he is Tyler, but no one else does. He's not there."

We sat in silence for just a moment. "Tyler, we are gifted with thought. You are gifted with thought. Though, I'm afraid you're taking it too far. You're living with your thoughts and this isn't healthy. Not for you, not for anyone. Tyler, he isn't real."

I slumped back in my seat feeling defeated and insulted. How on Earth would anyone see him in the first place? I'm the only one who visits him. I don't see anyone else going out of their way to interact with this society's pair of rejects. I've known him for years, we were like peanut butter and jelly, two peas in a pod, cream cheese on bagels, we were made for one another. He wasn't fake, he is real. He is a genuine, kind, caring, person that I can see and hear and touch. He was there. He's always here. 

Rolling my eyes and pairing the action with a scoff, I snatched the bottle off of the desk and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind me as I left. Angry, I met my mother outside who had kind, tired eyes. "You knew." I stated, throwing the bottle in her direction. She sighed, like she usually does when I get angry at her. 

She opened the car door for me, not saying a word in response to my anger. "No, I'll walk, thanks." I slammed the car door as well. I walked away, leaving my mother rubbing her face in the parking lot, holding a useless bottle of pills.

Everything around me was grey. There was no light anymore, I felt like I had already died. Everyone had deemed me insane. I wasn't a kid anymore, I stopped having pretend friends a long time ago. That is, if I even ever had any at all. But he was real. I could high-five him, I could hear him laugh, I could see his visible, big, dorky smile. He was really real. I would never believe otherwise. I couldn't picture myself by anyone else's side. We were like two pieces to the same puzzle. I felt like he completed me. When I'm in his company I feel like I can breathe again. All of this time I have been drowning and gasping for air, but he saved me. He was real. I know he is real. 

"Tyler," he greeted me with his usual warm smile. I could feel the heat radiating off of him and his kindness. Of course, I smiled back in response and followed him down the winding, leaf covered path. "You're real." I said aloud. He sighed and turned to face me, "You can see me, can't you?" I shook my head. 

He sat down across from me on a log and just stared at me for what seemed like forever. "You've always seen me," he stated, touching my knee with the tips of his cold fingers, "you can feel me, can't you?" I could feel goosebumps popping up where his cold skin had touched mine. "Of course I can." I shrugged. 

"Then, Tyler, what's the issue?" 

"She said you weren't real. They all believe I am insane." I could feel heart pounding in my chest with fear, hurt, and even anger. He gave me a sympathetic look, "And why does that matter to you?" 

He was always calm. Over all of the years I've known him, he has never gotten angry, never nervous, nothing. He was always calm, nothing more and nothing less. Not even now was he anything but calm. 

"You can see me?"

"Yeah.."

"And you can feel me touch you?"

"Well, yeah." 

"Then, I'm real."