"What happened?"
"We...Beth and I went to look for Hannah... The others did some kind of stupid joke on her and she took off sobbing."

"Did you find Hannah, (Y/n)?"
"Yes. She was freezing, so Beth gave Hannah her coat and I wrapped my scarf around her neck instead of mine."

"Then what happened?"
"Something was following us, so we started to run. We got cornered on the edge of a cliff, and then the two of them fell - Beth clinging to a random branch and holding Hannah."
"I see. So did you fall and manage to climb up as well?"

"No, I didn't fall. Then...Then Hannah fell - pulling Beth down with her. I tried to help them - really, I did - but...but..."

"But?"
"B-But-"
"We can stop if you like."

"I'm fine."
"Sometimes, when traumatic events such as this take place, rest is required—"
"I SAID I'm fine!"

With a loud gasp you sat up; breathing heavily as you remembered the police interrogation and the constant nightmare you just couldn't escape from. Your two best friends - Hannah and Beth - were still gone. The grief that consistently plagued your mind pulled at your heartstrings while you attempted to collect your thoughts and compose yourself. A dream. Just a bad dream. That dreadful interview was a year ago. When...When that happened. Something so awful that you couldn't forgive your previous friends for it. Something so awful that your sleeping pills were worthless. And something so awful that you still couldn't move on - even after a whole year.

...And that something? Was nothing more than "Just a prank!"

An hour or two passed before you had the emotional courage to prepare yourself for your everyday therapy session; getting dressed, skipping breakfast and grabbing your bag as you left your house. Hurrying through the streets of your hometown, you finally reached the building - your uneasiness and usual anxiety swelling up inside your body while you tried to muster up the guts to enter, not wanting to delve back into the horror of your devastating memories and dark depression. After a few minutes you were able to grasp the handle and open the front door, reaching the main desk and speaking to the person behind it for a moment - saying your name.

"Come in." Your therapist - Dr. Hill - called after you knocked on his office door.

You let yourself in and carefully shut the door behind yourself; dumping your bag besides you as you silently took a seat. "Ah, (Y/n)! How are we feeling today?" He asked in a nice tone, trying to lighten the room's atmosphere.

"Does it matter?" You sighed, "The same as I was last week, if it matters that much to you."

"How has your day been so far? Have a good breakfast?" Dr. Hill tried another approach, but you knew what he was trying to do - considering he'd done this plenty of times.

"My day's been shit." You answered bluntly, "And I skipped out on breakfast. Wasn't hungry. Didn't feel like it."

"I see." He began taking notes, twirling his pen between his fingers as he attempted to delve into your mind and discover what exactly was going on. "Now (Y/n), I must know; are you still having those nightma—?"

"Can't we just move this along?" You sharply cut him off, "I'm growing rather tired of the same questions over and over again."

"Fair enough." Dr. Hill dipped his head as a nod and complied, instead pulling out a collection of pictures before placing them on his desk with the utmost of care.

"Why do you have a bunch pictures?" You asked with suspicion, holding the sides of your arms together and trying to comprehend what in God's name was going on here.

"I thought we'd start today's therapy session with a simple exercise. Could you please pick up the card? I want you to look at the picture on the other side, and tell me how you feel about said picture." The male opposite you cleared his throat for a second and then carried on with his explanation, "It is essential that you answer honestly - in order to get the most out of this experience."

"Okay...?" You curiously agreed, picking up the first card that he'd placed down. This was a new one. Wonder why he wanted to—

You froze once you'd picked up the picture and flipped it around; your throat going dry after tears pricked at your eyes. A mountain. A...A snowy mountain. "I...I..." You could hardly speak - no words coming to mind.

"How does it make you feel, (Y/n)?" He casually probed. "If you had to choose a word. Just one. One itsy-bitsy, little word."

"Heartache." You muttered resentfully, twitching whilst you tried to keep your temper under control. Was he doing this on purpose? Purposely shoving the trauma of last year right into your face?

"Very good, very good." Dr. Hill shot you a supposedly 'soothing' smile, "And the next card on top of the pile?" He was doing it on purpose. Had to be.

You decided to just struggle through this and get it over with - so you could just go home. "How...How dare you..." You whispered, enraged by the second card. Because before you could pick it up for yourself, he picked it up instead and showed it to you.

It was a holiday photo; both your family and the Washington family sitting happily together as you all enjoyed a holiday abroad. "My apologies...but I had to." Dr. Hill spoke softly, "You never tell people how you feel, nor how you think about things. I need to know how severe your psychological damage is."

"You want to know how I feel, huh?" You slowly replied, losing control of your temper while your twitching dissolved into violent shaking. "How I think about things?"

"Yes. So if you could please just answer—"

"You..." You stood up, slammed both hands on the desk and sent the cards flying; your blood boiling due to not being able to hold back your emotions any longer. "You DISGUST me!"

"(Y/n), I'm just trying to—"

"I...I HATE YOU...!" You screamed right in his face, tears streaming down your cheeks as you knocked everything off the desk - snatching up your bag after doing said action.

"This is the only way you're going to make progress, (Y/n)." Dr. Hill calmly responded, copying you and standing up also.

"Do you think this is easy for me!?" You snapped hatefully, gripping the strap of your bag and storming towards the office door.

"I never said it would be—"

"These therapy sessions are so full of SHIT. YOU are so full of SHIT." You viciously insulted. "I can't take this crap anymore. That's it. I'm cancelling these sessions."

"(Y/n), please try to calm down." He tried one last time to console you, but you'd had enough of the emotional torture you'd endured.

"No! I'm done!" You concluded coldly, flinging the door open and letting yourself out. "Go find someone else to traumatise, "Doctor"." After you'd said that, you left the building - feeling unbelievably upset.

You couldn't suppress the sobs that came from your mouth; staring at the ground while you accidentally ignored your surroundings. Then, you jumped when two hands held your shoulders comfortingly. "S-Sam...?" You stuttered a little bit as you looked up and locked eyes with the blonde-haired girl.

Sam was the only one of your previous friends that you still accepted as a friend - seeing as she wasn't involved in said prank. "(Y/n)! You okay?" She asked worriedly, her hazel orbs glittering with distress whilst she attempted to console you. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." You casually brushed her concern off, taking a deep breath before rubbing your eyes and trying to appear unfazed. "Just another stupid therapy session. I'm going to cancel them anyway."

"Cancel them? How come?" Sam questioned with a frown, retracting her hands and now just standing in front of you.

"They're not working for me." You responded in a low voice, being as honest as possible. "They're just making me feel what I felt last year. They're making it worse."

"What happened last year...it was vile." Sam's voice also grew quiet, her face switching to a sorrowful one. "Absolutely vile."

You weakly nodded and your friend's expression changed again; Sam slipping her hand into her jean pocket and pulling out her phone. "I'm actually glad I bumped into you, (Y/n). There's something I need to show you. It's...Well, it's about..."

"Yeah? About what?" You tilted your head to the side in confusion and encouraged her to continue - not understanding.

"It's about Josh."