By the time I finally register what's going on around me, I'm sitting my room. There's no lock on the door – though I find I'm slightly grateful for that – so I can't hide from what I've done. What have I done? Sprinting from the session seems so laughable now, even if it was so sudden. I can't outrun my own mind. Most people have demons in the form of bullies, taxes or derivative friends. My demons have no bounds. I can't run or hide. Most of the time, I can't even fight them. Her. The air around me is stale, as if domes have grown on top of my lungs. Hastily, I apply my breathing exercises. In. Out. In. Out. Rubbing the tears from my cheeks, I find my hands are twitching. Closing my eyes, I lean back against the door. Everything in here reminds me of Dr. Light. In a way, I was right – he isn't like any psychiatrist I've met. They don't instantly probe straight into your mind like a torpedo. Despite the fact that I know he's in the wrong, I can't help but think I'm the one at fault. It was the way they looked at me – Mum and Light. Like I was some performing monkey forced to relinquish my feelings as a sacrifice to some statuette. Like I'd failed them. No, that can't be right. Dr. Light is here to help me and my Mum... All she wants is for me to get better. The first session is always the hardest – that I do remember. So, I've got to keep trying. In the back of my mind, I know I won't ever be okay. But that's the way life is. My life is. Sometimes, I wish I had someone – or a talking instruction manual – to tell me how to feel. They would look at me and make a promise that tomorrow would be better. There's one session, with a therapist, hanging in the recesses of my thoughts. Her name was Dr. Yates. She used to ask me how I felt, every single session and every single time I told the truth, she wasn't happy with it. Everyone in my life keeps telling me how I should feel and what I should do. I've heard those words so many times, they've drowned out my own. A knock at the door startles me, like a ripple of ice on a lake. My name is spoken, I'm sure of it, but my minds blocks it out.

"Honey, it's me. Can I come in?" It's okay, it isn't him. Cautiously, I slide away from the door and perch myself on the bedcovers. Mum's face is etched in a smile and as she shuts the door, I cave into her arms.

"It's alright, I wasn't expecting you to be a picture of calm on your first session. I'm sorry we both thrust it upon you. We just want to recover as fast as you can. It doesn't matter. Dr. Light is here for a long time, so you can get to know him a bit more before trying that again". I keep crying, so she peels me off and sits us both down on the edge of the bed.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" she asks, stroking my hair away from my face. I choke out my reply.

"I just want to be okay". Mum cups my face in her hands, stone and unmoving.

"You always have been". Even though it's a lie, I start to feel better. I haven't missed school that much, it seems. I've missed my Mum. I've missed someone holding me and telling me that what I am isn't wrong or unnatural. I'm okay. Mum pulls herself free from my embrace, cold air rushing through us like an avalanche.

"I'm sorry, I've pushed you too hard, too fast. I think you've earnt the next three days off. Dr. Light will need help settling in anyway, so you just stay calm and relax. There's no rush. Doctor Steele is coming to check on you soon as well, so he can help you feel better," she says. I sense there's no way of delaying Doctor Steele, but at least his words won't cut me open.

"When is he coming again?" My hands scrunch wrinkles into the duvet.

"In a couple of days, if the weather's kind," Mother replies and stands to leave.

"I'll just go have a talk with Dr. Light about his room". Nodding, I smudge the remainder of my tears across my face.

"Do you want anything?" A shake. I don't think I can stomach any food or drink. I can barely stomach oxygen as it is. 

Mum flashes me one last smile, before shutting the door behind her. I'm not going back down there, not if he's waiting for me. 

Instead, I am resigned to sit here and mourn the death of the normal life I never had.