"What is your impression on this?"

The question jolts me out of my daytime slumber.

I see a paper in front of me which has a blot of ink on it. A very random shape like a child's colours splashed with absolute neglect.

"What are you thinking?" he butts into my imagination again.

"That you guys wasted a perfectly good sheet of paper and a generous portion of ink to make this." I say, my voice not betraying the anger building up within me.

"Sassy, are you miss?" he gives a lazy grin which makes me cringe. He's the most repulsive counsellor I ever met and mind you, I've met quite a few owing to my mood disturbances over the past few years.

Yellow teeth, cracked lips and that obnoxious smile. How am I supposed to feel comfortable and confide in this creep?

As if I have anything to confide. I don't why where I came across this melancholy but I'm carrying its weight around and its hampering my everyday routines. Thus feeling is like a boulder crushing my chest or a hand on my neck, suffocating the air.

I concentrated on the inkblot instead.

A butterfly? It did look like one, only by a child who doesn't know to colour within margins.

"What is this?" I placed my hands firmly on the table, looking at him squarely. I need to know everything about it before I expose my inner self to that test.

"Rorschach test" he informed. "We analyse the subjects' perceptions of inkblots using psychological interpretation, complex algorithms, or both."

"Some psychologists use this test to examine a person's personality characteristics and emotional functioning." another voice startled me.

I looked up to see a man in his late twenties staring at me with concern in his eyes. His deep woodland eyes seemed to be boring into my soul.

I lowered my gaze. There was too much power in them for my mind to block them out.

"Dr Stalz." he extended his hand which I gingerly shook.

Thank God this was my counsellor, not the other jerk. Stalz exuded an aura of calm.

"Stella. Please cooperate." he insisted.

I turned my eyes and focused on the blot.

My mind was spinning fast.

"It's a bloodstain!" I blurted out. "Someone thrust a knife right through his heart and the stain is soaking through his shirt. He's staggering, speechless as he crumpled to the floor."

"Why do you think it's blood?" his voice seemed like a steady drone in my ears.

"Because he also spilled someone's blood. He cheated on a girl who killed herself maybe. He splashed an innocents blood and then viciously trapped another innocent to suck her life force and when he was done with her, he dumped her but she wasn't going to waste her blood on that jerk. She spilled his instead. " my voice was almost an inaudible whisper now.

"And do you know this killer girl?"

I nodded pointing silently at myself.

"Me" I sobbed.

Written for the prompt by PsychologicalNovel