Hana

I fiddle with my blue bracelet, given to me by the psychologist at our meeting a few days ago. I fix my eyes on the door, watching, waiting for something to happen. Anything.

A death would be more interesting than sitting here, waiting…

Okay. So now my bracelet is finally accurate. That was a rather depressing thought.

A boy enters the waiting room. Or rather, a man with a boyish face. He is attractive. Wearing ripped skinny jeans and a oversized singlet. Revealing several tattoos on his arms. He is not too muscly nor too thin.

Just how men should look.

He looks at me, sitting in the corner of next to the councillors office. My fingers still twisting the blue plastic bracelet around my wrist.

He notices it.

“Are you depressed?” He asks blatantly, sitting across from me.

I shake my head. “No.”

“And why is that?” He asks, leaning closer.

I shrug. “Because I’m not allowed to be.”

“What do you mean? You have no time to be?”

Sighing, I answer, “I mean I am not allowed to be depressed. I don’t have the energy to spare to be. So I am not allowed to be.”

He nods, muttering, “Not allowed to be.”

I turn away from him and see that the psychologist finally let go of another patient.

“You can come in now.” He says to me, before eyeing the boyish man, and smiling. “I’ll be a few moments okay? Just make yourself comfortable in my office.”

I stand up, much taller than the psychologist and walk into his office. There is no desk – just like in the movies – it’s a large room with three chairs and a coffee table. The walls lined with bookshelves, trinkets are placed between books to make shelves look fuller. I sigh and sit on one of the chairs.

I stare at my nails. They aren’t short but they aren’t long. The white tips are just showing and I can already see a small crack spreading across the tip of my thumb. I start to pick at it. Hoping that I can fix it by pulling it off before the psychologist can analyse my behaviour.

“So she is the person?” I hear the boy asking from the doorway. There is no reply. I continue picking at my thumb, trying to make it even.

“But she doesn’t seem… depressed.” He continues and I can’t tell if that is a good or a bad thing. “Here I thought I would be watching over some kid that cuts himself all the time. Not a girl that doesn’t even think she has a mental disorder.”

The psychologist sighs, “JiYong, you don’t have the skills to look after a higher case than this.”

“What case? She seems a little stressed but other than that she’s fine.”

I lean forward in my seat, hoping to see them through the still open door. Alas, I only see the shorter psychologist’s back.

I hate it when people talk about me as if I can’t hear it. My Mother does it all the time. Only, she talks to no one but herself.

“JiYong. She’s not fine. She has a mild case of depression. You can’t tell because you don’t see the symptoms. Now either you take the job – which according to you should be a breeze because there is nothing wrong. Or you go home and start packing and selling your things because we both know how much you need this money.”

JiYong sighs and there is silence.

“Come meet her.” The psychologist says, moving inside the door. JiYong follows close behind him, sighing.

What the hell did I do to deserve this kind of treatment?

A/N:: Hi there~! Its nice to see that I have a subscriber already. I'm sorry about the wait, I needed to fix the first chapter and my mind can't see anything from the begining at this current time, it keeps thinking ahead to where I want this to end up... 

I don't think I will be updating regularly, I have another story that I am just getting into which I update weekly. So I might update this every second week or so? I need to work on characters and plot and such before I can get a definate plan of action for the udating. It will more than likely end up being updated on a Monday.

So I shall work hard to earn your subscriptions and comments. Please look forward to it~!