“What? Why not a GP?”
“You may have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Augustus. A GP can give you medication for general sleep issues, but a psychiatrist will be able to prescribe you stronger medications, if necessary,” she explained.
“Will they do tests? Like scan my brain?”
“Most likely. There could be physiological causes for the nightmares and insomnia, and it is always important to rule them out.”
I suppose that made sense, but the fear of someone looking at my brain and finding the Devil was overwhelming. What if they discovered a chemical imbalance that led them to believe I had schizophrenia? This could completely alter my life.
“I don’t know…I might just get meds off a GP,” I said.
“It is your decision to make,” Dr. Rosewood said. “But I will write up the referral in case you change your mind.”
I nodded, hands fidgeting on my lap as I watched her move around her desk, type something on her computer and then print a piece of paper. She handed it to me with a soft smile. “Let me know how it goes.”
***
On my way to the library, I heard a word I hadn’t heard since high school. It was such a hateful word, one that made me pause, turning my head expecting to see Alexander hurtling it at his latest victim. It wasn’t Alexander, however, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him.
What did surprise me, though, waswhothe word was directed at.
Nathaniel stood with his friends, lips turned down and his eyebrows furrowed, arms raised to placate the man who spat the word at him.
One of Nathaniel’s friends approached the man, but Nate pulled him back, mouthing 'it’s not worth it.'
The man repeated the three-letter word amidst other insults while Nathaniel’s friends dragged him away. I watched, in silence, my jaw clenched as I remembered the word being thrown at me when ‘Augustus the Gay’ became my infamous nickname.
The other man, voice slurred, stumbled away as though drunk. I didn’t care whether he was intoxicated or not, he knew better than to throw harmful words around. And for what? What could Nathaniel have done?
I followed the man, sticking to the shadows, my hands curling and uncurling at my sides. The urge to slam him to the ground, gouge out his eyes, and tear him limb from limb was so strong I had to draw in a sharp breath to wipe the grotesque imagery from my mind.
A hand on my shoulder ended my plan to confront him. I turned, slowly, and groaned at the sight of Nathaniel. His collar had been ruffled. The man had gotten physical with him, and the urge to end his life became even more powerful.
“You should punch him,” I blurted out.
“I’m not going to punch him,” Nathaniel sighed.
I shrugged and turned to follow the man. “Fine, I will.”
Nathaniel’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, holding me back. “You’re like an angry cat.”
“Excuse me?!”
“You know…when cats are angry, all claws and hisses, but they look really cute…” Nathaniel explained.
“You think I’mcute?” I asked, bewildered.
“Adorably so.” He released hold of my wrist and calmly pressed his shoulder to the tree beside him, arms folded over his chest as he studied me from head to toe, no doubt registering the dark circles under my eyes and the pale colour of my skin. “You okay?”
“What happened with that guy?” I asked instead.
Nathaniel’s small smile faded. “I met him last night while my friends and I were clubbing. We got around to talking and I thought we were having a nice time. I slipped him my number before I left but he must not have noticed it until I was already gone. And then when he saw me today…he blew up.”
I swallowed hard. “Because…you slipped him your number?”
“Guess so,” Nathaniel shrugged.
“I think you dodged a bullet there anyway,” I said. “He’s a jerk.”
