The Buzzing...

I feel the ticking inside my head, but I try to tap my skull to make the sound cease. I can’t let people know I’m different, especially not in the middle of the very busy waiting room. I have to be calm… even if my skin feels like it is trying to peel right off of me. The buzzing is back… shit. I thought we got rid of that one.

“Sam!” The doctor calls, and I shoot to my feet, and then quickly look around, realizing I moved too fast. Anyone could realize the truth if I’m not careful… no one can know.

I move at a slower, more cautious pace. That lady in the corner keeps peeking up at me, and I start to sweat, watching her carefully. She thinks I don’t see her… that I don’t know she’s waiting to see me expose my truth. “Sam…?” The doctor calls again, a touch of concern in her always kind voice.

I slowly turn back to her and realize I’ve been moving at a snail’s pace. Shit!

I nod at her, gulp down an unsteady breath and hurry towards her. Every noise in the room seems to grow louder… the scratching is the loudest though, and that strange buzzing… where is that coming from? I feel the twitch, and I lift my hands to my ears, trying to block it out, but it doesn’t go away. It still finds a way straight into my brain, taunting me with its cold, mechanical tones.

“Ignore them, Sam…” The doctor whispers gently to me once I get to her. I meet her eye and I’m comforted by her ease and her gentle smile. The buzzing starts to dim enough that I can momentarily forget it. I’ve seen Dr. Barrows three times a week since I was sent here. She probably doesn’t believe me about everything, but she at least understands my agony. She eases the ache, calms the noises, and never makes me feel badly for being different.

I bite my cheek and rush the rest of the way into the room. Dr. Barrows closes the door gently, picks up her notepad and pen, and sits in her seat and waits for me to sit. She’s used to my routine, so she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push me as I count every window—there’s five—or as I run my fingers over every red book on her shelf… or tapping the light on and off three times before leaving it on. She is patient. Once I sit in my seat, running my hands nervously over each thigh five times, and then I look at her. She then offers me a soft smile and nods, “Ready?”

I pull in a sharp breath before bobbing my head from side to side. “They came back…”

She starts writing, “What did they look like this time, Sam?”

I shiver as I remember their black eyes and shaggy hair. They didn’t fool me with their borrowed uniforms or the name badges. “They were pretending to be delivery men… they left a large box wrapped in brown paper on my neighbor’s stoop.” The buzzing is coming back the more I think about it. That box… how it spoke to me when I walked by. I shake my head.

“It’s ok, Sam. They aren’t here—they can’t hurt you here.” She says in that lulling voice she always uses when she sees me falling into the chaos of my thoughts.

I slowly meet her eye and nod, “The box… it… it’s still there.”

“You don’t know it’s still there.” She chides gently, “You’re here.” She reminds me.

I blink back at her in surprise. She’s right… I am here… but I feel it there. I’m going to get home, and it will be exactly where it was left… or I will enter my apartment, and it will be inside waiting for me. I know it…. I bite my cheek harder and start tapping my foot quickly, “It is though… It’s been there for two days. And… when I walked by it, it talked to me. It said things… instructions. It knows I haven’t been doing what I was sent to do…” I whisper, the fear bubbling up into my chest, constricting my airways.

Her expression is filled with concern today. She usually hides it better. “Sam, what did it say? What were the instructions?”

I am actually surprised by her question. I blink back at her. “I can’t tell you…” I snap at her sternly because she should know. I guess I haven’t told her yet, though….

She sits back in her chair, her expression going back to the cool façade she offers us all. “You can tell me anything, Sam.” She coos back, that strange tone speaking to me again, talking straight to my senses. I’ve felt it before, but this time it’s stronger.

I tell myself not to say it, really, I do, but I feel like she’s forcing me. I grit my teeth, but the words start to fall out of my unwilling lips, “She wasn’t supposed to still be alive. I was to take her out. She wasn’t supposed to live this long. If their methods didn’t work, then I needed to carry it out.”

She flinches for just a moment, but quickly covers it. She’s listening with anticipation… but why? It’s funny that I never noticed the way she’d hang on my every word before… “Who is she, Sam? Who wasn’t supposed to still be alive?” her tone is sharper now, and that urge to tell her is worse than ever… it almost hurts.

Again, I try not to speak, but it starts skittering out, “I’ve never seen her…” I cry out, a strange pain growing inside my chest, knotting up as if I were being stabbed and the knife twisted. I cry out, and then the pain instantly fades. I slowly look back at her, and I’m surprised to see she’s breathless. Her normally calm eyes are filled with anxiety and fear. Something shifts inside of me—the machines I’ve worked so hard to ignore are coming back. “Why do you want to know, Dr. Barrows?” I carefully ask, leaning forward as my curiosity piques.

It’s her turn to blink at me with uncertainty as she sits back in her chair. She clears her throat, “To help you get over your delusion, Sam.” She says too harshly.

Any other day, I would believe her… today I feel like I’m seeing her clearly for the first time. Because, in that moment when she pleaded for me to tell her my truth, I saw that she didn’t just want to help me… she needed that information. I feel the old programming starting to move back through me like it used to. I haven’t taken the medicine in such a long time… because I realized it was making it easier for them to get into my head. But right now, I feel like I’ve had a heavy dose. Which can mean only one thing…

I stare back at her in shock, the buzzing reaching my fingertips, “You’re the girl…” I gasp it out. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

She gapes at me, scoffing and shaking her head as she stands. She brushes hair behind her ear, “I think we’re done today, Sam. And I think maybe you should see a different therapist… I’ll get that set up with Chloe…”

My gaze is shifting like it used to… the color changing from gray to green to red. I gulp, clenching my teeth tightly, “You’re right… It’s best if I don’t come back here.” I agree, and she looks back in surprise.

“Good… I’m glad you understand.” She says, turning her back to me. That’s foolish… but I’m holding back right now.

I stand up, and hurriedly move to the door, clenching the handle tightly, “But Dr. Barrows?” I don’t look at her… I can’t, because I feel the programming taking over. I have to get out of here. I don’t want to be a monster. I’d rather just look crazy… I can handle crazy.

“Yes?” she asks in a vulnerable tone.

I gulp, “They know who you are… what you are… so get the hell out of here.” I dare to glance at her once as I nod at her. I don’t look back then. I’m not going to hurt her… I refuse. I just hope she listens… she needs to listen. Everyone else can think I’m insane… but she doesn’t.

Because she knows I’m right.