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Thanks for all the reviews and the support. It meant a lot me *hugs the reviewers* I'm doing better, I'm totally settled in my new house, including lots and lots of internet :D
Chapter 7

Breathing in, breathing out. Thump-thump, thump-thump. Breathing in, breathing out. Thump-thump, thump-thump.

Silence


I awake with a scream. I feel my breathing going fast and my heart is racing. For a little while I can’t remember where I am. I stop screaming and look around. It takes a while before I recognise the room I’m in. Next to me, mister Gordo is lying safe and sound. It gives me a bit of comfort. The room I’m in is my bedroom in New York.

The last few weeks have been hard on me. I rarely sleep; I have panic attacks and cry a lot. I do go to the store everyday, although Willow does all the work. I just sit behind the counter looking like a zombie.

I walk to the store that afternoon in a slow pace. I open the door softly and I hear Willow and Will talking in the storage room.
“She has to go and see someone.” I hear Willow say.
“But she doesn’t want to. I’ve asked her a thousand times.” My best friend replies.
“Buffy has no say in this. She needs to get better and specialised help is the only way to do that.”

“I’m not going to see some stranger and talk about my problems!” I shout from the store.
“Buffy!” They immediately come out of the storage room.
“I’m not going to see some stranger.” I repeat.
“Sweetie, listen. You’re one of my closest friends and I don’t want to you to do anything you don’t want, but it is vital that you talk to someone about your problems.” Willow explains with honest concern.

“Red’s right, pet. You barely sleep or eat.”
“I’ve got no problems.” I lie before yawning, “And I’ve eaten 2 pop tarts this morning.”
“What have you eaten for lunch?”
“What time is it?”
“Three ‘o clock in the afternoon.”
“Ah…Wait. Really?”
“I take it you haven’t then.”

I sink down on one of the stools and stare into space.
“Buffy, pet, I really think you should talk to someone about this.”
“But I will not go to a stranger! I will not-“ I can’t finish my sentence because I start sobbing very loudly.
I can’t hear anything anymore, but I feel that Will and Willow have their arms wrapped around me.

*^*^*^*^*

Somewhere between the sobbing and this moment, they managed to get me to the psychologist. I’m sitting in a small room, with one wall that was filled with books. There are a couple of chairs and one couch. At the back is a desk with a lot of stuff on it.
I’m not really looking at the details. I’m way to tense about what’s going to happen next.

Suddenly the doors opens and someone comes in. I look up. There’s a middle aged woman coming in. She’s very tall and she has brown hair and grey eyes. She’s wearing a black skirt with a white blouse on top.
“Hello, miss Summers. How are you today?”
“I’m fine, I guess.” I reply
“I’m Dr. Gellar, but you can call me Mira.” The woman sits down in one of the chairs.


“Oh,” is my reply and I relax a little bit. It is quiet for sometime. Mire is writing down some stuff on the papers of her clip-on board.
“Do you want me to go sit on the couch or…?” I ask her slowly.
“No, you can stay in the chair if you wish.”
“Okay.”

After a while she is finished and looks up at me. “Right, let’s get started. Tell me a bit about yourself.”
I sight and start: “My name is Buffy Summers and I’m 25 years old. I liked music and reading. I own a record shop. I’m only child and I’m an orphan.”

“Okay good. You recently lost your mother. How did that make you feel?”
I’m quiet for a bit, trying to recollect my thoughts. “Sad, I guess.”
“Just sad?” the woman asks me. Her grey are staring intently at me. It kind of freaks me out.
“I don’t know.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”

“Where you and your mother close?” the woman continues.
“When I was younger we were some time a part, but we grew closer over the last couple of years.” I tell her.
“Why were you two apart?” The grey eyes look away for a moment, but then they are back piercingly as ever.
“We had an argument, about what I was going to do after school.”
“What was it that you wanted to do?”

“I wanted to go to Yale.” I shift in my seat and stare out of the window.
“And?”
“She wanted me to go to Sunnydale University.”
“Why?” Mira asks this with a very annoying voice. I could kill her.
“Because it was close to home.” I sight
“And you didn’t want to go there because…”
“Other universities had better opportunities for me.”

“So what happened next?” Click-click with the pen. You have to write stuff down, so why close it? I think to myself.
“I went to live with my dad in New York.”
“Your father lived in New York?”
“Yeah, my parents got divorced when I was 15. It was no big deal. There wasn’t a lot of shouting or secret hating involved.” I let my hand run through my hair. I wonder if she notices that I don’t really like her?
“Right, so you went to live with your dad…”
“I got accepted at NYU and went to college there for a couple of years.”
“Did you finish your education?”
“Yup.” With high grades I might add. God, I miss college.


“And then what happened?” Mira shifts in her seat, placing her clip-on board on the other knee.
“My dad died.”
“What did he die off?”
“Lung cancer. A very rare form.” My mouth feels dry. I need water.

“What happened next?”
“I inherited his shop and started working there. I never went back to Sunnydale, to live there.”
I stand up and start to walk around. I have to shake this uneasy felling off of me. Mira says nothing and just goes on questioning me.

“How was your relationship with your mother at that time?”
“It was good. We talked, I came home every once in a while and then we talked.” That’s how simple it was.
“About what?” Private things. Things that don’t concern you.
“About everything. About her, me, the past, dad. That kind of thing.”
“How did that make you feel?” Mad
“Happy.”
“How did it make you feel when your mom died?” Hollow and numb.
“Sad.” Liar.
“Just sad?” I wish. If I was just sad I wouldn't be here would I. If I was just sad I would watch 'The Way We Were' or some other crappy movie with an annoying Barbara Streisand and drown my self in tears and a buckt of New York Super Fudge Chunk. I would be walking around in sweatpants and chocolate all the time. God, I want to cry!

And so I did. I burst into tears. “No! Not just sad! I’m an orphan! Who will take care of me? Who will I go to when I have major issues I can’t discuss with Will?”
“I don’t know,” Mira replies before handing me a box of tissues.
“My mom is dead! Gone forever! My dad isn’t. My dad has his store, which people remember. But my mom, she didn’t have anything. She had a house, I had to sell. She worked in a gallery, but didn’t have a business of her own. I couldn’t keep most of her stuff. She’s gone.”

“Is that how you see it?”
“That’s how it is! If you ask people in a 3 block radius of the store if they knew a Hank Summers, they would most definitely say yes. But soon my mom will not be remembered at all. And I can’t remember her all by my self. I can’t even remember when the last time was we hugged. Or how she smells.”
“Does this sadden you?”

I look up at Mira and ask with a nice batch of sarcasm: “What do you think?”
She either ignores the sarcasm or doesn’t hear it. “I think it does.”
“Brilliant. How much is two and two.”
“You don’t have to attack me.”
“Well, you’re the one asking stupid questions. I’m crying my eyes out and you ask if it saddens me.”
“Well, people cry, but that doesn’t mean they’re always sad.”

“Maybe I’m not sad. At least right now I’m angry.” I’m breathing heavily and my fists are itching to punch her in the face.
“At who?” Stupid question
“You.”
“What for?”
“The annoying questions.” And then I cry some more. Not the silent weeping that I did in the last few days, but the nice blubbering with lots of noise, tears and a runny nose. After a while I calm down. I wipe away the tears and I blow my nose. I notice I feel a lot better.
I look at the woman sitting across the room. I smile and say: “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Then Mira looks at her watch and says: “Time’s up. I think after what happened today, it is wise to make our sessions a bi-weekly one. You go to my assistant and make a new appointment.”
I nod, say goodbye to the psychologist and leave the room.


TBC





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