Chapter Three - part one.

Mimi's first encounter with a therapist.

The night had been restless, and she took no pleasure in her conclusion that she had been dreaming during last night’s incident. The whole fact that she felt as though she received no sleep was not at all…It left her frustrated and irritable, a mood that would no doubt stay with her for the remainder of the day. She wasn’t one to just let something go, and if she was told to ‘suck it up’ she was liable to punch something. Then again, she didn’t care about the sake of others, not in this state - she had no friends in this state.

After acquiring her morning coffee (thankful that the strange man that had last served her was not working that early morning) she set off for the school, the bottom of her denim jeans wet from skimming the damp, puddle-covered ground. The cold, seeping through the small hole in her jacket, was bitter and generally inconsistent, and the only thing she was able to keep warm was a small portion of her neck, wrapped tight with the scarf that she was sure she wouldn’t remove for the entirety of the day. The sun was hardly poking over the horizon as she found herself in the midst of more and more students, filing towards the old, brick building. It was a wonder that place was still standing…It looked so run-down, the students would often joke about how it could collapse at any time. Though, the education that one could receive at the school was decent, and that’s all Mimi really cared about. Actually, academics was the only thing the school had going for them - they hadn’t won a football game in seven years.

The building had only recently acquired heating, though the system was faulty and, for some reason, only worked on Tuesday mornings, Wednesday afternoons, and every other Friday for the entire building- the rest of the time, the heating only worked for selected rooms. Well, it was either that, or that was the only time that the school thought that their beloved scholars needed to be warm, only places that the school thought needed heated. A conspiracy, as Mimi would describe it. Lower test scores? Hey, shut off the heat. Teacher wouldn’t put out when approached by the pervert Principal? Hey, they deserve to be cold. Still, the school had no consideration for the majority of the teenagers on Mondays, and it seemed like she was the only one who braved stashing her coat in her locker, while all others walked around like zombies, shivering. Then again, Mimi knew where all of the warm classrooms were, the warmest spots…She probably just had the smartest classes taught by the sluttish. Worked to her benefit, at any rate.

A single textbook and notebook neatly tucked under one arm, a pencil held between two fingers, she ignored the vast majority of the student population during any given day. Today was no different…those who towered above her passed by without a word, only paying attention to her if they questioned why someone of her size was walking through the halls of Secondary School as though she owned the place. Not that owning the place was what her state of mind was…No, she was just focused on getting through her academic years as quickly as possible before she could move on and converse with those who’s IQ was above average. Mimi enjoyed being ignored for the duration of the school day - it made things easier. She entered her first class and took her usual seat (last row, third seat in) which was never taken. Probably because, despite the fact that there were no assigned seats and despite the fact that Mimi was usually ignored, there was always that unspoken rule in all of her classes that /nobody/ sat in her seat. Nobody.

Sliding into the wobbly crimson chair, she sank down and stared right past the teacher’s head as she began to drone on about something that happened with the United States years previous. Mimi didn’t care, her opinions on their foreign counterpart were very negative, and probably would never change. She knew they were awfully screwed as a country, but she would be happily safe in England’s clutches. Stupid Americans.

“Does anybody know what year the Americans joined World War Two? Anybody? Miss Riter, do you know?” the teacher asked, eyebrow cocked as she stood on her tip-toes to see the small student perk up at the sound of her name.

“Uhm,” Mimi began, closing her eyes in frustration, tensing up. She knew this. She /knew/ she knew this, and yet it was too early in the morning for her to wrap her mind around the correct answer. She should’ve been paying attention…S**t…

1941...whispered a voice, and she paid no attention to the fact that it was the voice. She was too worried about the glare she was receiving from the teacher, who had now shifted so her arms were crossed, watching her expectantly.

“1941,” Mimi blurted out finally, for it sounded correct, and it was better than sitting there, looking stupid. She relaxed as the teacher uncrossed her arms, nodding.

“Very good,” the teacher rewarded, continuing the lecture, though Mimi once more pushed all of reality from her mind, pressing two fingers against her lips as she tried to focus on the voice. It was so strange, how whatever was going on with her…Just gave her the answer? It must be her subconscious, yes. But how…How strange, how peculiar.

You’re welcome…It hissed again, almost menacing, scolding her for her apparent impoliteness after receiving the answer to this question. Mimi, brow furrowed, sunk lower in her chair and skeptically looked around at those sitting near. Could they perhaps hear it, too? Was she imagining a voice from behind coming from inside her mind? No…Nobody else seemed disturbed.

So the rumors are true, then. You are one of them. You can hear me…Well, isn’t that interesting. You’re going to be the talk, news of the year. We haven’t found a new one of you in…Oh dear, it’s been over thirty years, now. This is…interesting, very interesting. Hm. The voice sounded amused, and she realized that it was trying to hold a conversation with her. What was her mind doing? What kind of sick, twisted trick was her mind playing on her? It was scary…And downright horrifying.

Wait until I tell the guys that I talked to you first. Huh. I’ll be like…Man of the night. Seriously.

Do you even know what’s going on? it asked, cautiously, hesitantly, a bit of edge in his tone. She didn’t now why she was answering herself, but she swiftly and discreetly shook her head. An ear-aching guffaw startled her, and she gently began to quiver in her seat, attracting the wandering attentions of her nearby classmates.

…That’s…priceless! He finished suddenly between left over chuckles, and Mimi scowled. What the f**k. Even for a crazy person, the voice was acting awfully strange.

She could remember when the voices never bothered her. Like, the day previous, she hadn’t a care in the world about the ordeal, for she had grown accustomed to the random things being said. But the previous night, when she thought she heard the voice of her father…that pushed her over the edge.

The class had been dismissed, but Mimi, distant and unfocused, took an extra minute before realizing she was to start her next class. However, too distraught to focus on much of anything, she turned left instead of her usual right, and, after stopping by her locker for her jacket, she left in a huff, distraught, frustrated.

She could hear the distant ramblings on of the voice, but her head was swimming, and she was getting a migraine, and all she wanted to do was get home to her mother. That sounded so strange, wanting her mother…As bad as it was, she knew she never much needed her mother’s help, and she hadn’t since she was eleven. Learning to fend for herself had turned out to be very useful, but at times like these, well…

Before she knew it, she realized that her rapid pace had taken her home, much to her pleasure, and she quickened her pace, straight inside and into the kitchen. Mimi’s mother, who was placed idly at the kitchen table, humming a soft, sweet tune, reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she concentrated on that day’s newspaper. Mimi paused, almost hesitant to disturb her, but when she realized the voice was still rambling on about god knows what in the very back of her mind, she took a deep breath.

“Mom?” she questioned cautiously, and the addressed one jumped and twisted around, wide-eyed as she looked for the source of the small, weak voice, one that was rare to hear in the Riter household. Pressing her hand overtop her heart, she calmed slightly, closing her eyes.

“Mimi,” she breathed, “You frightened me. Oh dear…Why…Why aren’t you in school?” As she said the last part, she opened her eyes and cocked an eyebrow, questioning - after all, it was a school day, and Mimi had left the house fine.

“I…Think I’m crazy,” Mimi blurted out, almost too frank for anyone to believe her - probably the reason why her mother’s reaction was so negative. With that mother’s signature sigh and roll of the eye, she sank back into her seat.

“Mimi, is this what you kids say now-a-days to get out of school? It used to be that you felt sick…But now you’re mental? Honestly, Mimi, what kind of mother would buy that? Come on, get into the car, I’ll drive you back to -”

“No, mum, I swear to god I’m not kidding,” Mimi snapped, removing the scarf from around her neck, dropping it down beside her onto the floor. “The whole hearing-voices thing…It isn’t normal, is it? And if it’s hereditary I swear to god…”

Catherine rose a single eyebrow as she got to her feet. “Mimi, now come on…I don’t honestly believe you’re hearing voices. Get some common sense.”

Furrowing her brow, Mimi gave a violent jerk of the head. “Oh, that’s really nice. Calling me immature. C’mon, you know perfectly well I’ve got more common sense and maturity than Nicole and Ally combined -”

“Mimi Mae Riter, do not bring your siblings into this!” Catherine scolded, circling around to stand in front of her daughter, looking down at the four foot eight inch tall girl. “And I never did call you immature - do not change my words around.”

“I’m telling you I’m f*****g hearing voices, and I don’t like it!” Mimi snapped.

“Watch your language,” growled Catherine.

“Last night I could have sworn I heard dad. Why would I go making that up, eh? Mom, I’m serious, I want some sort of relief,” the younger pleaded, resorting to the begging tone and sad face. That…Well that one, Catherine bought, admitting defeat, though didn’t go down without a disheartened grunt.

“Your father died a year and a half ago, Mimi. Shouldn’t you have gone through the morning stage…Like…when it first happened?” Catherine inquired, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Thanks, you’re oh-so-loving, mum. Yeah, what if it isn’t grieving? Seriously, mom, just make the god damn voices stop.”

A sigh. “Fine. Go to sleep. I’ll…Find someone to call.” And, with a wrinkle of her nose, Catherine shooed off her daughter without another thought.

Mimi half-complied, twisting on the spot, ascending the stairs…though she had no intentions on going to sleep. After all, she was half afraid of closing her eyes, particularly in that room where she had first heard that voice. Such a dreaded voice, which had once provided her with comfort, warmth, love. She had craved the voice for over a year, but once she had heard it, she wished she never had. Strange, perhaps, but…

Mimi! snapped the aforementioned voice, the moment she closed her bedroom door. It was almost as though the slamming of the oak had aroused the voices. Mimi jumped and sank back onto her bed, a frown etching her features as she closed her eyes. S**t.

Why would you tell your mother? the father-like voice asked, using the same, familiar tone she vividly remembered hearing, the voice he used when she had done something wrong. If he were still alive, that would’ve been the voice he would use all of the time - then again, her attitude wouldn’t be so rebel-like if he had never died in the first place.

You aren’t crazy. No. Go downstairs and tell your mother you were joking. Now. Still, Mimi didn’t budge. After all, if it was her own subconscious, she was really just battling with herself. Not that she realized it…after all, she felt as though she were one hundred percent sure she was doing the right thing.

Now!This had been louder, more stern, more furious than she could ever have imagined her own, sweet father’s voice…but yet, she was positive it was still his own. Squelching the fearful whimper she longed to emit, she showed the voice (or, herself, as she was indirectly thinking) just how defiant and stubborn she could be, standing up, teasingly walking over to the book shelf strategically positioned on the wall, just beside the door. Still refusing to shudder in response to the low growl echoing in her head, her small fingers extended as they ran along the dusty bindings of her collection of books.

 

She adored reading. An academically focused girl (which she had been for as long as she could remember) a majority of her free time was spent with a book. Hell, she loved just going to the coffee shop with a book. The classic titles that always accompanied her was how she got a majority of those older, intellectual buddies. Her collection of books (which had grown exponentially when she acquired those friends who suggested what her next read should be( grew to the point where she had piles all over her room, threatening to topple over at any given moment. That was when her father had built that wall-length book shelf, taller than Mimi herself (though that wasn’t saying much). It still stood, filled with books, even novels piled on top (which called for the small step-up ladder that sat at the foot of her bed).

Mimi Mae Riter, if you do not go say something to your mother right now…I’ll…I’ll…F**k, I can’t punish you, can I…the voice calmed as it seemed to remember that fact. She could almost see her father wrinkling his nose, though she was quick to shake the image from her head. She swiped up one book at random, diving onto her bed once again, crawling beneath the covers.

Just as sneaky as usual…

After a good twenty-six hours had elapsed, Mimi curled up in the back seat of a taxi, an anxiously annoyed mother sitting beside her, fumbling around with a package of cigarettes (she was a stress smoker) in the pocket of her purse. Their financial situation, as well as their schedule would hardly allow Mimi’s little claim to be checked out by such a Psychologist, especially one who charged so damn much.

The taxi slowed in front of their destination and Mimi was the first to climb out, her mother, soon following, distraught, a hand on her daughter’s shoulder to lead her into the building.

“Let’s get this over with,” she growled.

Mimi silently agreed with her mother, though shot a glare up at her, for she knew her mother would be quick to go through those smokes the moment Mimi disappeared into that office. Mimi was dead against smoking. Their hair was damp from the light rain just barely making it to the ground as they raced towards shelter, realizing, as they entered, just how out of place they were in such an elegant atmosphere - two misfits, wet and awkward in the entrance. No, they didn’t stand out at all.

Right before they could take their seats in chairs that looked as though they were liable to collapse at any given time, the youth heard her name being called from ahead, and she perked up to see a woman smiling at her, beckoning her forth with a wave of the hand. She nodded to her mother and ventured forth, taking one last glance behind her.

Mimi furrowed her brow, watching her mother eagerly bolt out of the office, her purse still placed on her seat, a pack of cigarettes in her hand. Mimi had half a mind to act weak and ask her mother to come in with her like the small child she appeared to be, just to see her mother struggle, but that would be a bit cruel. She probably was the same without her coffee as her mother was without her smokes - that’d be a pretty frightening wrath. Instead, she turned down the hallway to see a tall, lanky man with a god-awful mustache staring at her, a rather creepy grin upon her face. With a wince, she ventured forth.

Mimi, Stop, hissed the voice that highly resembled that of her father, but the fact that her pace quickened considerably appeared to have shut him up.

“Bonjour,” the stranger said, almost too cheerful as she slid into his office.

“Hola,” she sang in response, settling into the larger chair, looking expectantly up at the man.

“Er…” he hesitated, lamely standing there, staring at her. “C’est my chaise.”

Mimi cocked an eyebrow - What the f**k did he just say? After a few more moments of exchanging looks, the psychologist settled onto the couch, clearing his throat.

“Parle to moi,” the “expert” sighed.

“Excuse me?” Mimi inquired, figuring he had earned the stare he was receiving, which suggested he was quite the dumbass.

“Tu ne me comprends pas?” he asked, as though he were completely baffled by this fact.

“What are you saying?” she asked, raising her voice, pronouncing each syllable carefully.

“You ne sais pas Francais?” he asked, as though she should.

Growing annoyed, the short tempered female leaned forward in an almost challenging fashion. “Tu madre.”

He stood up swiftly, puffing out his chest as though he mattered at all. “Did you just insult my mother?”

“Si,” Mimi retorted, arms crossing overtop her chest. “And you just f*****g spoke English!”

“Absurdite!” he shouted, pumping a fist into the air.

Frustrated, Mimi stood atop the chair as the man closed the length between them; she still looked up to him.

“You are in England. Speak English.” She was in a full blown rampage, now, thanks to this guy.

“I am proud of my country!” he shouted, his accent thick.

“Bloody hell,” she sighed with a shake of her head, tone a bit calmer than the situation called for…At least at the present moment.

“Baise-tu!” The door behind them crept open as a nervous secretary poked her head in to see the commotion, though neither paid her any mind.

“If you’re insulting me, I swear to god I’ll kick your god damn f*****g a*s,” she threatened menacingly.

“Va t’em!” He was flustered.

“I do not speak dumbass!” she retorted, flinging her hands up in the air.

“Get out!” and that was seemingly the end, for without another word, Mimi stormed out, past the baffled secretary. Faintly, she could hear her father’s oh-so familiar chuckle.

the voice sighed, and once again, things went silent. Seemed as though she had won the internal battle with herself, for now, and with that, she was content.Not now. Not in the middle of class, with everyone around…No. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t take it. It wasn’t as though she could kick its’ a*s, whatever ‘it’ was. Did it even have an a*s? No, of course it didn’t, it was a voice. Something she was creating in her mind. Voices didn’t have asses.