Silently, she began to weep. Feeling profoundly sorry for herself, she rolled over and hugged the pillow tighter against her chest and let the tears fall. She felt pain, she felt sadness, but most of all she felt disappointment. She had given so much of herself over and felt cheated. And ruined. How had it come to this point? Was there a trigger? Right now, in the cold and lonely darkness, she could not fathom where it had all gone so wrong.
… … ….
She knelt, long lithe arms stretched out in front of her, head down, ponytail falling forward and brushing the ground in front of her face. She bounced up on her toes, stretching her left leg out behind her and bending her right knee under, into a lunge. Arching her back, feeling her long muscles moving and flexing, she flayed her fingers out in that familiar pattern and pushed back off them. She held that for a moment, breathing deeply and letting her mind clear. She looked up, focusing on the stretch ahead of her. Bouncing on her toes again, she readied herself. By now she has blocked all sounds. All but one. She was poised, ready to spring forward, the moment she heard that trigger fire.
… … …
She closed her hand over the cold metal of the trigger as the darkness settled in her heart. Then she smiled.
And it was a terrifying thing to watch.
… … …
She puther pen down, pushing her notes away and picked up her coffee. Sipping it, she winced at the bitterness of old, cold coffee and stood up to make her way to the machine. She had spent so long going over her notes from that last consultation that her neck was stiff and sore and head was starting to ache. Reaching up, she pressed her fingers along the ridge of her eyebrows, moving outwards til she reached her temples. Eyes closed, she massaged her temples while the coffee finished dripping into her cup.
Breathing the rich scent in deeply, she carried her coffee back to her desk, then thought better of it and made her way to the sofa. It felt great to settle in, the familiar cushion fitting perfectly against her aching back. She took a sip of coffee before placing it on the side table and leaning her head back, arching her spine.
Davina was her most difficult patient, she had been seeing her for three months now and could see no improvement. She was beginning to think she could become physically dangerous. She had so many triggers that would set her off into a rage. And she was finding it more and more difficult to calm her down. She was afraid that she was going to have to institutionalise her soon if they couldn’t resolve anything. She hated to do it, she always strived to help her patients work through their problems and it broke her heart when it didn’t work.
She sipped her coffee again and stood up, carrying it back to her desk. It was late, getting dark, time to go home. Picking up her bag, she remembered that she’d left her phone back on the side table. She gathered her things together, closing Davina’s file and putting it back in the drawer. She turned off her desk lamp and went back to the sofa to retrieve her phone.
But it wasn’t there. Confused, she looked around, wondering where she might have put it. No, she remembered placing it right by the little seashell collection that she kept on the side table, she had appreciated how the colours in her phone case matched the seashells perfectly.
But it wasn’t there now. And now that she was looking again, she noticed that she was missing a couple of seashells – the little periwinkle one and the cone-shaped one, both were missing.
A sudden scraping sound startled her and she felt a coldness sweep over her skin. She knew something wasn’t right. Looking nervously at the door, she could see a shadow moving behind the frosted glass, and that movement caused her to move as well. Dashing back to her desk, she picked up the landline to call her husband, but there was no dial tone. She turned it off and on again, but nothing.
The tapping sound of metal on glass caused her to cry out and she heard laughter in response from the other side of the door. Tap, tap, tap. “What’s up doc?” It was Davina’s voice, but she sounded unhinged. Her voice was high-pitched, almost nervous, but there was something else.
Tap, tap… no third tap, she thought. She cried out again as the glass smashed. What was that thing coming through the glass?
She was horrified to realize that it was a gun, it was glinting in the shaft of light coming through the window, the last of the afternoon light as evening settled in.
Everything happened so quickly after that. Davina reached in and unlocked the door, barging in, laughing grotesquely, her features distorted, her eyes wide and frenzied.
She had time to reach for the long heavy letter opener on her desk, before Davina raised the gun and pulled the trigger.
… … …
For BloggingU’s Finding Everyday Inspiration, where each piece should have a common theme, in this case, the word Trigger.