Deranged {#WATTYS2015}

XII. The Girl Who Loved The Rain

I've always use to love the rain.

When I was little girl I would peer outside of my bedroom window, watching with an inescapable fascination as silver droplets of water fell gently against the glass creating tiny ornaments of crystal. Most children my age would have probably cried when they heard the thunder strike with an awful crash echoing throughout their rooms as the lightning returned the thunder's call, howling and crackling in the distance, but not me.

Because, I knew that eventually, after the storm was finished sending brutal piles of gust wind tearing the branches off the trees, and ripping the plants from their roots beneath the earth, and the heavy rain slowed to a steady patter, that the calm would finally come. And, my surroundings would suddenly feel wholesome and new again, like the storm somehow washed away the horrors of the night and purified the day, leaving behind a series of vivid colors slicing through the thick layers of darkened clouds racing frantically across the heavens above.

Every one of my worries would slip away from my mind and fall into this pile of a burning fire. Everything that pained me burned itself free from my soul, and I could always fall asleep peacefully then; the colors of the rainbow reminding me that there were just some things in life we didn't have control over. I was only twelve when I started to figure that out. My mind had expanded farther than I could comprehend, and just like the rain everything around me began to fall.

My internal storm was greater than any other storm I had ever witnessed. It rained for days and months without ever stopping, and I waited patiently for the calm I was so sure would eventually come, but it never did. There weren't any more rainbows, only dark clouds that had permanently turned grey and ominous, and it didn't take long before my parents noticed there was something wrong with me. They knew I wasn't like other kids that I was never going to be the social butterfly that they had so desperately hoped for.

In fact, I seemed to be the opposite.

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Hideous

That was the first word to spring to mind the second I stepped foot into Thomas Mueller's office four years ago with damp palms and an inner indecisiveness too conspicuous to be ignored.

There was this cherry brown desk centered in the middle of the floor, but it seemed almost superfluous, considering there was little to no paperwork to be seen, only just a portrait of Dr. Mueller's average little family.

Well, maybe not so little.

Grinning from ear to ear, there stood Thomas Mueller himself, a middle aged man sandwiched between a fairly gorgeous woman cradling a new born baby in her arms, five girls, and two boys all wearing ridiculous green knit sweaters and cringe worthy beige khakis.

While Mueller might have been the one who had the education and degree requirements in all things involving psychology, it wasn't too hard for me to form an analysis of my own. The man wasn't exactly what you call complex; in fact he seemed like the type who was all about maintaining a certain image even if that meant hiding secrets from the people he cared the most about.

But, that's the thing about secrets.

Sometimes the lies within them, trick you into believing that you've discovered the holy truth. Most people act like the truth is this big pile of gold. It's not, though. The truth is something that should be left alone, any person in their right minds would know not to go prying into someone else's personal business just for the hell of it, but that's were most people and I differed. 

The family portrait on his desk was placed there to draw your attention away from where it might have wavered. You see, there were two small table lamps - one near the door atop a wicker table that clashed with the rest of the room's executive motif, and another on the cherry wood desk with a long brass pull-cord. The light purple curtains were drawn to one side, allowing the light from outside the second story window to paint the eastern wall. It highlighted a lone filing cabinet, suspiciously locked and coated with dust.