Alive

Chapter 1 - Dr. Not-Really-A-Fucking-Doctor

    “Scarlett, what are you thinking about right now?” my therapist, as I like to call her, Dr. Not-Really-A-Fucking-Doctor, asks. I’m really thinking about how terribly decorated this room is, but the more hostile I am the longer i’ll stay.

“I don’t know” I respond. Other than this nightmare of a room, I'm not really thinking anything. Its been 4 years, why now do my foster parents think that I need therapy now.

“Do you know why you are here?” she asks in that voice that all therapists and counselors seem to have, like if they talk any different I’ll kill myself or something.

“It’s been 4 years since it happened and I'm fine now, only reason I'm here is because their friends think they are terrible parents if I don't go.”

“Is that really what you feel?” seriously, she went to college for how many years and spent a lot of money to learn to just answer every little thing I say with a question.

“I wouldn't have said it if I didn't think it was true.” She starts to write in her book. I’m pretty sure shes writing  something like POTENTIAL PSYCHOPATH because she has no idea what shes doing.

“Tell me about your family”

“I grew up in wales with my brother and mom, she got pregnant young at 14. My brother was named Phil, he was really fun to be around when he wasn't being an asshole. Dad doesn't even know we exist.”

“How old was Phil when he died”

“17”

“How do you feel about that?” If she asks me that again I’ll punch her.

“I don’t know, I’m fine now but seeing anyone get stabbed will mess up a kid”

“When you were asked to describe you mom you said sadistic bitch, even though you were only supposed to use one word.”

“One word just didn't suffice.” Of course one word wouldn't have worked, but now that I think of it lucifer might have done it. She was a new breed of fucked up, I'm older now and I understand everything she did that was terrible. Like when she decided to leave on my birthday with one of her boyfriends and make me clean her room, or when she would punish me by not allowing me to drink or eat, or you know, maybe the time she killed my brother.

“Okay, instead of thinking about all the bad things that your mother has done,” holy shit she can read my mind. “why don't we think about all the good times that you have had.”

“One time she took us on a vacation to the beach.”

“Good, tell me more, think about how you felt.”

“She took us to Barafundle Bay in wales. It was fun I guess,”

“Good, you are doing great.”

“yeah, we stayed in nice hotel, but she pushed me off one of the cliffs and I started drowning. After someone saved me she got pissed because I made her look like a bad mother so she made me walk back to the hotel from the beach alone. I was seven.” Dr. not-really-a-fucking- doctor sighed and wrote more shit about me in her book as she looked from the book to me, and from me to the book. Like she was deep in thought trying to figure out what was wrong with me.

“Are we done yet?” I ask

“No, your parents paid for an hour so you’ll stay an hour.” She didn't look up from the book, she’s not even writing anymore, she's just staring at it like the few things I've said are the most interesting things in the world.

“Really, an hour, how messed up do they think I am” I mumble to myself.

“They don't think you are messed up, but they do want you to be more open about your feelings”

“What they want is for their friends to think I'm the perfect child.”

“Why do you think that?” That question is why too close to ‘How do you feel about that?’, but I won't punch her yet.

“They obviously became foster parents because they thought they could get a sweet little angel that will help them live out their fantasy of saving some at risk kid that will love them forever, but hey got me instead. I mean I’m not complaining because they give me basically anything I want to make me like them.” She wrote some more in her book. “Could I get a copy of that book?”

“No.”

“Can I leave?”

“No?”

“Why not?”

“Because I have some news for you, and therapy will help you sort out your emotions and help you make rational decisions.” Are they really paying this dumbass hundreds of dollars to help me make decisions

“Okay, what's the news?”

“I need you to stay calm. Okay honey,” i'm more calm than she is right now  “Okay, so in your file, it states that ‘at any given time before you turn 18, if there is ANY blood relative over the age of 21 available to take you into their custody,’ and there is someone we have found that is available and willing.”

“Do I really have to move again, I was told that I didn't have to move anymore, I have friends and a life now.”

“Yes, we understand. That is why she will be moving not far from where you live now.”

“Whatever,” I am beyond pissed, this person thinks they can come in and interrupt my life. “Who is it, does my mom have a sister that I didn't know about, or did her mother rise from the grave?” She looks at me and puts her hand on my leg.

“Scarlett, your mother is getting parole. She’s getting out of jail in 6 weeks, and shes a relati-”

“Okay” I say interrupting her. I stood up and walked out of her office. I don't want to actually deal with the reality of living with my mom again.