Hurting to Heal... (SBI Fam & Fundy) (DISCONTINUED)

~Therapy~

Fundy's POV: 

School is hell. I mean, what would you expect from a kid with divorce parents whose business gets spread around the neighborhood like friendly gossip.

No matter how much I tell people to mind their own business, they always ignore me. Almost like everyone else in my life. I have bullies, sure. But I've had bullies for a long time.
Because of my ginger hair, my freckles, and when I first got glasses. I've never heard the insults 'Ron Weasley' and 'Four eyes' used in the same sentence before. It's why I never watched or read
the Harry Potter series.

No, but the thing that really bothers me is that everybody in my neighborhood believes that they know me. They believe that they know my life. They believe they know my parents, my uncles, my grandparents, my problems, my issues. My life.

But they don't. And honestly, it gets me frustrated. I can deal with the bullies. I can deal with the, "Oh, you're so stupid, Ron Weasley. No wonder your mom left, Four eyed freak."
I can deal with that, because that's not the whole story.
I can deal with the constant laughing because of my name, or my looks, or my frame.

But, I can't deal with the people who believe they know what's going on in my head.
The people who say "Oh my, my poor little Fundy. You miss your mummy don't you? Do you really hate your dad that much? He drinks too doesn't he? You can tell me little Fundy."
They honestly believe the shit that goes into their ears from one person to the next like they're talking about the latest episode in a reality TV show.

My life isn't entertaining. It isn't cool. And it certainly isn't funny.

I walked down the creaky stairs of my house. I hummed as I reached the base of the stairs.
There was a soft whistle coming from the living room. The song was lovely... and oddly familiar.
I looked into the sitting room. It was Wilbur, my 'dad'. He held a cigarette, a letter, and a lighter. He carefully lit the cigarette. As he put the burning stick to his lips, his eyes glanced on me.

He huffed out smoke. "Son. Come here."
I quirked up my eyebrows. I staggered to him, wondering what Father wanted.

I stood in front of Wilbur.
"Whats up Dad? I was just about to go to work-"

"Instead of... um... going to work today how about you go to... uh... here." He pressed the strange envelope into my palm.
I peeled it open. Even though it already looked open, the edges of the flap still was somewhat sticky.

I pulled out a milky, white ceased paper. I opened it. My mouth fell open.

It was a letter. An invitation per say.

Therapy.
A therapist.

And at the bottom, written neatly and prettily, was a signature. My mum's signature.

"What? Dad what is this-"

"Your mum... wanted to put you in therapy. She said it would be better for your mental health and-"

"Dad! Did you talk to Sally?"
"Don't call your mother by her first name! And yes, I did talk to her. She said the best thing dor you at your age is to talk to a therapist."

Wilbur moved his fingers to his lips, placing his lit cigarette on his mouth. He puffed his chest, inhaling the toxic smoke.
He blew it out.
"And, I think your mum's right. You need someone to talk to since I'm not around a lot because of work and sharing you with Sally."

"So you want me to vent to some stranger? I don't get it dad."

"You don'thave to get it son. Your mum and I know what's best for you. So, I'll be driving you to your first appointment today."

"Today?"
"Today."

I fiddled with me shirt nervously. I was scared. And anxious.

And some sort of relief.

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Words: 661
A/N: Funnily enough I'm releasing this chapter a little while after seeing the recent Fundy and Wilbur stream... God WHY DO THEY HAVE TO MAKE SUCH GOOD STREAMS AFTER NOT POSTING FOR LIKE SIX MONTHS (LIKE ME WITH THIS BOOK LMAO)
Anyway I hope you enjoyed!