The Masked Emotions Series Book Five Redux: Loving

Therapy

ABIGAIL

"My name is Dr. Francine Alexis and we will be taking turns explaining why we are here today, please remember, I just want to help you get over your anger issues and trauma."

"You're here because you get paid!" Abigail spat, causing the other three girls in the room to look at her surprised, and the psychiatrist smiled. Abigail looked at the shrink and wondered why a woman who made so much money in her chosen profession would dress so frumpy, why she would be so overweight, her hair so limp and mismanaged. Her skin was oily and her teeth heavily stained by drinking too much coffee and smoking too many cigarettes. Her office was filled with family photos, but the tan line around her ring finger was a clear indication of being recently divorced and It made Abigail wonder... if she couldn't take care of herself, how could she help her?

"Abigail," Dr. Alexis spoke with a wide smile, "This is the first time since you've started coming here over a month ago that you have actually spoken." She looked around the room. "I am here to help you, and yes, I do get paid, but I genuinely want to help you." She then leaned back on her large, leather chair, and Abigail rolled her eyes. "You are all here because each of you had a fit of rage which resulted in the bodily harm of others, and I am here to evaluate what caused those fits of rage and to see if the charges some of you have pending against you are justifiable by a prison sentence, to be placed in foster care, or in your case, Ms. Ortiz, expulsion." There was a brief silence and she turned her head toward the chubby eleven-year-old black girl with long fake braids and expensive clothing that was way above her means. She wore a two hundred dollar bright red Gucci shirt, a three hundred dollar pair of Sean John jeans which she had intently cut up around the legs, and a pair of five hundred dollars hot pink and purple Jordan's. "Tasha, why don't you go first."

Tasha scrunched her lips as her eyes surveyed the room, very slowly she began to stroke her chin and took a deep breath. "Okay, let's see. I found my twin sister crying in the basement and she told me that she saw our dad drunk off his ass again, having sex with another woman in our room while our mom was downstairs attending to the guests at our thirteenth birthday party. I was angry, especially when he came to us holding our birthday cake with the woman he just screwed hugging our mother. So I slapped him in front of everyone when he lit the cake and then set our family picture on fire, which resulted in our living room being set ablaze as well. Everybody kept telling me what I did was wrong, but no one was talking about what he did, which I think is complete bullshit!"

"My parents are just as bad!" a tall skinny sandy brown-skinned Spanish girl growled as she began putting her ponytail into a high bun. Abigail looked at her clothing. She was prim and proper in a nice pastel blue blouse with a pastel pink sweater that was open, a khaki-colored mini skirt, with knee-high striped bobby socks, and a pair of Mary Janes.

"Kara, it's not your turn yet," Dr. Alexis spoke, but she didn't care and continued to talk. "My parents just decided one day that they didn't want to be parents anymore and left my eighteen-year-old sister to raise me. I fucking hate them and my sister was struggling to go to school while working and raising a twelve-year-old, and she was stressed. I get that. I respected that. So when the teacher told me that my sister was doing a terrible job and that she was better off placing me in foster care, I just snapped and smacked her."

"Your sister?" Tasha asked.

"No, the teacher, but I apologized for it as soon as I did it, but she made it seem like I hit her continuously. I'll be lost if they take me away from my sister. She's the only person that cares for me."

Dr. Alexis reached out and squeezed her hand. "It's okay, Kara," she whispered as she looked at the very pregnant sixteen-year-old white girl sitting beside Abigail, her hair wild and unkempt. She was wearing secondhand clothing obviously too tight and too small for her. "Connie, it's your turn."