5SOS Imagines

Box of Broken Glass (Calum au)

You sat there in the waiting room with apprehension like you did every Wednesday. You hated these appointments that your dad signed you up for and you hated that the doctor didn't even try to care about your problems. Maybe if you got a different therapist or someone who actually helped, you'd try and tell them your problems as they were.

"Ms. Y/L/N, Dr. Cane will see you now," the nurse said as she left with the door barely open so you could follow her. You knew what you had to do when you got into the office so you got yourself situated on the long couch before the therapist could say anything.

"Hello Y/N," the therapist said.

"Hello sir. How are you today?" you asked. You always were a smart ass and a piss off, so you had to annoy him or he would always be your therapist.

"I'm fine. How are you feeling today?" He asked. You shifted in your seat and crossed your legs.

"I'm doing okay," you fake smiled. This week wasn't really the best.

"How was your week?" He continued his average routine of questions. You sighed, thinking wether or not you wanted to tell the truth. You looked up and gave him that fake smile you'd been working on those past years.

"Quite honestly, sir, it was really great. I have no complaints! Everyone at school just left me alone like you said they would if I told them to, and my grades have been improving," you stated. You were a really good liar.

"That's great! See what a little determination does! It really goes a long way," he nods.

You nodded back, feeling slightly guilty for not telling him your week sucked more than usual. You hated your school. You hated your mum. You hated the kids that went to your school. You hated your brother. All of it was too stressful. At school, no matter how hard you tried, you got insufficient grades. When you told the people at school to, "fuck off 'cause I am I was tired of your bullshit," not only did you get picked on and beat up a little, but also a detention for cussing on school grounds. Fucking pricks, you thought. You hated how drunk your mum always was and how she took all of her anger and problems out on you. Your mum literally blamed everything on you from her divorce to how the milk got sour 'cause someone else left it out at night. You hated your brother for always putting you down, and unlike your mum, you couldn't escape him for a week at a time while you were with your dad. Instead, your brother came along and reminded you about your stupidity and inability of finding someone to love you aside from your dad.

If you just said that to your therapist, maybe you could actually get help. You didn't want help though. You wanted to rot in your own problems. Sad, yes. Unchangeable, not at all.

"Have you cut this past week?" Dr. Cane asked. This was the question the made the hair on the back of your neck rise.

You tried playing your nervousness off as you shook your head saying, "No, sir. I actually haven't. Have you?" He sighed, shaking his head and releasing you early for the sake of having no problems to talk about.

*

The next day at school, you walked down the halls with your head down. You could feel the people staring at you and hear the laughs, giggles, and murmurs as you walked by. You went into your first class of the day, English. The only thing that you were okay at was literature. You hung your poetry up in your closet at your dad's house. It's how you expressed herself.

You sat down and noticed that someone was sitting in the seat next to you. The person had their head down and hood up. You felt intrigued by this person. Nobody would be caught dead sitting next to you before. This kid must be new, you thought.