The Way Things Should Be

Therapy

Tommy was driving home from the store with Wilbur in the passenger seat. He knew that he had therapy later though he didn't care for it, he hated it even. He only wanted to be with Wilbur, his best friend and crush of 5 years. They had been friends forever, ever since the first grade. Their conversations flowed smoothly like a spring creek, easy to transition from topic to topic. He wanted Wilbur to come along with him but knew it wasn't allowed, his sessions being "confidential" as if he cared at this point.

Tommy didn't like his therapist, she was too much, too formal. He liked people to be less formal, more outgoing, that way he could get along with them better than others. That's why he loved Wilbur so much. He's like him, funny, smart, hyperactive, and easygoing.

Tommy finally arrived at Wilbur's house and let him out.

"Bye Tommy," Wilbur smiled, "See you tomorrow."

Tommy nodded and smiled back, "See you." Giving Wilbur a wave goodbye he began to drive off to therapy, his mask lifting finally. "fucking therapy... Why do I have to go..? It's stupid.. no reason..." he muttered under his breath. "I just want to be with Wilby, not her..."

Not too long after Tommy began driving again, he decided to check his phone. A text from Wilbur made him smile, "Get off your phone dumbass <3" he read his heart beating just a little faster, a little more pleasant as he closed his phone and focused back on the road. He was glad for Wilbur, glad for the heart, and glad that he cared enough to send it.

It was only about a five minute drive to the therapist's office. He went in and greeted her with a fake smile, and sat down as she asked questions like, "how are you?" "What brought you to therapy?" "What situation were you in?" He didn't answer any besides why he was there. "I'm here 'cause my parents are making me," he answered. "Why's that?" She asked after. He didn't answer. He didn't know what he could say and what he couldn't.

——

Getting out of therapy, Tommy wanted nothing more than to floor it back to Wilbur's house. To play games and laugh at stupid jokes that made no sense without context. But Tommy knew he couldn't, his parents expected him home, and Tommy knew better than to disobey. The memories of shouting and the sounds of broken glass and disappointment filled his thoughts as he drove, his fists tight against the steering wheel.

He got home and sat in his car for a good 10 minutes before getting out. He quietly went into his house and ran up to his room to avoid his parents talking to him, or worse, yelling at him. His mother called for him anyway.

"So what did you talk about at therapy today? Was it good? How did it go?" She was questioning Tommy and he was sure he looked visibly uncomfortable. He just wanted to walk away.

"Fine. It was fine. Can I go to my room now?" He was starting to walk away slowly but she stopped him.

"No. I want to talk about how your session went today." She kept pushing but he didn't want to talk. He wanted to take a nap. He knew he'd be up late playing games with everyone, probably minecraft. He didn't like how his mother always pushed but he never fought it. He never could despite the silent arguments that flooded his head. He went through the motions of a fake conversation, making up bits and pieces when he had no answer to the questions his mother wanted to know. And when the conversation was finally over he hid. He ran back upstairs to the one place he was safe, to his room, his bed, his computer. His computer where his friends lived, an escape from reality.

He knew he loved his family, and he hoped they loved him in turn. Yet he hated that he loved them, and hated that he didn't...