My Therapist's Son,

My Therapist's Son, [2]

This chapter is more talking. It's basically all it is. Because, I feel like we need this chapter. They'll be more details next chapter! xoxo,

***

"You know, Maria, I wish there were more girls like you," He smirked, obviously referencing my looks, yet again.

"Wish I could say the same about guys," I joked.

"C'mon, I'm being serious. You're really a good person,"

I smiled.

"No one's ever said that to me before."

"Really? I bet your boyfriend does.."

"Don't have one," I didn't look up when I talked.

I unzipped and rezipped my sweatshirt. I heard him mumble, yes!, to himself.

"And why's that? You're gorgeous,"

"No I'm not,"

"Oh, so you're one of those girls."

"What girls?" I asked, suddenly very interested in where this conversation was going.

I looked up quickly, expecting a smirk, but I saw his smile was sincere.

"The ones that are way to nice to say anything good about themselves because they're scared they'll sound concided, even though you," He coughed, "I mean they are gorgeous, and the prettiest girl," he paused again before correcting himself, "girls."

Aw!

"Well, thanks."

"See, there you go again!" He laughed, "I want to hear you say something mean."

"You wouldn't understand me,"

"Try it,"

"You would be surprised if you saw me when I'm alone in here with your dad,"

He raised his eyebrow, thinking dirty things.

"Shut up, perv." I exclaimed.

"I didn't say anything," He laughed, and then he winked.

"I'm being serious, Ryan. I'm one of those girls that come in here, crying, and I'm a mess."

"Alright, talk," He smiled at me, "Tell me everything."

***

After telling him about how depressed I am, and how I pretend everyday, and after telling him about how I cut, and how my mom forced me to come here. After telling him all about how my dad died when I was little, and my mom started dating this creep, I finally told him the biggest thing of all.

"And, he raped me."

"He what!? You should tell someone!"

"I just did."

"Like, your mom!"

"Are you trying to help?" I wondered outloud.

"Oh, I'm sorry. But, that's horrible. He deserves to die."

"Ryan, if I tell her, she won't believe me. She'll say I just want attention."

I felt the tears start to spill over and drip down my cheeks. It was a constant flow. I looked down, wiping my eyes, feeling guilty for being one of 'those' patients. Ryan stood up and walked around the desk. He sat next to me and smiled at me.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I believe you." He almost whispered.

"Thank you,"

"Is that why you don't like being touched?"