The Pain That Grows Us

Chapter Eight

"Why do you drink, Jack?"

"To avoid things." I mumble staring at the carpet in front of me. Here we are again, doing the same silly dance.

"And why do you do that?"

"To avoid."

"I need a real answer Jack." Of course you do.

"I was told to. I was told it was better to drink than to feel things." I would rather sit here in silence than answer his questions.

"Who told you that?" Cold runs down my spine. I have done everything in my power to forget about that night, to escape the memories that only come racing back on hard days, and even worse nights.

"Silence is not an option Jack. I was told you would behave during our sessions." he snaps.

Just like that I am seeing red again. My silence was not to waste his time, or to piss him off. I should be able to gather my thoughts before answering the hard questions. You would think a licesned therapist would fucking know that.

"Fine. Get out of my office. I am in no mood to talk to you today." he slams the notebook shut, shutting the door on a second chance to answer his question. I can only blame myself. I am the one who refused to answer his questions the first session, and then only answered two questions in our last session. But still. What the actual fuck?

He doesn't want to talk to me? Isn't that his whole fucking job? To talk to people who are apparently society's screw ups and help them fix all those supposed problems? I would think eating would be incentive enough for him to suffer through at least a few more minutes of our two hour session before kicking me to the curb. After all, I have been more cooperative today than I have previously.

This is just fucking wrong.

I hate this. Why did I agree to do this again? Why did I let Ryan dictate my life like this? I would like to see him put up with this shit and not lose his ever loving mind. He wouldn't last as long as I have. I glance at the wall behind his chair and stare at the clock that I am convinced is standard in every business. He only made it through five minutes before throwing in the towel.

I glance at him as he types away on his computer and let out an almost silent sigh. This is the shortest session we have ever had, the other two sessions have lasted for at least forty-five minutes, and I thought that was pretty damn awesome.

He glances my way once my stare becomes too much to handle and he scowls at me. His fingers angrily type away on the keyboard in front of him for a few more strokes before shoving away from his desk. His chair spins around from the force as he storms over to me. My fingers curl into tight fists ready to punch his lights out if I have too. I wouldn't mind that one bit. Not at all.

"Guess you can't walk out, since you are a crippled piece of shit." he mutters more to himself as he throws open the door.

Just wait until I am out of this fucking wheelchair, let's see who is the cripple then. You have no idea the beast you just awakened.

"Whoever brought Jack Hathoway can come get him. Our session is done for the day." he storms through the office one more time and throws himself into his chair, glaring at the computer screen.

The things that are going to be said to Miss Greenwald as soon as I am out of this office are going to get me thrown out of the house. I wouldn't be surprised if Ryan beats us back to the house and is waiting for me with all my shit packed up. I can't wait to disappoint him one more time. I might not truly see the problem he does, but that doesn't mean I want to disappoint him, or fail him.