Finding 4

Chapter 1

Marley

The clock ticks on the wall, the only light source is the lamp on the table next to the couch, and the sun pouring in through the blinds.

My leg bounces up and down, and I pick at my fingernails. I've picked at them so badly they're already bleeding. My chest rises and falls as I breathe, and my eyes stay trained on the floor.

The therapist in front of me hasn't said anything. She's just sitting there with a light pink notebook, and her legs crossed.

"Can you tell me how you're feeling right now, Marley?" Her Irish accent is thick as she speaks.

We haven't even been in this stupid country for two weeks and dad already has me in therapy.

I can tell he's worried about me. In fact, I can tell my entire family is worried about me. Even Elijah can tell something is up, and he's only five.

"I'm fine." I shrug, grabbing onto the ends of my sleeves and holding them over my wrists. "I don't even need to be here."

"And why do you think that?" She asks, her expression not wavering even slightly.

I swallow harshly and look up at her. "Because nothing is wrong with me."

She sighs and scribbles something down on her notepad before looking back up at me. "So you're happy?"

Not at all.

"I guess."

"You guess?" She raises a brow. "Marley that's a yes or no question."

"Then yes...I'm happy."

"Are you?"

"Yes!" I start to get annoyed but then quickly stop myself, taking a deep breath. "No offense, but this is stupid. I have no reason to be here."

"Well I think you do," she flashes her brows and looks down at her notebook.

"What?"

"I hear from your dad that this past year has been difficult for you." My eyes follow her hands as she flips to another page.

"Don't do that." I say, clenching my jaw.

"Do what?"

"Bring her into this."

"Who, your mom?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you want to talk about your mom, Marley?" Her tone is soft, but I still don't believe that she cares.

Nobody does. They only ever care about themselves.

"Because I just don't want to talk about it," my voice is barely above a whisper as I look down at my hands in my lap.

I start to fidget with the gold bracelet on my wrist that my mom gave me, only to stop when I realize the one thing I'm trying to cover with my bracelet stack is showing.

Feeling ashamed, I clench my jaw and pull my sleeve down, still avoiding eye contact with the therapist.

"Can we talk about that?" She nods at where my arms are folded in my lap.

No.

"Talk about what?" I mutter.

She sighs "Marley I can't help you if you aren't honest with me."