The Religious & The Damaged (UNDER EDITING)

52

Joseph

  It's Monday.

  Elias and I walk into the school counselor's office, and we stop at their door.

  He looks at me, a comforting squeeze on my hand as he asks, "Are you ready?"

  I nod with hesitation, not because I don't feel ready, but because I have no idea how to do this.

  I've never opened up to someone who wasn't Elias or Kelsey, but I think him being here will make it easier.

  I look forward and raise a hand to the door. I knock.

  There's a long pause before a middle-aged woman opens the door and meets my gaze, and my heart pounds hard.

  "Yes?" She speaks, her voice; inviting.

  I gulp hard and my hands feel clammy all of a sudden.

  I stammer, all I can possibly do to seem just as much pathetic as I am. "I.. uhm, I.."

  She smiles understandingly and steps to the side to show her office.

  She says, "Come into my office. We can talk more privately."

  I force my mouth shut and walk into the room, and it smells of lavender—it calms my nerves a bit somehow.

  I don't let go of Elias' hand the whole way to the couch across the office, and the woman sits in the armchair to the left of the couch.

  "Okay, before we start, I just want you to take a deep breath in through your nose, and out through your mouth."

  She guides me through—she breathes in and out, and I nod and follow.

  She nods. "Okay. Good. How do you feel?" She asks.

  I inhale shakily. "Nervous. Scared. Out of control."

  "What do you feel out of control of?"

  "My life."

  Elias squeezes my hand.

  "Why do you feel out of control of your life?"

  My eyes grow unfocused as I direct them downward; my thoughts consuming me.

  "All my life, I've never felt a sense of peace and my father always wanted things a certain way.. me a certain way, and I guess it's followed me even though I don't live with him anymore." I explain.

  "Why did your father want things a certain way?"

  I look up, then down at her hands; she's writing things down.

  We meet eyes.

  "Maybe he lacked control too..." I say.

  I never thought about that before, but then again, no one has ever asked me that before.

  "Would he do things when he felt out of control?" Her voice grows softer at the question, and I feel more fragile than ever.