Tortured Within (Jack Barakat)

Chapter Two

I woke up the next morning with a slight headache. I checked the time on my phone, and noticed it was 1 PM. I also noticed it was Tuesday. Of course it would be Tuesday. Therapy day. I had one hour to be ready and get there. One of the conditions my parents made is that I had to continue therapy, which I didn't like, but I needed a place to stay and I had no job. I set my phone down and pushed my blanket off of me. I stood up a bit too fast. Everything was going black and I could see little stars. I grabbed the edge of my book case for support until everything went back to normal. This happened often, and I guess I was used to it after all these years. I continued walking across my room to my closet. I pushed jackets out of the way so I could get to the scale that I've been hiding for about a year now. My mom thought it'd be a good idea to take away the scale to help my "recovery", but I just went out and bought one. I placed the digital scale on my hardwood floor and stepped on it. I waited a few seconds for the number to show up. 104.2 pounds. Not good enough. I lost only .8 lb. "I'm not trying hard enough" I thought to myself. I sighed as I stepped off, picked it up, and placed it back in the closet where I buried it under a bunch of jackets and other clothes. I slowly made my way out of my room, walking down the hall, and into the bathroom. I stripped myself of my clothes and got in the shower before turning the water on.

My shower was about thirty minutes and when I was finished, I wrapped my towel around my body and walked out the bathroom and back to my bedroom. I stood in front of my closet deciding what to wear. 

"Marley, hurry up! You're going to be late!" I heard my mother yell from downstairs. I honestly didn't care if I was late or not. By the time I got dressed and did my make up, it was 1:55 PM. Five minutes before I'm supposed to be there, whoops.

I slowly walked down the stairs. God, I am so damn tired, but I always am. My mother looked at me as she was rushing.

"Come on, I made you some toast, you can eat it in the car." she said fast, walking out the door holding a paper plate with the toast drenched in gross, fattening butter. As I got in the car she put the plate on my lap before buckling her seat belt and starting up the car.

"Uh, no thanks. I drank last night, I don't feel good." I said. She shot me this annoyed look and I just set the plate in between us. She didn't say anything. I guess she just wanted to get me to my therapy appointment which was totally pointless and dad was just wasting his damn money. 

We got there at about 2:15 PM, whatever. 

"Call me when you're finished." she said. I nodded in response and opened the door to get out. I walked to the door of the building as my mom drove off. I opened the door and made my way down the various halls of this clinic. My therapist's door was wide open, so I walked right in and sat in one of the comfortable chairs in front of her desk.

"You're late." she said. 

"And you're annoying." I said.

"You know," she started, walking over to close the door, "you come in here once a week, and I try to help you, but you don't ever seem to put in the effort." 

"You're catching on." I said.

"Why do you bother coming then?" she asked me.

"I'd have no place to stay if I didn't come here. I'd get kicked out." I said. She sighed before speaking again.

"Well, I'm genuinely worried for you, Marley. At the rate you're going at, you'll end up dead." she said. Nothing I've heard before. Not quite sure if I cared.

The next 40 minutes were me being mostly silent and couldn't wait for this to be over with. I was gone as soon as it was over. As I was walking down the halls, I got a text. I pulled out my phone and unlocked it.