0.3
"You don't have a choice, Piper," Mom sighs, folding my clothes into an old suitcase because I refuse to do it myself. "This is what Dr. Day says is best for you, and frankly, I have to agree with her."
I want to yell, to scream, to smash my fists against my body. But I don't. I stand still, my arms at my sides. I feel numb.
"Did you take your pill today?" she asked.
"I don't want to go," I deadpan.
With another sigh – something she has been doing often since the bridge incident – she sets another perfectly folded shirt and lays it on top of the others. Slowly, she turns to me. Her blue eyes are sad, disappointed. I wish it doesn't hurt as much as it does.
"You're going," she states. "And you ignored my question. Did you take your pill?"
I stay silent. I've never been one who's good at lying.
"Piper."
No response.
Breathing in a heavy gust, she runs her hand along her forehead and shakes her head. For a moment she leans back against my bed like it's too much effort for her to stand.
"You can't just not take your pills, Piper. Why won't you take them?"
I move my gaze to the windowsill, the grey peeling paint gaining my attention.
"They're going to help you," she says, as if it's a plea.
My voice is barely a whisper. "Maybe I don't want to be helped."
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Fragments
Teen FictionOne bridge. Two guys. Three secrets. Four therapists. Five attempts. Six months. Seven bad habits. Eight family meetings. Nine visits. Ten cuts. One death. Spiritual #4