Destiny: Diary of a 15 Year Old Psycho

Telling Adam

"I have anxiety and depression." I blurted out and continued to sob my eyes out. Adam froze and stared into nothing. He started mumbling to me "No Destiny, you're lying. This isn't true. Is It? Oh gosh what is happening?" He put both of his arms around my narrow shoulders and held me tightly. He softly whispered in my ear "I will always be here for you."

"But do you mean it? What if I'm having therapy for lunatics? Will you be there then? Or what if I am too scared to go out. Will you stay with me inside all day? Probably not." I muttered

"Destiny Zielberg. Don't make me sellotape your little mouth shut. I will always be here whenever you need me. I will always be close by you" He demanded. I buried my head in Adam's blue hoodie, it was so cosy. We must have been sat there for hours just sitting there and whispering to each other that everything would be okay.

Adam suddenly stood up and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were rosy red. He took a husky cough. I grabbed Adam's hand and pulled myself up off the bench. The air was so crisp, the sky was a pearly white. I gazed into Adam's eyes and nodded my head. This obstacle was not going to get our way. We would fight this together. We would never give up. Not even if the devil himself stood in our way.

"Adam, what time it it? I need to be back by 2:30."

"Dessy, it's 3:00 now!"

"Oh shoot, run! We grabbed eachother's hands and sprinted through the isolated streets. We passed the deserted cafes and neglected craft shops. We ran across the main road without even looking. A rusty old van zoomed past us just as we reached the pavement on the other side. My hair was in a high messy pony tail and it fluttered in the wind and in a shop window I could see all of the autumnal products. As we finally approached my middle terraced, pebbledash home, I let go of Adam's hand. He swiftly lifted up his broad arm and peered at his brown leather watch. "Quarter past" He said. I opened the black front gate. All of the paint was peeling off it, so when you touched it you would always get some ebony flakes on your hands. I stepped on our shabby doormat, gave Adam one last cuddle and waved goodbye to him. I opened the door and stepped inside. Dad was perched up against the cream wall, dangling the car keys in his hands. He stunk of vodka and his eyes were not as kind as they had been before. "Where the hell were you! I said 2:30!" He screamed. His large fists clenched and his thick brows wrinkled. "Sorry Dad, we lost track of time." I whispered. Dad had never looked this angry before, what was happening to him? "Well get in the car you waste of space!" This time he was not fooling around. I thought he had stopped drinking for good. He hadn't had so much as a pint of lager since last Christmas. I did as he asked and walked timidly to the car in silence. We had a really old Land-Rover that was a pale grey colour. It was ancient. "I'm really sorry Dad." I announced with a confident voice, although I was shaking on the inside. Dad didn't respond. He just stared at the road with an emotionless face. I decided to turn the radio on to break the silence. I turned the black knob and adjusted the volume. As soon as Dad heard the first chord he slapped my hand and turned it off. "Ah Dad, why did you do that! That really hurt!" My hand started to turn bright pink and his long nails had scratched my knuckles, causing them to bleed. Dad remained silent. All I did was turn on the stupid radio! What was wrong with him! Our car approached the hospital and Dad reversed into the space with a picture of an adult and a child holding hands. Ironic. As I jumped out the car, I put my hand in my coat pocket and I tried to not think about the pain.