Summer Camp

Chapter Eighty Seven

Cigarettes and tiny liquor bottles
Just what you'd expect inside her new Balenciaga
Vile romance, turned dreams into an empire
Self-made success now she rolls with Rockefellers
Survival of the richest, the city's ours until the fall
They're Monaco and Hamptons-bound
but we don't feel like outsiders at all

~ New Americana, Halsey

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Seth's POV*

      Alexandria's birthday had come and gone with a startling speed. The day was meet with sadness, but all the anger from her disappearance had faded. The day was lethargic, but no tears were shed. Neighbors brought sympathy cards, and one set off a cake that said 'Sorry.' But the cake sat on the welcome mat in front of are home for a week, until it was thrown out. 

     People gave up on trying to comfort the families with missing children, and left them to grieve in piece. Though many families had missing children, grandchildren, sisters, and nieces, I felt alone, like no one would understand me. This feeling of depression stayed with me through the start of school.

     My only friend was the pack off cigarettes in my bag. Something that took off the edge, along with a beer, it made me feel slightly better. I showed up to the first day of school stoned, but no one gave me anything other than a sad look and a head shake. I was ignored for the most part, and my high level classes, and amazing grades were immediately forgotten. I gave up on my Honors Society applications, and did my best to just forget about school entirely. 

      It was only after a month of school that I even knew that anyone cared about my down spiral. Three school psychiatrists now called me into their office everyday. They picked me apart with questions, and when I didn't answer they would ask more and more and more. The did the opposite of help, and I found myself sheltered by a bag of white powder. 

"If you don't start to cooperate we will be forced to send you off the a more advanced location," said one of the woman, continuously annoyed by my lack of care.

"Sounds better than here," I told her, studying the ceiling intently. I had a habit of inadvertently counting the little dots on the ceiling tiles. 

"It would be so sad to ship him off," said another, "Think off his poor parents, two kids physically gone, one mentally. They would be devastated too have three all physically gone. He is the only thing holding the poor family together."

"But," said the third, "If he cannot hold himself together, than he must be shipped somewhere to get help. He refuses to cooperate with us, then he will be sent where he will be forced to cooperate."

They argued for almost the whole session time, and soon my phone alarm went off. The three woman sighed, waiting for my to rush out of the room. Instead I sat up and studied to woman. They were tired of me, I was too much trouble for them, but they felt bad for me, they pitied me.

"You have one question," I said, looking one woman in the eye,

"Will you cooperate with us? Will you try to get better?" 

I looked at my hands, they were rough, larger than normal. My arms were covered in scars that only I could see. Crackes covered my body, threatening to shatter and send me in a million directions. Could the woman sew me back together. Could they fix my internal bleeding?

"Yes," I said.