Therapy

8

Emma's pov

After cutting I went downstairs so I can say sorry to mom, I shouldn't have ignored her like I did.

"Hey mom?!" I asked walking to the kitchen. I heard her talking, who was she talking with? Dad was at work, well at least I suppose he was at work.

So, I go to one of the corners of the hall where I can hear mom's conversation.

"But dr. She self harmed what do I do? Do I send her to a hospital?"she asked concerned.

"Well, she does have therapy in a week, I guess she can go and they'll talk to her and give her advise" she said with her pointer finger on her chin.

"Yes... Ok... Thanks dr."she said hanging up

"I don't want to go to therapy, Its stupid" i said with my arms crossed under my chest.

"Emma you have to, it's for your best, you know it helps you" she said giving me a hug as a tear slipped from her eyes. "Where did my baby girl went, why do you do it?"

"Do what mom?"I asked slightly annoyed.

"C-ut" she said her voice breaking a little.

"I don't cut" I said looking at my hands.

"Emma I just saw you" she said raising her voice a little.

"I like it" i said honestly.

"How could you like something so harmful" she said on the verge of tears.

"I just do okay, don't judge me, I'm not a freak" I said raising my voice a little.

"Ok, I'll leave you alone... I'm sorry" she said lowering her head

"Mom it's okay, you don't have to be sorry" I Said realizing how rude I was to my mother.

"Hey, let's go get some ice cream" mom said getting excited.

"No mom, I'm not a 5 year old girl, I'm 15 remember" i said.

"Oh, yeah well, want some carrot cake" she said trying to spend time with me.

"Sure" I said tired of arguing.

"Great" she said squealing.

She went to the fridge and pulled out the cake, sliced a piece for both of us and put the cake down on the dining room table.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Wonder who could that be?

Dad:

Where did you parked the car.

"Mom dad's drunk again" I said looking at the phone.

"What did he texted you this time?" She said rubbing her forehead.

"Where did you parked the car?" I said more like a question.

"What's wrong with him?" Mom asked, as she bursts out laughing.

Now I'm laughing. There really is something wrong with him. He needs therapy.