The Waiting Room

Prologue

Heels clicking on the cheap, dilapidating tiles of her kitchen, Mrs. Larson paced back and forth, mind racing as she went over the situation in her head yet again. With the strong scent of smoke wafting through the room, she found it even more difficult to concentrate than usual. However, the fact remained floating about, attacking her thoughts and begging for attention.

Her son was a cutter.

Zachary Larson, her first born son, was slicing his wrists open.

Marina hardly thought that fair. She had lost her husband to an overdose not a year ago, her parents refused to lend money to pay off the rent of the apartment, and she had lost her only job only hours prior to coming home in a foul mood and discovering Zachary's skin bleeding as he took a razor to it. Had she not been fired and returned home early, she never would have come to know of the boy's addiction.

Being a widow with seven kids was hard enough. Being a single woman trying to raise a boy who's too emotional to function properly was out of the question. If anyone should be cutting, it should be her.

"Zachary," She breathed. Running her hands through her silky brown hair, Marina came to a stop in front of her son, who stared down at his lap shamefully. Crossing her arms sternly over her chest, she continued, "I can't deal with this right now. Your sisters and brothers can't deal with this right now. So stop, okay? Just stop. I know we're all going through hell right now, but it's not your job to dump all the guilt on me. Knock it off. I don't want to see that razor ever again, you hear me?"

Zachary's lips remained sealed tight, pulled into a thin line that refused to open. With a knitted brow and sad eyes, he kept his gaze downward, filling his mother with more impatience.

"Say something," She demanded, "Because I refuse to tolerate this behavior. If this doesn't change . . ." Marina paused, considering her words as she examined her 17-year-old son. How had he grown so quickly? It seemed like just yesterday he was skipping about the house in diapers, crying over spilled milk and sleeping in two hour intervals. Now, he sat silently by himself, long hair swooping over his forehead, with scarred wrists and pale skin. Oh, how a child could appear as heaven, only to reveal themselves as hell just a decade later.

"If you don't stop this behavior soon, I'll have to pay a therapist to babysit you."

Zachary cringed under his mother's tone. "M-mom . . . we don't have the money-"

"And I don't have the patience, Zack! I can't stay home, taking care of you and making sure you're happy when I have six other kids to look after! I'm not your mother just so I can baby you. That will be your therapist's job, as soon as I find one willing to cooperate with you." Offering her son a sternly set glare, Marina Larson stomped her way over to the miniscule entry table, where she kept her checks, car keys, phone book, and expired coupons.

Yanking open the drawer and snagging the phone book, Marina began thumbing through the pages, desperately searching for a name that could relieve the stress that her son brought her, and desperately searching for a name that could rid her of the problem Zack had become.

At last, she found it.

"Here. Addiction Therapy Clinic. Doesn't that sound nice?" Slamming the book down after scrambling the number of the Clinic on a sticky note, Marina then announced the worst news Zachary had ever heard.

"You'll start therapy next week."

ShutUpAndGoHome

Thanks for reading! Be sure to vote and comment, and I'll have the next prologue up soon. X)