Joyriding ☾Frerard

Joyriding // Part 4

What is this chapter :^)

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"I don't need to go to therapy again."

"Frank, I'm serious -"

"I am too." I argued back. My Aunt came back from the store not too long ago and she's already talking about how I need more help with my situation. I don't know why she had the sudden thought just by going down the street to the store but, y'know, it's my aunt. It's nothing new. "I don't need therapy, alright? I'm fine - I'm perfectly content."

"Are you being sarcastic or are you actually serious this time?" She asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. She still had the oven mitt in her hand like she was about to throw it at me. Knowing her, she would and she wouldn't even hesitate.

"I'm being serious, I don't need to see the creep. You already knew I didn't like the idea of therapy in the first place."

"I feel like you're getting worse, though," She stated, finally placing the mitt down.

"How come you never signed me up for the medication then?"

"You want to take antidepressants instead of going to actual therapy?" I nodded, watching as she messed with the controls for the oven. She eventually sighed, looking deep in thought. "Alright, if that's what you want, I'll help - Oh, but before I do anything, can you at least tell me why you suddenly decided to take them?"

I had a huge feeling she was going to ask me that sooner or later. Hey, at least she (sort of) forgot about the whole incident at school. "I don't know - Mom and Dad and school I guess," I shrugged, poking at the random fruit bowl she had placed on the kitchen counter. They weren't even real fruits, they were all waxed.

"Is that all or is there something else you don't want me to know?"

Was that all? I guess that was pretty much it.

"Life too." I said. "It's becoming too stressful,"

"School or being 18?"

"Both."

She nodded, sitting down in the chair that was in front of me. "I was the same way when I was your age, Frankie. Believe it or not but I know what you're going through." She said, playing with the plastic fruits. I did believe her because I knew that my Mom's side of the family had a history with depression. I remember my Mom having her own breakdown when I was younger. My father's side was pretty much 'mental disorder free'. "I was 18 when I started to be a bad influence on my family. I did what you do now - smoke, drink, cut. Trust me, Frank, you don't have to hide this from me. I know what 'fine' means."

I didn't say a word. I couldn't say a word. She never mentioned one bit of being like me. She was always so cheery and that's what made her her now. "I'm sorry I never figured out."

"Don't apologize - you don't need to apologize for the mistakes I did. What I'm telling you is to just make your life worth living. Don't rely on those pills. I don't want you to take them but I'm only sucking it up because you feel like it's going to help you feel better."

I looked down, looking at the little burns on my thumb the lighter had caused whenever I would either light up a cigarette or just play with the little switch as a coping mechanism for my anxiety.

"Yeah - yeah, I know." I said, dropping my hands in my lap. "Sorry, I'll try to go to therapy for you."

"You don't have to, Frank." She sighed out.

"No, I'll only do it to see if it would help. Maybe, maybe if it doesn't, then I'll ask for the pills."

She nodded, getting up to check on the oven. "Okay - that's fine with me."