*Mitch POV*
I sat up in my tree house, gazing down at the world.
I smiled as I watched the people passing by in their fancy cars, and I admired the different colors of leaves in the other trees.
I loved being in my tree house; I always felt better every time I was up here.
Up here, there were no kids teasing me, no adults looking at me with concern...
And nobody else trying to pressure me into talking.
☆☆☆☆☆☆
When I got back inside my house, Dad was waiting for me in the living room.
"Where were you today?" he asked, and I quickly pulled out my small notebook.
I just went to the tree house, Dad.
He nods in response, gesturing for me to sit down with him.
I sat down, a bit nervous.
"Son," he said, "I've been thinking about your... condition, and I think that it may be time for you to get help."
I raised an eyebrow, drawing a question mark on the page of my notebook.
"I found a place where you can go to receive help," he continued, "and you'll even get a chance to make some new friends."
I frowned slightly; someone like me didn't make friends.
Unless...
Dad, I wrote cautiously, are you sending me to a mental facility?
He examined my question for a moment, then nodded.
"Yes."
A/N: Okay, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be.
Anyways, hope you liked.
Luv you all! *blows kisses*
YOU ARE READING
Heathens
Random"All my friends are heathens. Take it slow. Wait for them to ask you who you know. Please don't make any sudden moves. You don't know the half of the abuse." Welcome to the Westward Mental Facility, where they keep all the 'crazy' people. Among them...
