When Life Gives You Therapy

Ch1

Ch1

I never liked circles, (I was always more of an oval kind of girl, you know) and I especially didn't like them now.  Not as I was succumbing to the musings of a high-pitched preteen who couldn't escape "the voices", or when the rape victim sitting two feet away from me was glaring daggers at the side of my face.  I didn't even like them when the cute boy across the room kept sending me looks and dumb faces that spoke volumes of our torture.

Yeah, not even then.  Not with the constant reminder that he was just as insane as the others in the 'super cool sharing circle'.

I guess I shouldn't be talking, though.  After all, I'm also -allegedly- as insane as the others here.

It wasn't even as if the boy looked insane. I would never be able to tell he had any issues if he weren't sitting across from me.

I looked up from the brunette to the counselor when I heard my name being called the third time. He was nice enough, with sweet brown eyes and a genuine smile that left no room for doubt. It was obvious he loved his job, but maybe that's why I hated him. I can't see how anyone could survive this, nevertheless voluntarily. 

I didn't bother tuning in to hear his next question, but I didn't need to; it was the same one every week. "Well, doc, I think Mr. They're Coming For Me and Mrs. Everyone Hates Me pretty much covered it all. Not sure I can top those performances."

He nodded, full-fledged professional, and referred to his notes, "Would you rather a one-on-one session? I have a hunch that it could help with the intimidation."

He was teasing, but the threat still stood loud and clear. That was the sort of relationship I had with Dr. Scary- ironic that the friendly doctor's name is Scary, right?- he knew I didn't want to be there just as well as I did, and didn't hesitate to use it against me.

"You and I both know that I'd much rather die."

He gave me a warning glare and chastised me for the "inappropriate" joke. I told him to piss off.  He told me to wait outside until the end of the session. So I left, sparing one last look at the boy on my way out, now snickering and wiggling eyebrows in my direction.

Asshole.

The brunette across the circle, if I'm being honest, is the only reason I haven't skipped one of these totally helpful group therapy sessions yet. He made everything a little more tolerable. He also serves as a well enough distraction to keep me from strangling someone. He was interesting. He was quiet, but you could see the recognition in his eyes. He was a shut door without a lock and my fingers were inching towards the knob- closer and closer, only to jerk back with every sense of

I turn back to the door and hurried my footing, shooting a cheeky smile at the therapist on my way out... maybe I should not mention shooting and Dr. Spooky in the same sentence, with how intense these professionals liked to get.

So I waited. I waited and waited until the cute brunette was dragged out by the therapist. I watched as he was lead around a corner and into another room, and I watched as he turned around last minute to meet my eyes and winked. He watched as I grinned back and blew a kiss.

Then, he was gone and I was left waiting again. I turned my attention back to the therapy room's door and watched the youngest kid- a shy, eight year-old boy- walk out and dart to the lobby where his parents were no-doubt waiting with big broad smiles and open arms.

For a moment, just one, I let myself envy the stupid kid. For one moment, I let myself miss my stupid parents and their stupid hugs. Then, I forgot. I pushed it to the back of my head and let myself remember drug deals and abandonment because that was the truth.