Dandelion

This was Supposed to Help.

XX.XX.XXXX

It's been a long day.

I had to go back to the doctor this morning, just to make sure everything was okay, I guess. I've been going to therapy, physical and emotional, for the last few weeks, since the new year started, but today was unlike anything I've ever had to do before.

The doctor at the clinic told me that everything seemed fine with me physically, and urged me to keep doing everything I had been doing. She said I was showing significant progress, and to "keep it up, sweetie."

Alex and I went to lunch after we left the clinic, grabbing pizza at this little dive we used to go to all the time after school.

Alex drove us to the therapist's office, and the closer we got, the worse the feeling in the pit of my stomach got. I couldn't help but feel like something was going to go terribly wrong today, but I kept telling myself that I was being paranoid and that everything was going to be fine.

God, was I wrong.

We pulled up to the office building and my stomach dropped when I saw the police car sitting in the parking lot. I grabbed Alex's arm, my fingernails digging into his jacket.

He held my hand tightly as we went up the stairs, my entire body trembling.

"There's nothing saying we have to go in there, Dandlion," he whispered comfortingly.

"I-It's p-probably n-nothing," I stammered, leaning most of my weight on the hand that was holding the railing. My knuckles were white with how hard I was holding onto the metal bar, and my freckles dotted my hands like constellations. Constellations in negative. That would make a cool title for something. Maybe a band. If Alex ever starts a band.

Alex held open the door for me without letting go of my hand. I was immeasurable grateful for that, because as soon as I walked inside and saw my father sitting across the room in handcuffs, our grips tightened on each other.

Alex was calling my name, I think, but I couldn't hear him. All I could perceive was the tall man I looked nothing like standing up and the police officer reaching to grab his arm roughly. He shook the man off, reaching his cuffed hands out toward me with a grumbled, "I just want to hug my little girl," shot toward the officer. I have no idea if that was true. For all I knew, he was coming to knock me on my ass again. He could've been trying to hug me, but all I saw was the man that had been beating me up for years and had almost killed me coming toward me with his hands stretched out.

I let out a terrified shriek and bolted back out the door.

In hindsight, I have vague memories of Alex yelling at the therapist, calling her things that I don't ever want to repeat, then running out to where I had collapsed on the concrete stairs, trying to run up to the roof. Maybe I thought I could fly from the roof and I wouldn't ever have to deal with. . . whatever this is again.

Alex knelt in front of me, holding my face tightly. He was talking, I think, but my heart was pounding so loudly in my ears that I couldn't hear a word he was saying.

"-parently just want to hear 'both sides of the story' or whatever. It's bullshit."

I raised my eyebrows slowly, questioningly, swallowing the thickness in my mouth and throat that was making it impossible to talk.

"W-what other s-side is th-there?"

"I don't know, Dandelion. But they want to know if you'll talk to them."

"Hell no. They think they c-can bring him into a p-place that's supposed to b-be a sanctuary without my consent or even informing me just isn't okay!"

"I agree. But I think this might be all they need to put him away. I think it might be worth thinking or talking about."

I looked at Alex for a minute, still trying to calm my breathing down. I was scared. No, it was more than that. I was terrified. I'd never been so scared. This was so much worse than the nightmares I'd been having; this was real. Very, very real.

When I stood, Alex had to support my arm like I was some old lady he was helping across the street. I was shaking so bad I could barely walk, but I managed to stumble back down two flights of stairs, (Does anyone even know why they're called fights?) and into the waiting room. I stuck my chin defiantly in the air and squared my shoulders, calling on every ounce of courage I had to stalk bravely into the room where my living nightmare was waiting for me.

I exuded confidence when I stepped into that office, but it was all a show and I didn't believe in a single attogram of it. For anyone wondering, an attogram is about one quintillionth of a gram.

Alex and I sat next to one another on the couch as far from my father as we could get. Everything about Alex's body language screamed defensiveness, from his crossed arms and clenched fists, to the way he'd put his own body between me and my father.

For an agonizing hour and a half, we sat in that room, and I retold the story I'd been living every time I closed my eyes. Finally, finally, the time was up and Alex and I were going home, but I asked him to wait until the police officers took my father and were long gone.

The instant I was certain they were gone, I whirled on my "therapist."

"What the hell was that about? You brought him to this place? I thought this was supposed to be safe! I thought this was supposed to help!"

"Lilian-"

"No," I growled, getting all up in her face. "My name is Lily. L-I-L-Y, Lily. He's never coming back here," I snarled. "And neither am I."

I grabbed Alex's hand and together we went home.

Journal,

I know it doesn't sound too bad, the way I wrote it, but I'm still too raw to write about it so everything makes sense in detail. I told the police what had happened, and I think they might have arrested the therapist. I know my father is behind bars, and that makes me feel a little bit better.

I can sleep tonight without worrying that he's going to find me.

I have my well-loved copy of Lord of the Rings open on my chest, just above Eowyn. I was reading to her and Alex, since I'm determined to prove to him that the books won't always put him to sleep, and that he just needs a good story teller.

It's been one hell of a day, and I'm tired. Alex is already asleep, and when I look out the window, I can see the moon and stars already high in the black abyss that is the sky at night. It's at times like this, Journal, when Alex is sleeping and the apartment is quiet, that I find myself wondering just how long life like this, with Alex, is going to last. I think a lot about the future and how I can't imagine my life without Alex, and I wonder what I would do if I didn't have him in my life. And recently, since coming home, I've asked myself more times than I care to admit, what would Alex have done if I hadn't woken up.

But anyway, Journal, that's enough for tonight. I need to sleep, and I have a feeling that tonight I'm finally going to get some peace.

Goodnight.