Chapter 17

117 5 0
                                    

So i saw a change. And decided to update. Here goes. 

RHETT'S POV: 

She was really here. All here. I stumble back and catch my balance, taking a few steps toward her. Tears are already blurring my vision, but all I get from her is a strange look. 

"Oh my god." Is all I utter while staring at her intently. She indeed, has changed. Her black hair hangs to her waist in a mop of waves and crimped strands. She leans forward a bit, opening her mouth to speak. 

"Dude, how wasted are you?" she spits, beginning to close the door. I lunge forward, catching it with my foot. 

"Nicole." I whisper, gaining her attention. Realization fills her face. 

"Shit. Holy shit. Fuck. Get in here." She rips me from the hallway and into the room. Jade stands near the window, not surprised I'm in here. 

"Nicole, I can't... 5 fucking years what the hell.." I begin, but am hushed as I am yanked into a hug, her arms wrapping around my neck. I tighten my grip around her waist and breathe in her scent. Smoke. Alchohol. And a faint lingering lace of... home. I was finally in the arms of my sister. 

TAYLOR'S POV: 

Thereapy today was strange. Many of the patients coming from TCFEC were more to handle then I thought they would be. Others were easy, but difficult to comprehend. The ones harder to handle had about 6 screaming fits, needing to be held into their chairs until fully relaxed by security, and the others were silent. Not like they were ignoring the world, but like they didn't even register what was going on in the world. They looked so serene, though I didn't doubt that if they were in here, it was for a reason. The entire sessin, neither Jacob nor I said a word. We would just send each other awkward glances as our therapist took notes when the others would begin to scream hysterically. She told us later on that they weren't crazy, they just hated being sent here, but being placed in TCFEC mean they were "ingood hands" though somehow, I doubted that. 

I don't think Jacob doubts they won't get help. He knows they won't get help. he knows because he is in there everyday, and knows that it is like a prison cell. Cold, empty. He is all alone with his lyrical mind, coming up with songs to sing, pieces to play on his toy piano. He couldn't play much though, considering the piano had "one octave only" which meant only two areas to play in, and he wanted "more range than that" more "color" than that, using words I never knew could be used to describe music. 

After therapy, I go to my room, I have free time and I decide to spend it with Addie. We are in the room for a few minutes when a nurse barges in. 

"You have a visitor. It's your father."

Walking StraightWhere stories live. Discover now