What is Written

Chapter 2

       The drive home was silent. I didn't bother turning the radio on like I usually do, or roll down the windows either. I just stared at the long road ahead of me. Empty, long, and narrow. The sun shines on the ground, and I take a deep breath. The sky is clear, and I find myself jealous due to my clouded thoughts.

I can't help but worry about what kind of prick I'll end up with as a therapist. With my luck, I'll get some asshole who drives Maserati's and Bentleys, and takes one look at me and sees me as the dirt on the bottom of his polished shoe. He'll kick me right back into prison. He probably won't even give me the full twenty sessions, he's probably a one-strike-you're-out asshole. Well let me tell you, I've been through multiple strikes already in my life, and if that is the case, I might as well just drive to the damn prison right now and check myself in.

So what if I end up in prison? Would it actually be that bad? I might make a few friends. But like I said, after a day, I'd lose my shit. I can't imagine my life behind bars, inside those stone cold walls. Especially under that authority, I would lose my mind. I've seen enough shows and movies to know that I don't belong in that life. I would probably find a way to escape, if anything. I smirk as I think of Andy Dufresne escaping from Shawshank. That would be me, if I was ever to be a prisoner.

I pull into the parking lot of my apartment building. Almost every spot is taken, and I curse under my breath. I finally find one in the far back corner and quickly park my car. I'm just thankful it's not raining, because if it was, I would literally tow someone's car out of a spot close to my apartment and park my car in there instead. I can't stand getting wet in the rain, especially when it's cold outside.

I take my phone out and I have a few missed calls from Gunner. I don't want to be bothered by him. He probably just wants to hear what the police said just to laugh at me for what I got myself into. What he got me into, actually. This is his fault, and he's taking no consequences. Fuck him. None of this would be happening if it wasn't for that prick.

I lock my phone and get out of my car to go inside. I really don't want to have to deal with this shit. I actually had a lot going for me. I mean, somewhat. I probably won't be going anywhere in life after I'm done with this therapist shit. I know I'll lose my temper and spit out insults to the little shit right and left until he cries and calls his mom for help. It's how I get through shit I don't want to go through. It's not the best coping mechanism, but it works. Usually.

I unlock my apartment door and walk inside. I throw the papers that the police station gave me on my living room table. I don't even want to look at them. Just a bunch of bullshit papers that I had to sign and keep for legal reasons. It's just a reminder of the shit I got into.

I sit on the couch and stare at the wall. I didn't even mean for any of this to happen. It's all fucking Gunners fault. I'm done talking to him, he fucks up my life in ways that I can't even explain. I only use him for his shit. He has a really nice place with crazy parties every weekend and goes on vacations every year by himself. I'm jealous, I'm not going to lie, but I wouldn't want to be even half of the person he is. He's worth shit. Even if he is worth millions.

My phone begins to vibrate. I pick it up and see that it's Gunner calling me. I stare at it for a few seconds before declining it. He doesn't deserve to speak to me, especially after what I did for him.

My phone rings again. Without looking at the screen I decline it.

My phone rings again, and I decline it once more.

A few seconds later it rings for the fourth time, and I decide to pick it up. "What the fuck do you want?" I spit into the phone.

The line is silent for a few moments. "Hayden?" A soft, familiar female voice speaks from the other end.

Shit. "Sorry, Kristen. I thought you were my friend calling," I explain to her.

I have mixed feelings about Kristen. She's a nice person and all, I don't really have anything against her. Sometimes, I just don't feel all that comfortable around her. Ever since my dad married her, things were different. Granted, she treats me like a son, but I have my own mother to do that. I do appreciate her and what she does for me, but it just weird, sometimes.

"Oh, that's okay. Is everything okay?" She asks, curiously.

"Yeah.. everything's fine," I lie. She's not the person I want to be opening up to about all this shit that's going on. I know her, I know she would be understanding and try to help, but the last thing I need is for my dad to know. We've been so distant lately, on his part, so he doesn't deserve to know anything.

"Oh, alright," she relaxes, "I was just calling to make sure you're still coming tomorrow?"

Fuck. I'm supposed to go to their house tomorrow for dinner. I didn't even want to go, Kristen invited me over because I 'never come around anymore'. I don't know why I took up the offer, probably because I have nothing else better to do on a Saturday.

"What time, again?" I ask her.

"Anytime is okay, dear. Somewhere around four, I guess," she tells me. She sounds desperate and excited for me to come.

I pick up the papers I threw on my table. I skim through all the bullshit before I see the therapy schedule. I'm supposed to be there tomorrow at four. Great.

"Um," I stutter, "I-I can't come tomorrow. I'm sorry."

"Why? Is everything okay dear?" She asks me worriedly. I guess she can tell from my tone of voice that something is up. How do I tell her I can't come for dinner because I'm a fuck up and need therapy now or else I go to prison? I can't, I need to think of some believable lie.

"I, um," I continue to stutter, "I have a date." A date? A fucking date? I haven't had a date since.. ever. I don't do dates. Why would I say a date?

"Oh my! How lovely!" She exclaims, "With who?"

"Uh," I pause. I don't have any names I could use of girls that I know of. "It's a, uh, it's a blind date."

"Oh, how exciting! Well, you probably have to go, I don't want to keep you, but have a great time tomorrow, dear," she tells me.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I can't make it for dinner," I fake an apology. "I'll come by another night." I lie again. I do feel bad canceling, but it's not like I actually wanted to go. I don't want to go to therapy either, I would rather go to my fathers house, but I know if I miss the first session, they'll be on my ass about it.

"Of course! I'll tell your father." My point exactly of not being able to tell her anything without it getting back to my father. "Would you possibly want to come tonight, instead? We were going to go out to Bertucci's to grab pizza."

I sigh. "Okay, I'll see you later." I say and hang up the phone before she can say anything else about my father.