What is Written

Chapter 3

I open my eyes. The bright light coming through the window shines right on me and burns my eyes, so I shut them quickly. I cover my face with my hands and sigh. Rolling over, I check the time on my phone. How is it already three? I slept that late? I'm so exhausted.

Dinner with my dad was alright. It mainly consisted of awkward conversation about how I'm doing in 'college' and shit, which I still haven't had the heart to tell him that I don't. Kristen kept most of the conversation going, just like she always does. She even took the liberty of ordering three rounds of breadsticks and dipping oil for me, just incase I was 'too shy to ask for more'. She really is nice. I filled up on the damn breadsticks, I didn't have any room left for the margarita pizza she ordered. She knows it's my favorite.

I take a breathe as I sit up and get out of my bed. My stomach turns as I remember that I need to get ready for my first session today. The place is like, twenty minutes away, and if I want to be on time I need to start getting ready now. My laziness wants to forget all about it and make up some lame excuse as to why I didn't show up, but I know I can't. I need to go, no matter how badly I dread it.

I walk into the bathroom in my bedroom and wash my face. I don't have time to take a shower. Why would I even want to freshen up for some prick who's going to be investigating my life? The hot water hits my skin and it feels refreshing. I take a look in the mirror and my hair looks like I haven't brushed it in years. That's the thing I hate about having hair as curly as mine, it's always messy and unkempt. I wet my brush in the hot water and brush around the curls until they look somewhat presentable. I honestly do not care about my appearance, especially when I'm going to something this stupid.

After I'm done brushing my teeth and all that shit, I throw on a random black T-shirt I have in the drawer and some jeans. I hope I don't have to dress nice to this thing, it's more of the assholes job to do that, rather then mine. I wonder if it would be acceptable if I showed up in my pajamas. Which to me, is just my boxers and maybe a pair of sweatpants. I laugh at the thought of me showing up shirtless and in sweatpants, to some douche sitting in a huge leather chair staring at me wondering why I was allowed in public looking like that.

...

What seems like hours at a time in the car, I finally make it to the office building. It's surprisingly tall, and actually nice looking. It's an off white color with nice architecture, something I wasn't really expecting. Pink flowered trees surround the building and line up and down the parking lot.

I park in the closest spot I can find. Almost the entire parking lot is covered in those pink petals that are falling from the trees and I get pissed off at the fact that my car will probably be covered in them by the time I leave.

I check the time and it's ten after four. That's why I hate driving around this time, because the traffic is insane. I'm probably going to get shit from him for being late, but I don't care enough to apologize. I'm not sorry for anything, especially to somebody who I don't even know.

I walk inside the building. The floors are a glossy, shiny tile; everything is so white and clean. I'm probably leaving behind dirt as I walk through the lobby that's how damn clean it is.

"Can I help you?" A woman's voice echoes through the large room. She sits behind the desk, wearing a woman's suit and her hair up in a tight bun. I almost begin to think I'm at the wrong place.

"Uh, yeah. I'm here to see a therapist," I tell her. She looks at me confused.

"Which social worker?" She asks.

"I'm not sure, I was assigned to be here," I explain to her, and she nods in slight confusion but the realization that I'm here for legal reasons.