3 months later.
"Why do you blame yourself?"
"Why do I blame myself? Well, why wouldn't I. After all. I caused this. I am the reason it happened. I'm always the reason for anything terrible."
"You shouldn't put yourself through this."
"You pitying my, and telling me that I shouldn't do this and shouldn't do that isn't really helping. I don't even know why I'm here in the first place."
Yelling at your therapist, also doesn't help. She's just trying to help you, but you keep pushing away. Why? Why do you keep pushing away? Don't you want help? Don't you wanna get over it?
Our thoughts flood our minds, but they only make me feel worse.
I haven't seen this kid in three months. And I still feel like a piece of shit.
My mom got me a therapist, but she hasn't been helping. Nobody can help me.
I kick the rocks with my feet, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jacket. I turn into the empty diner, the bell jingling above the door.
"Hey, Emma."
"Hey, Pablo."
Pablo. The owner of this diner. Probably the only person I trust these days. Pablo's diner is my home. It's where I feel at peace. Talking to Pablo is like talking to your therapist dad. He's great with advice.
"How was therapy today?" He asked handing me a vanilla milkshake. The clocked chimed 9:32.
9:30 was the time I would always reach there. That's the time where nobody shows up, except me.
"The usual. Bad." I sigh. "Pablo, I ask you this question everyday. Why can't I get over him." I say feeling a small tear drop on my shirt.
"Ohh, Emma. The hardest is getting over loved ones. But Emma, you still have a chance. Ethan is still out there. You can fix things with him."
"No, Pablo. I cant. He put me through so much pain. He never talked to me again after that day. He didn't even let me explain. That's his fault, not mine." I argue.
"You say you need help, but you don't want it, right?" He asks. I nod my head, knowing it was true.
"But the only person who can help you, is him."
