Perspective

It Gets Better

I had to sit and wait in the office and Mr. Collins had to go back to class. Once again, I was left wishing he could stay but he had to leave. Joey stayed by my side. 

"Don't you have class?" I asked him. He shook his head. 

"Nah. I'm late already. Might as well not go." He replied. 

"You won't get in trouble?" 

"I've got bigger problems than ditching class." He said. I nodded. 

"How are things at home?" I asked him. 

"Are we really going to talk about my home life? It doesn't matter. My mom isn't back yet. She left me a voice mail. She's in the bahamas with Rick." He said. 

"She didn't say when she wouldn't be back?" 

"Nope. I'm trying to make more money at work. But, it'll be fine." He said quickly. "So, how are you doing? Are you okay?" He put his hand on my shoulder. I nodded. 

"I'm feeling a bit better." I told him. "I'm not having crazy delusions, if that's what you mean." He chuckled. 

"You've been through a traumatic experience. I'm pretty sure that's normal." 

"I just feel like a crazy person." I said, starting to chew on my nail. 

"Well, you're not." He said. I leaned my head on his shoulder and let out a sigh and he clasped my hand. "Is your mom picking you up?" 

"Yeah. She's probably just freaking out." I replied. 

"She'll be all right. Just like you will be." 

"Thanks, Joey." 

"Mr. Quinto, don't you have class?" The receptionist upfront called to us. 

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you very much." Joey said sarcastically. I looked at him and giggled. 

"You better go." I said. He kissed my forehead. 

"I'll call you later." He told me. He stood up and walked towards the exit of the office, giving the older receptionist woman a smile and exited. 

My mother came to pick me up about twenty minutes later. She was scared for me and frankly, I was pretty scared for me too. I acted like a lunatic. 

In the car, it was an awkward silence as my mother drove. Finally, I managed to say something. 

"I'm sorry. About last night. I didn't mean to freak out. I think I'm going crazy or something." My mother shook her head. 

"Honey, no. Never. Don't say that. It's called post traumatic stress disorder. It's completely normal." She said. 

"I know, I've heard. But, I still feel like I'm crazy." I admitted. 

"It'll be okay, sweetie. Your dad and I, we're going to have you talk to someone." 

"Therapy." I stated. 

"Yeah. It's okay to talk to someone." 

"Yeah." I agreed. "I can talk to someone."

My therapists' name was Bonnie Rosewood. She was a thin blonde woman, with stunning blue eyes and pale skin. Her voice was like the coo of a dove. She suggested things to help with my trauma. Like thinking of a nice place outside of school where there wasn't anyone to hurt me. I had to lie to her. I told her that my nice place was a field not far from my house. With blooming flowers and I felt as if I could go there just to think about things. But really, I was thinking about Mr. Collins' apartment. I could hardly remember it, but I felt safe there. As if I could tell her that...