The Skylar Experiment : Dead Ending (second draft)

Chapter Ten-Motherly Concerns

Beware of the longer chapter! (3k words). TW abt therapy and mental health issues

RILEY

"I AM NOT going in there."

Mom passed me a determined look and seemed like she wanted to hold my face, but I was glaring at her so openly that she changed her mind. Hurt flashed across her features but she didn't say anything.

I eyed the tall, brick-walled office building with tiny windows on the sides and felt a need to stomp on the asphalt like a five-year-old. I repeated it to myself once again: I was not going in there. I didn't care if Mom wanted to reassure herself or to find what was wrong with me. She couldn't help me, and I'd much rather she stopped trying before bad things would happen to her.

"Honey, please..."

"No!" I threw my arms up and dragged my feet over the curb. The car ride had been painful enough, now this? This was ridiculous. I spoke in a derisive laugh. "I'm not going to see a therapist, Mom."

She folded her arms. "It's too late. I booked an hour and it would be plain disrespectful to not show up. You worry me so much... I leave for a few months and you're a completely different person."

I paced in fury, my legs restlessly wiggling when I stopped for a second.

"And Dad was okay with it?"

She pursed her lips. "He... wasn't sure it's what you need, but your father doesn't have the answers to everything. You need help. Real help, Riley."

God, what I needed was for her to leave me the hell alone. She didn't know what she was talking about. It was rich coming from her, considering that she left me hanging for months with nothing but scant calls and suddenly she rolled into town thinking she could invade my life and change it the way she wanted to? She'd warned me last-minute of this appointment and decided this herself.

Mom stepped closer, deciding to approach me despite the steam coming out of my ears.

"Baby... Don't cry... I know it's scary but we only want what's best for you. If you're not comfortable talking to me or your father, a professional is the best way to go." She squeezed my arm in support, a genuine hope glimmering in her eyes before shifting to fear. "I bet your Dad hasn't noticed the long sleeves, but I did."

My mouth opened only to let out a little scoff. I couldn't believe this. "You think I'm cutting."

"It can happen when you feel like the world around you is spinning out of control," she said kindly, but her voice wobbled. "I don't want to see you suffer, honey. Please let someone help you."

"I'm not—" I took a deep breath, realizing I was yelling in the city street. "I'm not hurting myself, Mom." I unrolled the sleeves of my parka just a bit to show her my unblemished wrists. "See?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Honey, that doesn't mean it's not somewhere else. I've seen your legs, so unless you can show me the rest of your arms, I won't be convinced."

She looked at me expectantly, and I wished I had the ability to wipe memories clean. No, I couldn't show her my arms entirely and I could never do that. She'd see the bite and tell Dad, and then who knew what would happen then. He'd know it happened after moving here. When I didn't answer or make a move to reveal my skin, Mom took it for an absolute verdict of doom and nearly started crying.

"You are seeing this man, have I made myself clear?" she stated roughly. "I am not letting this get worse. I knew it was a bad idea for you to live with your father. He isn't perceptive enough to take care of you."