Skinny Boy ✔

Chapter 50: bad attitudes

What did I do with my time during spring break that wasn't spent in a hospital bed? Pretty much stayed in my room. At least I wasn't hooked up to wires and IVs in this bed, though. But I didn't see the point in doing anything other than moping around, hoping a miracle would happen and I'd be healed and free to go. Free to do what I want...what I need. Staying cooped up in your room all day for several days straight, listening to sad and angsty music, all while watching the world outside like you're trapped in a bubble, is enough to make the average person feel more than a little down. Add to that having taken away what you thought was your whole life, being stripped of your identity, and it's safe to say that I was utterly depressed. 

I wasn't exactly hiding my low mood, so mom quickly caught on and, as usual, tried to fix whatever she thought was wrong with me. 

Maybe I don't want you to fix me, have you ever thought of that? That's what I wanted to say, but couldn't. I knew it would destroy her, and hadn't I done enough to her already? 

Unfortunately, this meant being dragged to therapy, despite my please, protests, and bribes. Yes, I actually tried to bribe my way out of a therapy session. I offered to clean the bathroom--scrubbing floors and all--in attempt to avoid the unavoidable. Despite my tempting offer (which dad actually considered for a second before seeing mom's death glare), the parents refused to budge. I was going to therapy, and that was that. 

So what other choice did I have? 

I still had some cards to play. So I tried my hand at threats and bluffing. So like a child, I ignored them, only answering when threatened with a punishment. Childish, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right? At one point I actually hinted at running away. Not a flat-out suggestion, just enough to put the idea in their heads that I wouldn't be afraid to try it if they forced me to go. 

Finally, I told them I wouldn't say anything to the therapist, and would once again sit in silence for the whole session. They wouldn't want to waste their time and money, would they? 

Little did I know that they had the perfect response for this. 

"Then how about a support group instead?" mom suggested. 

I let out a laugh, thinking she was only playing my game and bluffing, herself. 

Oh, but she was serious, alright. 

"That sounds like a great idea," dad agreed, then exchanged a malicious look with mom. Well, it wasn't actually a malicious look, but to me it might as well have been. 

"Not funny," I said, getting tired of this sort of sick joke they were playing on me. 

But it wasn't a joke, and they were both serious. 

"You know, one of the options for getting you help that the doctor gave us was trying group therapy or support groups," she further explained. 

"Support groups for what? What do you think I even need support for?" 

This is ridiculous. 

"Nathan, we know you have issues with body image," dad said. "And we understand that you don't like talking about it with your parents and want to pretend this isn't an issue--"

This is seriously ridiculous! 

"--but we at least want you to try talking with other people you can level with." 

"Level with?" I laughed humorlessly. "You think I'm supposed to level with some teenage girls who whine about being fat?" 

"Okay, no," mom snapped. In an instant, all the sympathy left her expression. She was done reasoning with an unreasonable person. She was done playing the nice guy. "You're frustrated, and I get that, but there is absolutely no reason for you to bash people you haven't met." 

I simply rolled my eyes and let out a grumble. 

"You have no idea who is in those groups," dad said. "For all you know, there could be someone like you in there." 

"Someone like me?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" 

"I mean...someone who's going through what you're going through. You know what I mean!" 

There was a sense of twisted accomplishment in knowing that I was now no longer the only one visibly frustrated. 

I folded my arms in front of me. "I can't believe you guys!" 

"Us?" mom pointed a finger between the two of them. She let out a slight laugh, as so it were funny for me to say such a thing. "I can't believe you! I try to reason with you, but you don't listen!" 

"That's funny coming from you." 

We were both hurling insults and throwing accusations at this point, and probably would have kept doing so if dad hadn't interrupted us and our petty fighting. 

"You know what? Your mother's right, there isn't any reasoning with you. Which is why we keep insisting on getting you help! We just want to show you instead of trying to explain." 

"Explain what?" I asked. "You haven't tried explaining anything to me!" 

"Are you kidding me?" mom started, but before we could start again with our bickering in circles, dad spoke again. 

"You don't see it because you don't understand," he said. "You don't need to, though. You're going and that's that." 

Of course, I couldn't let the conversation end with admitting defeat. So I gave my two cents and, as usual, caused the conversation to fizzle away in an argument. 

Come to think of it, I'm not sure if I had any conversation those few conflict-filled days that didn't become a fight. 

~

Consistent updates again...cool! 

Thoughts? 
How about on his attitude towards his parents? Not sure how they keep so much patience with him. 

Question of the day: what's the weather like where you live? Is it changing? It's getting warmer here, and I love it! 

Teaser: will his parents follow through on their word and make him go?