"Just get in the car!" My Aunt Kara yells.
Apparently she wanted me to go see a therapist 49 minutes after she informed me that she's forcing me to see one.
I violently shake my head no, my feet firmly planted on the front porch.
She literally had to carry me outside.
I'm pretty sure her arm is purple right now.
That's what she gets for forcing me to see a therapist though.
"Molly Marie Benson, you are going to get in that car, buckle your seat belt, and go see that therapist do you understand?" She says, deadly calm.
That was the last straw.
I silently scream, turn around and run back into the house.
At least I try to.
Apparently she expected me to do that, because before I know it her arm is wrapped firmly around my waist and I'm being dragged inside the car.
Not only do I have to see a therapist, I have to be in a car too.
I don't ride in cars.
Because it happened.
Today is just not my day.
Cars.
Therapists.
"Why are you making m do this?", I silently thought, pretending I was talking to my Aunt Kara.
I'm not surprise when she doesn't answer.
That would be kinda weird if she did.
Before I know it, I'm being buckled into the front seat.
Before I can undo my seatbelt and leap to freedom, the car is started and we're pulling out of the drive way.
I start to sweat out of pure nervousness about riding in a car.
And seeing a therapist.
I wonder if we are to far for me to jump out.
YOU ARE READING
49
Short Story"The number 49 never used to have any significance in my life. It was always just the number after 48 and before 50. But that was before it happened."
