Where The Light Doesn't Reach

4.

Therapy.
That's what my parents decided on for me.

After I passed out, I was taken to the nurse where they reached out to my emergency contacts (which in this case are my parents),  and my mom had to unwillingly leave work to come pick me up. It was a bit weird, bringing back memories from when I was in elementary school, but she made sure I knew she wasn't happy about it. She scolded me for my "behavior" and finally cracked down.

I have to go to therapy.

Of course I argued and objected, since I'm old enough to make my own decisions, however my words fell on deaf ears - as usual - and the decision was final. Either I go to therapy or move out, those were the only two options. I'm legally an adult and they can kick me out whenever they'd like, especially since they're getting tired of supporting me when I'm not really doing anything but school.

So, in their words, I either "clean up my act" or find a new place to stay. Considering I don't have any friends or income, I guess I'll have to go with the first choice. I have no job, car, drivers license, or a place to go, so I'm currently stuck. On the bright side, I only agreed to go see a therapist, not actually talk to one. It's not like they can make me, so I'm not going to.

The first thing on my list of worries right now though is Gray; he saw the bruises on my wrist. He's not stupid, it's clearly from someone's fingers and literally anyone would know what created them by just a glance.

One mistake. Just one, and now someone might know.

Needless to say, I've been too afraid to face him and I ignore his texts and calls. Knowing that Gray might look at me differently from now on - with disgust or pity, I don't know - I've been locking myself in the bathroom for even longer periods of time.

I've even considered ending it all, which is honestly a debate I have with myself on the daily. I'm sure my parents would be more than happy if I just disappeared, leaving them with their only "normal" son - the proud shining beacon of the family.

If only they knew.

But that's precisely why they can't know; they can't have two fuck-ups as their kids, that just wouldn't be fair.

Gray's facial expression as he looked at my wrist pops up in my mind again, and I swallow thickly as anxiety pools in my gut. He didn't look disgusted, but the shock there was evident and he clearly started to make his own conclusions about the cause.

He can't know. He just can't.

I won't let him in anymore - I'll have to try even harder to ignore him. It won't be easy, but then again when was anything?

Then I hear it:
Mom's shouting at me from the living room.

I cringe, wondering why she's back home so early and knowing I'm gonna be in for it since she knows I had class today.

Damn it.

"Carter Matthew— what in God's name are you doing home right now?!"

She continues on  while stomping up the stairs to the bathroom where I'm currently sitting, and she bashes her fist against the door in a crude and angry way of knocking. I stay silent - I can't deal with her right now.

"You get out of there right this second! I swear— When your father gets home you're going to be sorry! Don't you dare forget about your therapy session tonight either, you're sure as hell not getting out of that!"

She seems to get the hint that I'm not going to respond or leave anytime soon, so she huffs once more before stomping away.

Great, that's going to be fun to deal with.
If anything, I can always just kill myself in the end.