Life in Search ✔️

50 ~ Free

I hate Atlanta.

I hate the people. I hate the traffic. I hate that I have to be back here right now. I should be back home, helping Scarlett through her stressful week with the social worker. Not here.

It's been three days and all we've done is move things out of storage and sell it. It's a constant cycle that I'm over. Mom and Dad are insistent that we go out to all our old favorite restaurants.

It just makes me paranoid.

"Ashton, there's a stop I have to make, come with me, please?" Mom asks but I know it's not an option.

Sighing I ride with her, Scarlett's face filling up my screen as we park.

Walking, I answer. "Hello, Sweetheart."

"Hi, I miss you." She says.

"I miss you." I admit, I'd much rather be with her right now. "How did everything go?"

Holding the door open for mom, I'm not prepared for the screech that fills my ear. "Oh, Ashton, it was perfect! The lady was so nice and she loved us."

"That's amazing, so it's a go?" I ask, sending mom a thumbs up.

"Friday, I'll know for sure but I'm pretty hopeful."

"Wow, that's great, Scar." I say, unable to wrap my head around it. Beyond great.

"Ashton." Mom says, motioning for me to hang up.

"Sweetheart, I have to go but I'll call you later." I say and she offers a goodbye before the line goes dead.

Putting my phone up, I'm about to ask mom where we are when an all too familiar face steps into view. "Mister McClain, you're right on time for our appointment."

Glaring at mom, I try to remain calm. "You brought me to see Doctor Williams?"

"Ashton, you got into a fight and I need to make sure you're okay. Besides, with the nightmares I figured it'd be good to discuss them with someone who isn't me." She tries to reason with me.

"Nope, I'm not doing this." I snap, turning to head for the door.

"I'll call Scarlett." Mom threatens.

I stop, "You wouldn't dare."

"Someone has to talk some reason into you."

My own mother is going to black mail me with my girlfriend. Glaring at her, I know there's no out.

"Fine."

Storming past my mother and therapist, a wiry old woman who's seen more troubled kids than I could shake a stick at, I go to the room I hate.

She follows me while mom makes herself comfortable in the waiting room. Plopping down on the red couch worn with use, I wait.

"How have you been, Ashton?" She asks tentatively.

"Better."

"How is your life in Tennessee?"

"Better."

"Ashton, I don't care how upset you are, but I will not tolerate pouting in my office. The sooner you sit up like the 17-year-old you are and answer these questions, the better off you'll be." She snaps.

Damn, I forgot how much of a hardass she was. There's a reason mom sent me to this woman.

Readjusting myself, I pick at the now patched hole in the sofa. "My life is better. I have friends. I play football. I have a scholarship to the University of Alabama. My gpa is great. My only B is in Algebra, which I find totally reasonable." I begin to ramble off all the accomplishments I've achieved in the last six months.