Louis POV
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Quiet filled the vehicle. The radio was off, windows were up, and the loud silence enveloped me as I turned right at a light.
She wasn't talking. I didn't expect her to be, but I never lost hope. She was mad I wouldn't tell her where we were going. But, I still kept the radio low and to a minimum, so that she knew I was fully open to talk to when she chose to. I always am.
I could see her opening her mouth out of the corner of my eye and I couldn't help but sit up a little straighter, making it clear she had my attention.
"Are you still not going to tell me where we're going or?"
I deflated back, "No. We'll be there in a few minutes. You'll see then."
She rolled her eyes, "Why can't you-"
"Brianna, do not roll your eyes at me," I say firmly. That was one act of disrespect I would take from none of my kids, ever.
"Sorry," she muttered and sat back again.
That was the end of our conversation until I rolled into the parking lot of the psychotherapy center. She visibly tensed in her seat and her eyes widened.
"Hell no!" She screams and shakes her head vigorously. "No! No fucking way dad!"
Because it was a reaction I expected from her, I decide not to scorn her on her language this one time. She was freaking out and I understood why. But we were going to get through it.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and took the key out of the car.
"Brianna.."
"I'm not a damn psycho and I don't need therapy!" She yells. "I'm your daughter, how could you just -"
"Brianna.."
"You're crazy, dad, if you think I'm getting out of this freaking car," she crosses her arms and sits back with a angry, determined look on her face.
Boy, did she look like her mother.
"Honey," I start calmly, "You need this. We need it."
She kept her mouth firmly closed.
"I love you, that's why we're here. I want my old Bri back and it's gonna happen one way or another. I won't go on surviving much longer with my daughter hating me," I pause for a moment as her eyes fill with tears.
"Christ, daddy, I don't hate you."
Daddy.
The last time she called me that was when she was 9 and I was tucking her in. She'd already became a quieter child by that time. She didn't hate me then, I don't think, but now that I looked back at it that was her isolating and soft-speaking stage with me. The hatred and bitterness toward me was slowly building each day and I didn't even realize it.
Now, it was here and I blame no one but myself for doing nothing about it sooner.
I gulp, but ignore her and continue. "This, right here," I gesture to the building, "is my last desperate measure."
"Your old Bri, is gone. So you can stop searching for her," she crosses her arms back and her face went back to being guarded.
No she's not.
"And I'm not getting out of the car," she adds with her mind made up.
Yes she is.
I push the car door open and step out, pushing it closed behind me. Brianna instantly locks the doors, thinking she foiled my entire plan, and I pull my phone out of my pocket. I dial the therapist's number and put the phone to my ear.
