Carter's POV.
The car ride was silent and awkward.
Karen and Timothy had a look of anger and dismay as they pulled up to the building complex.
They made this a much bigger deal than this had to be. I begged and bargained as best as I could. However, they told me it was no use, I had to go.
In reality it's not such a big deal, I guess.
Only once a week for an hour, followed by a checkup with my pediatrician to make sure I was on the correct path to being "sober".
So, here I am. At a bleak looking, three story builiding that will help me become a better young adult. Or so my parents tell me.
"We will pick you up at seven." Timothy barks, causing me to fall from my thoughts and back into the tiny sedan car, where I sit.
I nod, but that is not good enough for Tim, nothing is.
"Did you hear me? I said-", I cut him off, "Yes, I heard you. I will be out at seven." I say with a grimace.
Karen speaks up for the first time in the car ride, "Don't take that sass with your father, missy. We are doing this to help you. Be grateful."
As if, I think to myself. As if I will ever be grateful to either of you.
But I don't say that to them, that would make them mad, and I didn't want to make them mad exactly.
I wanted to make my point.
"He is not my father, and never will be." I say with a slight edge of annoyance in my voice, while opening the door and getting out from the back seat.
I slam the door before they can get another word in, and walk as fast as I can to the front door.
I'm not quick enough, Timothy shouts before I can pull the heavy door open, "I'm grateful for that."
Not even wasting energy to turn around and give him a look, I keep walking into the building.
Once inside I look for the directory and find the the elevators that will lead me to group therapy.
I step inside the small moving box, and press the down button as I watch the slow doors close.
Harry's POV
"This is such shit." I exclaim as we near closer to the complex.
"Harry." My mother says, with a sigh.
I hate this. I don't want to go to 'Group Therapy Fun Time'. Therapy is for people who have problems, and I, have none.
"This sucks, I'm not going. I'm not getting out of the car," I continue to say. My mother surprises me by raising her voice, "You're acting like a child. This isn't even a mild punishment for what you could have recieved."
"I didn't do anything worth recieving a punishment. All I did was go to a fucking gas station and knock a few things over." I say.
"You're so ignorant. It's destruction of property. You're lucky that the clerk didn't press charges." She says so calm and so quiet, that I know I will be in for hell after.
I huff in annoyance and look out of the window. It's true, my punishment isn't even that bad. All I have to do is 12 hours of community service and see a weekly support group. But it's the principle of a thing. I absolutely do not want to be forced into this hell hole, I'd rather do more hours of community service and wear those damn jumpsuits.
"We're hear." My mother says. She sounds relieved when she pulls up in front of the building. "I'm sending your farther to pick you up. I've had enough of you. He will be here at six."
