"you need help."
"no i don't."
"admitting you need help is the first step to recovery."
andrea scoffed.
"then you should admit it you need help, because your therapy career needs recovery."
she wasn't in the mood to be here. she wanted to be home, alone.
"i excused your rudeness and will today because i know it's the week of your mothers death."
silence filled the room as she brought that up.
andrea stood up, and her therapist let out a sigh knowing what would happen next, and exactly as she thought, andrea left the room, this time crying.
YOU ARE READING
Cuts.
Short Storyi drew a butterfly on my wrist, in hopes that this feeling would no longer persist, but things got bad and i started to cry, so the butterfly on my wrist had to die. once again i tried to set myself free, but it seems my thoughts have stolen the ke...
