Quandary

Treatment

They dragged me towards the room, pulling me by my arms. I shouted for them to let go. I was ignored, like usual.

"It's about time we did this Don."

I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it. The day I go to a therapist is the day I die. I scratched and pulled at the arms of my parents. I opened my mouth and sunk a bite into my father's hand. His cold grasp ceased from my arm. He raised a fist to the air, ready to strike me but managed to stop himself.

"You damn nuisance..."

"I can get better by myself! I can fix my own problems!"

"You won't talk to us Don. You won't talk to your own parents. So this is the only way to put some damn sense in your head. Maybe you'll talk in a therapy room."

"I won't! I won't say a word!"

My mom held me by my two arms, struggling to hold me back from running.

"Don this is the only way! We had to pay two thousand dollars on charges of assault as well as giving you therapeutic treatment!"

"You're all wrong. I'm fine, really..."

"You could have killed that boy!"

The three of us then stood in silence. The only sounds that could be heard were the breaths of my mother as she tried to contain me. I saw the way my father looked down on me. I saw the way he really thought of me.

"You don't know anything. How could you...? You'll never understand what life is like for me. So why don't you go drink a damn beer or something?! That seems to be all you're good for!"

My father clenched down his teeth. Strange, it was just like how I would clench mine down.

"You damn mutt-" Began my father.

"Why don't I stop you there Mr. Kalt."

All three of us averted our attention to a man standing at the end of the hall. He had glasses, ruffled brown hair, a long sleeved shirt draped over him, and black corduroy pants on. His face stared down at my father with a stern expression. He pushed his glasses further up his face. My father took a step back from me.

"I assume this is Don then?"

None of us replied. He walked up to me, tilting his head in a curious expression. His eyes seemed to bury into my very presence. His right hand then pressed onto my back.

"Come this way Don."

I reluctantly followed him to his room, pushing out of the loose grip that my mother had. I took one last look at my parents before the door of the room closed. There were multiple shelves lining the walls which held many books. They ranged from surreal psychology to old fictitious literature. On the right wall was a painting of a skinny man in an orange and black tracksuit, staring down an enormous castle.

"Take a seat Don."

The man pointed to a chair behind me. I slumped down into it. Next to me was a round table with miniature Star Wars figures set across it. It depicted a bunch of clone troopers storming over a battlefield against an army of droids.

"You like Star Wars?"

I jumped up in reaction to his observation.

"Oh no- I uh- well I don't dislike it- I-"

"It's okay Don. You can be as open as you want here."

I closed my mouth and kept quiet. I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. I wanted to leave this room so badly but I didn't want to be rude to this man. After all, he was just doing his job.