The very same day, I got suspended from school for breaking government property, my father had to leave his work to pick me up and pay for the damages I've done. The headmaster suggested I should not come back to school until I fixed my "anger issues". My father was pissed, then again, he had no more words to spout at me, since none did I receive.
He drove me straight to Dr. Boldwinman, my therapist, I had to sit outside his office for the past 20 minutes while my father had a conversation with him. Father left, I had to go inside and sit next to him hearing him babbling, occasionally letting me babble. Basically, in my mind the conversation went like this;
Him: "Blah blah blah?"
"Blah" : Me
"Bleh bleh bleh bleh, bleh bleh"
"...."
"Blah blah blah bleh?"
"Bleh blah"
"MOO MOO MOO MOOO"
"QUACK QUACK"
Yeah, the definition of horrible. At the end of our time, he really couldn't get anything out of me because I didn't really like to talk to this old man. He sensed that, so, he indirectly asked me to attend community counseling, where all the crazy kids go to talk about how depressing their life is because of their mental illness.
Me, being the gentleman that I am, fumed by this absurdity hit the crystal table so hard it broke into thousands of little pieces. Thankfully he didn't call the police on me, he called someone that is worser than the police. Asher Kinsley. My "guardian".
He is my driver, in other words, my freaking... I am ashamed to use that word! Baby sitter! Ha!
I said it, he shoved me forcefully into the car, took me to one place I dread the most.
"You're father's order" he declared.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Kyle Preston
Short StoryA troubled teen with Anger management issues decides to write down his thoughts and feelings about the people around him to control his anger.
