Lately, it seems like all I am is a list of disorders. Generalized anxiety disorder and depression. Every time I go to therapy, they call "Reese Turner?" into the vast waiting room. Once I get back to meet with the therapist, they always say something along the lines of "So, Reese, you're suffering from generalized anxiety and depression. Have any of the gotten better or worse since our last visit?" to which I always smile and say "Better, Dr. Fritz. I feel like therapy has been helping a lot."
It's a lie, of course.
I've gotten very good at lies.
After I say my standard lie, the therapist always smiles and claps me on the back. "I'm so glad!" Dr. Fitz will say, smiling. "Has anything happened since our last talk you want to talk about?"
(Talk. Like it's a simple talk. Everything I say, everything I do, I being recorded and reviewed by a shrink. It's not a talk, it's a game of "who's the better liar?")
Lately, I am.
YOU ARE READING
shattered smile
Teen FictionReese is a sophomore at Hillcrest High school, where wealth and popularity are everything, and introverted, shy girls like Reese are something for the popular girls to torture. Reese's only hope is to get a scholarship for college so she can escape...
