July 2, 2006

Chrysanthemum Skelton never understood why her father insisted on taking her to weird offices in downtown Los Santos. The buildings were large and grey, and the adults would take scans and ask her tons of personal questions.

"So, how's your home life?"

"It's okay, I guess." Chrysanthemum would say.

"Are you sure, sweetie?" the man would say, too childish for her liking. "You always come in with bruises."

"It's nothing. I just fall a lot."

"Onto your eyes?"

"Um... yes."

And Chrysanthemum didn't like the man she would always end up seeing either. He was quite large, and had an unkept, ratty beard. He walked around like he had gone in his pants all the time, and he just smelt bad. Like skunk, Chrysanthemum thought. Plus, according to a conversation she had overheard between her father and the nanny, they had found him "for cheap in the newspaper."

As disgusting as he may have been, at least he treated her better than her father.

"She has anxiety, Mr Skelton." the man said loudly. "And we're going to have to give her some medication to keep those episodes at bay."

Her father leaned forward violently, and spoke quietly as if she wouldn't be able to hear him in the silent office. "My daughter has no such thing. Anxiety doesn't even exist!"

"Actually, sir, it does, and your daughter has it." the man snapped back, narrowing his eyes venomously. "Now, do you want another nanny quitting, or do you want your child to be normal again? It's up to you."

Her father thought for a moment, "I want her to be normal."

"Exactly, sir." the man smile crookedly.

Chrysanthemum thought the entire thing was ridiculous, but her father didn't seem to think so. Later that night when he dragged her into their gigantic house, fuming and yelling, he whipped around and delivered one slap to the cheek.

"Ten dollars for meds?" he yelled, grabbing onto her wrist violently. "Do you have any idea how expensive that is?"

Chrysanthemum grabbed her wrist back, and said, "I don't think ten dollars will make any dent in your money, dad."

He slapped her again, "You either call me sir, remember?"

"Yessir."

"Good." he gritted his teeth, and walked past Chrysanthemum to yell into the house. "Nanny? NANNY!"

"Yes?" the nanny yelled from somewhere in the house.

"Watch the girl, I'm going out."

Then, without another word, he walked right past her and slammed the door on his way out. He didn't come back home that night.

When the next day of school came, the teachers treated Chrysanthemum differently. Almost like they were afraid to bring something up with her father. And all of the children shoved her around. Into lockers, into desks, into chairs, and into door frames. All while yelling, "Pill popper! Pill popper! You're a pill popper!" It hurt, but Chrysanthemum didn't let anybody on that it did.

Then, as if karma had personally done its duty for Chrysanthemum's sake, she watched in amusement as one of the older kids who had been pushing her around "fell" off the top of the slide and broke his ankle.