Chapter One.
It was early March of the first year of the century, my foster parents decided to put me into therapy. Did I want to go? No. Did I have a choice? No. My foster mother, Linda was a small woman that had long black hair that complemented her face perfectly. Her husband, Leo was a former War Officer who was paralyzed from the waist down, but he went to his little day job. I always told them they did to much for me, and that I didn't deserve it. But-They just urged me to go.
They drove me to the Therapist's office. Linda told me his name was Mathis. Telling them they could just drop me off and go shopping or whatever (I didn't really care) I walked into the office, telling the lady behind the desk my name. "A'rite Toby, have a seat." I took a seat, looking at the people around me. They where all in their early thirties, late twenties. I fixed my shirt that said 'Suck it' in big bold letters, on a galexy background. I was wearing black leggings and a pair of cheap sneakers.
It didn't take long for the sexiest person to come out and great me.
I'm kidding.
No. He was sexy, messy light brown hair. Eyes that could make a girl fall into a trance. Lets not forget about that body of his. No-Toby snap out of it! "Hello here, I'm Mathis, but I suppose you already knew that," he held out his hand. "You should already know my name, with that clip board you have." I said, before shaking his hand. "Hm," he paused, turned, pulling me behind him, expecting me to follow. I did.
We walked into the room, "You can sit there." he motioned to a chair. I sat down, he sat down infront of me. "Before we begin.." He paused. "I must ask.. What exactly are you sucking?" he gestured to my shirt. The first thing I thought of was 'Your dick.' but I didn't say that. He had to be 21 at the least. I was fourteen. No. "Does it matter?" "I suppose not..." he trailed off. "Good."
"So, Toby-"
"Link."
"Excuse me?"
"/Link/." I repeated.
"I don't understand-"
"You don't need to understand. My name is Link. Write that down." He did.
"Before we begun, I must ask you to stop interrupting-"
"Oops." I grinned.
"Young ladies shouldn't-"
"I don't play by the fucking rules, sweetheart. Write that down." He did.
"Anyways," he paused "Why don't you tell me about yourself."
"Wouldn't you rather know why I'm here?" I said. Damn his voice. "I want to get to know you." I hated doing this, but I nodded my head. "I play video games. I don't like myself. I don't like people. I don't like drunk people. I don't like guns. I don't like people in general." I said, watching him nod a few times.
"My parents died a year ago from a shooting." I added. "Well, Link. If you brought those up well will discuss these things then!" There was a silence. "Your parents.-"
"Foster parents." I corrected.
"Right. Foster parents have told me you haven't gotten over their death."
"Why should I get over seeing my parents being killed right in front of me? Why should I get over seeing my dad's brains splatted on me from trying to protect me? I should be dead." I said, looking down. Fuck. I was about to cry and I guessed he could see that. "I'm sorry to hear that. I gather from this you're not one to sugar coat things."
"Why should I? You're here to help me right?"
"Right."
"Good."
"Good."
"See. We're finally getting some where."