"Why do you think you're here Dean" The woman in the chair says coolly.
"My dad thinks I'm messed up," is all I give her.
"Are you?"
"No," I lie.
I stare at a spot past her shoulder, where she has a picture of a handsome kid with big brown eyes, high cheekbones, and sandy blonde hair. The therapist follows my gaze.
"That's my son, Adam," she explains.
I don't say anything. Not when all I could think is if he is as screwed up as everyone else with a therapist for a mom. He was probably even more screwed up come to think of it.
"Dean?"
I jump and look into her brown eyes but quickly take interest in my hands.
"Your mom. What happened to her?" The therapist prodded.
"She's dead."
"And you're fine with that...?"
"What? No! Of course not," I say shocked at such a stupid thing.
"Well tell me what happened."
"There was a fire. My dad got Sam and me out but I couldn't save her."
I remembered that night as it seamlessly materialized around me. Mom had gotten up because Sam was crying. I know because I was my playing my Gameboy, and had to hide it, pretending to sleep. The TV was on downstairs, I could hear Dad snoring. Mom came upstairs again probably from checking on Dad, but there was a scream. I jumped out of bed, running to here. Dad was already there though. He could save her. He could save anyone. Dad handed Sam to me and to me to run. So I did.
"What do you mean you couldn't save her?"
The memories crumbles, I was in the therapist's office again. Her brown eyes unblinking. I shrug, I wouldn't tell her. How it was my fault because she had asked me to put Sammy to bed, and if I had done it right then he wouldn't have woken her up. So she wouldn't have gotten out of bed.
"Mom always told me that angels were watching over me. I wish they had been watching over her, because she was really special."
"I bet she's watching over you right now."
"Angels watch over people who are special," I mutter.
"Dean I'm not really allowed to talk about religion but you have a guardian angel. Even if it isn't your mother."