"I take a scar every time I cry.
Cause it ain't my style, no it ain't my style." - The Distilers
"No way, Dad. There's no way I'm going to see a, a... shrink, of all things."
Charlie rolled his eyes, "No ifs, ands, or buts, Bella. You can't help yourself, so Doctor Yorker is going to help you get over it. And the correct term is psychotherapist."
I blatantly rolled my eyes and shook my head, pulling a plain black jacket on and grabbing the keys to my truck, but Charlie just shook his head.
"No, I'm driving you this time, Bella. I'm sorry, but I know you'll just drive around and not go to your appointment."
I rolled my eyes and heaved an extremely angry sigh, then stomped outside and opened the passenger door to the cruiser, shoving myself in and heaving another annoyed sigh.
Charlie lumbered outside and got into the cruiser, pausing for a moment to stare at me, his daughter, the crazy one, who was just staring blankly out the windshield, eyes narrowed, and arms crossed across my chest.
"Look, Bell, I'm re-"
I rolled my eyes and waved him off, "Save it. Let's just get this over with."