"Thank you for coming, Eli." She said to me, as I sat down in that chair, I didn't know it yet, but I was going to have a lot of deep conversations in that chair. She had this smile on her face, a really soothing one, her glasses pushed up to the top of her nose, head tilted down, as she looked at her notepad. "Well, this is your first session. I figured you should tell me anything you'd like." She said nodding a few times as I stared at her blankly. What did she want me to say? I must've forgotten. A few minutes passed, and I hadn't said a word to her. "Eli?" she asked, as she tilted her head and her glasses slid down her nose a little. "Are you going to say anything?" she questioned.

"I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to say." I said, shrugging very lightly, looking over at her. "Do you want me to talk about myself? Tell my life story? Isn't this only an hour session?" I questioned, coming off almost cocky and annoyed. She let out a sigh.

"If we don't get finished with what we were talking about, we can continue it in a few days, alright?" she said, trying to smile over at me. "You'll see me three times a week, I'm sure that's enough time for you to tell me everything you'd like to tell me. Start from wherever you'd like."

I sighed, thinking about it for a few seconds. "Alright." I said finally as I figured out what I was to say to her. "I guess, it all started out around the third grade, we moved to Barrie, a little ways off from here – and Bullfrog and CeCe sent me to some private Catholic school. They made us learn French, and pray to Mary and stuff, I didn't do it, I hate religion. Everything was okay; I just went along, blended in, went to school, learned, and came home every day. Nobody really bothered me until about the fifth grade…

"You're not going to listen, I'll make you listen." He said, holding me up by my private school polo collar, shoving me against the brick wall. "I'll teach you to listen." He said, as he punched me over and over in the stomach. I just let him, I didn't fight back – to be honest, I didn't know how to fight back. Nobody had taught me. "Are you going to listen?" he yelled, and as I was about to squeak out words, the bell rang, and down I fell onto the ground as he let go of my collar and ran off back to class. That was the third time this week Mike had tried to beat me up – or, did beat me up. Eli, fight back, you can, just take your fists and hit him back. It shouldn't be too hard. It probably isn't. I would always tell myself, but I'd never have the will to hit him back. No matter how fast I ran, he was always faster, no matter how much I tried to fight back he just beat me harder, more. It was the worst. I came home every day with bruises all over my arms, stomach, legs, face, anything he could get his hands on and bruise – was bruised. I never told CeCe or Bullfrog, I didn't want them to worry. I doubt they would've cared anyway, maybe Bullfrog would've told me to fight back, kick his ass, something encouraging like that, and CeCe would've bandaged up my wounds, but it didn't matter, I'd still get beaten even more the next day.

And then it came the end of the fifth grade, when we'd be graduating into the junior high section of that backwater Catholic school. We'd have to attend church every week, speak fluent French, and take communion with the chapel, and every morning with our Bible teacher. The only upside to that, was that we'd drink from real wine – and you can imagine how any young boy thought about that. Or maybe it was just everyone I knew. Beside the point, it was the last day of school, and we were graduating, another thing, was Bullfrog, CeCe, and I were moving. Thank God we were moving. Thank anything we were moving. Away from Mike, away from anyone around here I couldn't stand it. The last day of school, and Mike said he was going to give me one last beating before the summer. You could probably understand how nervous I was, being nine years old and all. Being told I'm about to get pounded by the guy who had been tormenting you your entire school year. He told me right after the ceremony it was going to go down. But that was kind of a problem. We were leaving directly after the ceremony. I didn't want to come off as a pussy – when in reality I was a complete and total pussy. I couldn't fight him. I didn't want to die trying either. But I couldn't blow it off and leave him hanging, especially since that'd be the last he'd ever see or hear from me. He'd probably think I skipped town, being so afraid to fight him. No – I had to stand up for myself and do it. Fight back. So all day before the ceremony, I practiced pretending to punch things in the mirror before it was put into the moving truck. And after that, I just stopped, and mentally prepared myself. Mentally preparing myself, meaning I snagged Bullfrog's box of playboy magazines and admired them until the ceremony.

"And welcome, Saint Carl's, graduating grade five class of 2005!" Mrs. Hamilton, the principle said as she waved us out the door of the Multi-Purpose Room, probably wanting to get us out as quick as possible. Bullfrog and CeCe stood admirably next to Bullfrog's car, his arm around her waist, waving me over with proud grins, but I couldn't go yet. I had unfinished business to take care of – Mike. I held up a finger and weakly smiled as I walked around the building to find Mike and his gang of bullies waiting for me, literally waiting for me.

"Look who showed up! Little Gapsworthy!" they mocked, laughing. I clenched my fists, gritted my teeth, getting ready to take him down – or at least, try. "C'mon." they said as they walked towards me. Before they could even touch me, I swung at Mike, swiping my fist across his face, actually knocking some teeth out of his mouth, as he fell to the ground. I must've hit him right in the jaw or something to hurt him so hard. He was bleeding everywhere. The rest of the group stared at me, as I stood there completely confused about what I had just done – or how I had done it. And in a flash, they all took off as fast as they could, running like children away from me. I heard one of them scream "TEACHER!" and I knew why they were really running. My parents, stood there looking at me and Mike crying on the ground in pain. Disappointment flashed across their faces. I'm dead. I'm dead. I thought to myself. Bullfrog walked up to me and grabbed me by the arm, yanking me back to the car, telling me how horrible that was of me to do. Honestly, I didn't care. I had actually fucking stood up for myself and I thought that was all that mattered.

…

"Look's like the hours up, Eli." She said as I snapped out of my flashback of telling her my childhood and nodded. She put her small clipboard in her briefcase and smiled at me. "You can continue your little life story on Thursday, alright?" she said as she looked up, noticing her next therapy session was about to start.

"Okay, cool." I said, standing up out of the chair, "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name." I said, swallowing a little as I looked back at the leather chair I had been sitting in.

"You may call me Miss Emily, Eli." She said, trying to wave me out the door. "I'm sorry I have to shoo you out, but you see my next patient is here." The word patient kind of upset me. I wasn't sick. Or, was I?

Thanks for reading! Wanna be a sweety and review? xoxo-Arielle and Bea