Have you ever loved someone so much you'd give an arm for- not the expression, no, literally give an arm for. When they know they're your heart and you know you are their armour, and you'd destroy anyone who'd try to harm them.
-Eminem (when i'm gone)
...
I always visit him on Thursdays. Sam's most sober then - I think it's because I told him last year that my favourite day of the week is a Thursday. Something about the way the letters go together is almost… poetic. I'm surprised he still remembers.
Today didn't go well. He was more drunk then usual… and he slapped me. Of course, it was just the alcohol, and he cried afterwards, and begged forgiveness, which I gave… but there's something haunting (not in a good way) when you see your boyfriend's eyes give a dangerous glint as his hands rear up to serve the punishing blow. But I don't blame him. It was the alcohol. But I just wish sometimes… I wish what I was good enough to show him that you don't have to drink your sorrows away. You don't have to live your life wasting away in a crappy little apartment in the worst part of town.
He doesn't love me the way I love him - otherwise he would've stopped drinking. For me.
But I love him even more for trying.
As I'm walking I see I'm near the park next to my house. I don't want to go in my house, face the incoherent high mother and small, innocent boy.
He's only six. He doesn't deserve all this.
I crouch down near the entrance to the small grey tunnel in the playground, remembering the days I would just sit in there. Just sit, and think.
I crawl into the tunnel entrance, nearly banging my head against the roof. I manoeuvre myself onto the side of the damp concrete wall and lean my head against the cool cement. The inside of the tunnel is basically the same, with mouldy patches and snubbed out cigarettes and graffiti covered walls, but I've grown. I don't remember being able to touch the end of the tunnel with my feet before.
I sigh and close my eyes, just to sit and listen to the wind. To enjoy the peace of the moment.
After a while somebody enters the tunnel, and settles themselves beside me. I think for a little while longer, then exit my little world of solitude. My brown eyes meet Iggy's pale blue ones.
"You still come here, huh?" I shrug.
"You remember?" I ask. He nods.
"Yeah. You said it was a place it just sit and think." We sit in silence for a while. Suddenly, Iggy's head snaps up and he grins devilishly.
"Don't do much thinking, anymore, right?"
I laugh and shake my head.
"Don't have the time," I respond.
...
"Maximum Ride?" The pretty red headed woman calls me up from the waiting room with a sugary smile. "My name's Dr Dwyer, and I'll be your… help for the time being." I grunt as a response. She nods kindly, like she expected it, and leads me to her office where we can 'pursue more private matters'. Yeah right.
So this is what having a therapist is like.
"Now, honey, we're going to start with some simple questions, okay?" she asks once she sits me down in her office in a slightly uncomfortable chair a with 'soothing' music in the background to 'set the tone'. Sure. I don't say anything. "Now… do you have any favourite hobbies you enjoy?" She asks these things gently, like I'm going to explode any moment.
"Do emo things, listen to emo music, write emo poems- basically anything to do with emoness." I reply, faking an earnest expression. She frowns, and takes a calming breath.
"Sweetie, I think we need to be honest here… now, truthfully, what do you like doing in your spare time?" I almost laugh. Almost.
"Really?" I ask, faking being worried. "You won't tell anyone?" I see Dr Dwyer leaning forward in her chair eagerly, clipboard ready, and suppress a smile.
"I like to dress up my barbie dolls," I say in a stage-whisper, before dropping the act and bursting into cruel laughter. I see Dr Dwyer sigh, frustrated, leaning back and tugging on her hair disappointedly. I think she can tell I won't be an easy patient.
...
I try to pretend nothing's wrong that night with Ari, playing with Anakin Skywalker and OB1, putting on smiles and laughs. But the therapist was so fake… she didn't care about me. She was just pretending.
"Maxie, what's wrong?" Ari's little face is stubborn, and I can't keep this from him forever.
"You know when people are crazy, they go to people to help them be not crazy?" I ask gently. He nods, confusion creeping into his green eyes. "Well, I went to see one of those people today." He frowns.
"You're not crazy, Maxie!" I nod, almost surprised at his certainty.
"No," I agree. "I'm not. But the principal thinks so, and she's forcing me to go." Ari nods, surprisingly understanding for a boy his age. But then again, he never has been the most normal. "She's just so fake." I mutter, more to myself then him, but he crawls over and wraps his skinny arms around me. I sigh, and bury my face in his shaggy hair. He's better then any therapist ever will be.
Hi. I haven't updated in a while. Sorry about that. Here's the next chapter. Hope you enjoy.Thanks.
SS