I hate my parents.

I really do.

Who do they think they are, trying to send me to some god-awful, stuffy, preppy, way-too-expensive school? I don't know, but I wasn't going to sit there one more minute and listen to them tell me about how they're doing this because they love me and all that garbage. Please. They just want me out of their hair. Send crazy Kelsey away for someone else to deal with me. It was clear they wanted to give up.

So now, I'm sitting out on the curb of the Las Vegas Crime Lab after running out of the room. I didn't let them see me cry, but the tears started as soon as I was sure they weren't behind me. Usually, they just let me go when I'm upset, and have my crying bout. They haven't seen me really cry in years, because I won't let them. I don't want their comfort.

I hear the door open and close, and the footsteps are slow and calm. I don't know which one it is yet, but I just rest my arms on my knees and bury my face. I feel a large, warm hand on my back, but I sense that it's not my dad. Wiping at my eyes a little bit, I lift my head up to see Warrick.

Warrick has always been good to me. Whenever I'm getting sick of my parents, which is often at this stage in my life, I know I can call him. It's neat to have a grown-up friend; one that's non-judgmental and won't get me in trouble. Well, I know he'd tell my parents if he knew I was doing something dangerous, like cutting myself. But I can trust him, which is more than I can say about my parents right now.

"You okay, Kels-dog?" He asks me, rubbing my back supportively. He's called me that ever since I can remember, and I love it. I jokingly call him W-dog or Ick-dog sometimes, because it just doesn't sound right. Doesn't quite roll off the tongue like Kels-dog.

"No. I hate my parents, Warrick. I really do." I add when he breathes in deeply, like he always does when I bad-mouth my parents. He's been friends with them since before I was born, and, sure, what my dad did was noble and all, but that didn't mean anything now that he's trying to ruin my life. I hope at least he would understand that.

"Kelsey, I think you're overreacting."

"What? You know about it already?" I asked, surprised. Good news sure does travel fast.

"They asked Cath about it, so I found out." Warrick married Catherine four years ago, and together they'd made the decision about sending Lindsey to Butterfield. I know Lindsey pretty well; we hang out together, though sometimes I wonder if our parents think we have a bad influence on each other. We probably do. They probably talk about how awful we are all the time.

I thought I would start to hate Warrick now that he was actually raising Lindsey and could get in trouble with him – but I never have. Lindsey and I have gotten into some mischief together over the years, but Warrick has never acted like an authority figure to me. He still just acts like my big brother. Lindsey thins it's so weird, that he can yell at her, but he won't yell at me. I can tell when he's disappointed, but he never crosses that line.

"Lindsey may talk about how awful it is there, Kels, but she actually does like it there, I think. But she'd never admit that to you." Warrick told me, stroking my hair gently. If it was anyone else, I would be sure my parents told them to brainwash me, but I know Warrick would never lie to me. Lindsey didn't let on to everything, I knew, and it wasn't that farfetched that she may actually like the school she goes to. From what I knew, she was making all A's and B's now, and her parents were finally getting off her back a little.

"It's like they're giving up on me." I finally confessed, and then started bawling. Warrick pulled me into a hug and let me cry for the next minute or so. When the tears finally started to die down, he spoke again.

"Kelsey, they could never give up on you." He said seriously. "That's not what parents do."

"My real dad gave up on me, why shouldn't mom and Nick?" I can't believe I'd just said that. Deep down, that is what always bothered me, and I think is the root of all my problems. You never ever get over someone as vital as a parent leaving you. It just doesn't go away. My dad chose to leave me and mom – obviously, we didn't mean that much to him. Nick always talks about how he loves me unconditionally, and the love of a parent can't be tainted. But when that trust has been broken once, it's hard to let someone else in. Nick has been nothing but wonderful to me over the years, but somehow I treat him and mom like crap. I don't blame them for hating me. I hate me too.

"Your real dad was a jerk. You know that. Why are you holding that against your mom and dad? They love you so much, and they'd never leave you, sweetheart."

I knew Warrick spoke the truth. I was being very unfair, but that's just one more thing messed up in that warped mind of mine.

"I know. But it still hurts."

"I know." He kisses the top of my head and gives me one last big hug. "Why don't we go inside. It's pretty hot out here, and I'm sure your parents are wondering where you are."

I resist the urge to come up with some smart ass comment about my parents being relieved at the absence of my presence, and follow Warrick inside. He takes me silently back to my dad's office, where they greet me with open arms.

My mother hugs me and then pulls back to look at my face, touching my cheeks and forehead with her hands.

"Sweetheart, you look pale. Have you checked your blood sugar lately?"

I've been feeling a little weak for about half an hour, and a little dizzy, not to mention irritable, but that's normal. I know I should have checked, but I was too busy being emotional. I shake my head no, and my dad immediately starts rummaging around in one of his desk drawers, then tells me to sit down. He still keeps a spare AccuCheck in his desk, even though I haven't visited in a long time. For once, I allow him to do it. He holds my hand gently, rubbing my palm with his thumb as he dabs my middle finger with a cleaning wipe.

"You ready?" He asks me, even though I'm so used to this.

"Yeah." The familiar sharp prick clipped my finger for a moment, and my dad immediately looks up to check my face for any discomfort. If only he knew that I inflict blood-letting wounds on my body almost every day, and have done so for the last three years. So much for knowing your child. Somehow, I wish they would find out and they could help me, but then again, that is my only escape from the suffocating cloud of judgment they surround me with every day.

I don't even flinch. My dad collects the bead of blood that appears with one of the testing strips. He inserts it into the reading device, and moments later it beeps.

"Sixty eight." He reports. "You need to eat something right now, Kels."

"I'll go get a Coke." I tell them.

"No, Kels, you sit right there. I'll go get it." My mom takes a dollar bill out of her pocket and proceeds down to the Coke machine. I look over at Warrick, and he's eyeing me suspiciously. I quickly look away, and my mom returns with a Coke. Though I only need half a can, I down that sucker as quick as I can, and then relax. I might not need to cut myself today.