"No!" Charlie shot up from his chair. "Absolutely not!"
He was not going through that again. He'd had enough of it the first time around. Didn't he have rights? He should have a say in this! It was his life.
His parents sat at the kitchen table, hands clasped in each other's, looking contemplative whilst he stood there, his own hands clenched into fists, his temper beginning to flare.
"Sweetheart," Mom said carefully, "I know you didn't like seeing Dr. Fields, but we can find you someone else if that helps. I'm sure there's a man somewhere around here if that makes you more comfortable."
"No!" He shouted again. Normally he could hold back but not today. He was in a flight or fight mode; adrenaline rushing through him, panic setting in. His anger boiled over. "It doesn't!"
"Lower your voice," Dad told him calmly. "There's no reason why we can't talk about this quietly."
He couldn't think straight. Why, why were they doing this to him? "I'm not going."
"Charlie, we told you when you stopped seeing Dr. Fields that someday you might have to go back if we thought it was necessary," Dad said. "There was always a chance."
"But why?" For the life of him, Charlie couldn't think of what he'd done to deserve this. "What'd I do?"
"It wasn't anything you've done," Dad was putting a lot of emphasis on that. "This isn't a punishment."
"Sure feels like one," Charlie muttered irritably.
"It'll be good for you," Mom said encouragingly, putting on a smile though it never reached her eyes. "Your dad and I have been talking-" He didn't interrupt to correct her, that they weren't his parents technically, no matter how much they believed otherwise. "-we think it's a good idea." He scoffed. "Just listen, please. You're starting school soon and there's going to be questions if people recognize you. We just don't want this to upset you."
But you're fine with this upsetting me?
"We set an appointment up for you," Dad continued, "Monday at noon."
He spluttered, unable to say anything right now. He was completely taken aback by their audacity. So there really wasn't any talking about it. They'd just done it and expected him to go along with it.
"I'm not going," He crossed his arms, not caring if he was being childish.
"Charlie," Dad's voice was even, "we don't want to take you kicking and screaming, but we will if we have to."
"I'm almost eighteen!" He said as a last desperate attempt. "I shouldn't have to go if I don't want to!"
"Almost," Mom said, "but not yet. We still have a say in this."
He slammed the chair back into the table. It shook, but they didn't acknowledge that. "I'm not going and you're not making me!" He snapped, rushing off to his room where he slammed the door shut.
/
He paced. And paced. And paced.
Covering and uncovering his face. He was so mad! This was ridiculous! He didn't want to go to see some stupid therapist and talk about his stupid feelings!
Charlie kicked the end of his bed, hissing when he felt pain radiating through his foot.
His phone buzzed.
Breathing in and out deeply, he saw it was Stephanie.
What great timing, he scowled.
"What?" he snapped.
"Well, gee," Stephanie said sarcastically. "sorry I called."
"I'm not in the mood, Tanner."
"I can tell," She said. "I just called to see if you wanted to hang out? Gia can't and I thought we could get ice cream."
"So I'm your last option? Nice to know," He said snarkily.
There was a pause. "No," She said, sounding a little unsure. "Of course not. I was going to see if all three of us could but like I said, Gia can't."
"Whatever," He scoffed.
He shouldn't be taking his frustrations out on her, but he was beyond rationality at this point in time.
"Do you...want me to call you back later or something?" She asked cautiously.
He rolled his eyes and hung up on her, tossing his phone to the side and plopped on his bed.
This was so bogus! He didn't need therapy. It was stupid anyway. Talking about his problems didn't help him before and it wasn't going to now. So what if he got questions? Not like he'd answer them. It was nobody else's business why he moved away and came back. And yet, for no good reason at all, they were worried about him like he was gonna spaz out or something over it.
Maybe they'd let him go by himself. He could sneak off and tell them it went fine or whatever when they asked him. He was fairly sure the 'doctor' had to adhere to that patient-confidentiality thing or whatever. They couldn't tell them that he'd not not shown up...right? Wasn't that how it worked?
Course, with his luck, they probably already knew he would be trying to get out of it. He'd be driven there, taken up and be watched as he went into the room to ensure he was there. They were annoying but they weren't idiots.
Unfortunately.
Charlie groaned, burying his face in his pillow. This was so unfair! Who knows how long this was going to last. Until they thought he was 'better', that was how long. They...they couldn't do this! They didn't have any right to do this. He wasn't some helpless child that needed his hand held. He was basically grown and could very well make his own decisions.
He could still vividly remember being forced to go to Dr. Fields. That'd been such a fun conversation too. He'd not been happy, but was less vocal at that time. He hadn't been living with the Marks long enough to know anything about them. He'd still been cautious. Hesitant. Nervous.
Crap, his stomach had all but dropped to the floor the first time he saw his dad-Mr. Mark, that is-take off his belt. Never mind that he'd seen the syrup drop on it, it was seeing it come out of the belt loops, it was hearing the noise it made that sent memories rushing back to him all of the sudden.
He'd been pathetic that day.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Charles crumpled to the floor, covering his head, trembling. He didn't see Mrs. Mark covering her mouth. He didn't see the way Mr. Mark froze in his spot.
He saw his dad.
He saw him charging right for him, looming over him, belt firmly grasped in his hand.
"Please...please don't."
That really solidified them in their choice to send him to Dr. Fields. In hindsight, he was likely going to go even if he didn't have that...episode. There was no way they were going to let him get out of it. That hadn't helped things, though.
"Your parents told me you've been having a rough time, Charles," Dr. Fields said.
She was older than the Marks, but not super old or anything. She wore eyeglasses that kept sliding down to the bridge of her nose, looking at him like she was constantly studying him. Like some pet. She sat in her chair with one leg over the other, a notebook in her lap and a pen in her hand.
"They're not my parents," He sneered.
Dr. Fields remained unfazed. She flipped a page, nodding. "Ah. Adoptive parents, my mistake. I apologize."
"I don't care."
"I was told a bit about your history," She continued. "But I'd like to hear it from you. Would you care to tell me about why you're here?"
He ignored her.
"We could play a game if you'd like?" She offered. "I have some options in the closet if you want to take a look. I find that games are a nice way to break the ice."
Still nothing. He wouldn't even look at her.
"Charles," She spoke in that soft way that made him roll his eyes, "Mr. and Mrs. Mark told me you didn't want to come see me. They told me you probably wouldn't want to talk. That's perfectly okay. You're fully within your right to feel upset about being forced to come here. I'd be upset if I was in your shoes."
She'd been so patronizing with him. He didn't need her to tell him that he had a right to be upset. He knew he did!
That technically hadn't been his first experience with therapy, just the first time under the Marks' care. No, his actual first time had been while in foster care. He'd been forced to go of course but somewhere along the lines as he sat there, she'd said something about his dad.
And he just snapped.
He couldn't really remember what happened-it was kind of a blur.
All he knew was that he was hastily thrust back to Miss Watson, telling her that they needed to get him under control before he was allowed back.
And that was the end of that.
/
He tossed a bouncy ball at his wall, catching it. Tossing it. Catching it. Repeat.
Charlie didn't dare to venture downstairs after his explosion. He didn't want to. He was still upset over the whole thing and quite frankly, he didn't feel like seeing either of their faces anytime soon.
In time, he'd cooled off. Somewhat.
He wasn't going to fly off the handle again, but he wasn't fine either. In all honesty, he was a bit surprised that neither of them had come up to have a talk with him about his behavior or check on him to see how he was.
They usually did. Which annoyed him.
So why not this time?
They don't care about you, an inner voice that he'd shoved away long ago, not having heard in a long time, resurfaced. You've shown them how you really are. You're too much for them. Too difficult.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"We can't take this anymore. He's just too much for us."
He pressed his palms on the sides of his face. No, no. It wasn't like that anymore. It couldn't be. They weren't like that. Or were they?
He'd be all packed up soon. They'd break the news today or tomorrow morning, not giving him time to try and persuade them. He wouldn't have to think about therapy anymore. Not when he'd be facing a reality he'd feared would happen.
And would be happening.
No, no. He couldn't go through that again. He couldn't go back. He couldn't wait for some other family to show interest in him. He'd age out of the system before that happened.
He couldn't do it.
Not again.
Was it hot in here? It felt hot.
His breathing-it was harder to breathe normally. Like...like some invisible hand was clamped around his throat.
And dizzy. He was dizzy. The room was spinning.
His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He tried to take deep breaths, but he couldn't.
He wheezed. Short, panicked noises.
His bedroom door opened. Or so he thought. It was so muffled, like his head was dunked under water. He didn't see his dad-Mr. Mark, his mind corrected gleefully. He's not going to be your adoptive dad for much longer-come beside him. He didn't feel the hand on his back. He didn't hear the voice telling him to breathe.
He broke down.
"Don't get rid of me!" He wailed, gasping as he tried to gulp down some much needed air. "Please!"
"Breathe," His adoptive dad instructed gently. "Just breathe, Charlie."
"Please!"
"Charlie," he said sternly, "listen to me: breathe. Take a deep breath. One at a time. There, that's it. Now get on your knees so you don't fall. There, that's it."
Charlie buried his face in the sheets, gripping them until his knuckles went white.
He did as he was told to do. Little by little, he was able to get through it, until he slumped down, exhausted.
"It's going to be okay," his adoptive dad said softly, yet determined. "We'll get through this. I promise you we will."
"What's going-oh, Charlie!" His adoptive mom gasped. She too rushed to be at his side-his other side.
"Be careful," his adoptive dad advised.
"Oh my goodness, is he okay? Are you alright, sweetie? Do you want some tea?" She began to rapidly fire off questions that he couldn't even think to answer right now.
"He's okay," his adoptive dad said. He didn't see him mouthing, we'll talk later to her. Or her nod.
"Please don't," Charlie was still mumbling. He was shaking lightly. Trying to push back the stupid freaking tears that had come to his eyes. "Please..."
"Don't what, Charlie?" His adoptive mom asked, concerned and confused.
"Don't send me back," He choked out. "Don't..."
"Send you back?" She was shocked. "Why would we send you back?" She looked to her husband for an answer but he didn't know either.
But Charlie couldn't answer her.
He'd broken down completely, sobbing into his bed sheets.