A True Friend Stabs You in the Front

"Honey, don't think of this as an obligation. Think of it as an opportunity to express your true feelings. To open your heart." My sweet sweet mother said to me.
She tried her best to make me accept the fact that I was in a psychology center. But all I kept thinking that moment was running the hell out of there, to some place no one would find me. Ever.
But I couldn't. I was stuck. Stuck in a deadly trap that my so called mother had put me in.
I chewed on my gum annoyingly, trying to avoid eye contact with her.
"She'll listen to everything you say. That's why she's a therapist," My mom continued, grabbing hold of my hand and giving it a small squeeze.
I rolled my eyes, creating a big pink ball of tutti frutti gum and popping it between my teeth.
"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered.
"Sam, please. Just cope with me here."
"Mom, if you think I'm telling that fucking shrink anything about my personal life, than you better think again," I hissed.
My mom frowned, releasing her grip from my hand. "Samantha Jane, don't trash talk with me. I'm not one of your friends. I really do believe that Dr. Goldmen will be a good thing for you. Maybe she'll be able to fix you," She said with a dramatic sigh, as she stared hopelessly at me.
"Fix me? What am I, a TV set?" I sunk down in the sticky plastic brown chair, hiding my face deeper inside my hood.
"Then tell me. Why are you so angry?" She asked calmly.
"Gee, I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that my own mother thinks I'm insane and is practically forcing me to talk to some person who I've never met!" I quipped, loud enough for the whole office to turn their heads and look at us.
Mom got red in the face and I couldn't help but smirk. She knew what she was in for the minute we stepped into this nut house.
"We are not having this discussion again. You are going in there and you are going to talk like a normal person to Dr. Goldmen."
I sighed, not answering. It was better not to answer, anyways.
For argument sake, I kept silent.
My mother once again sighed her infamous dramatic sigh, leaning her back against the chair.
I couldn't believe she had brought me here. A treatment center? Was I that unstable?
All this because of a little outburst I had with my parents. Sheesh, talk about dramatic.
The story behind the outburst is quite simple. About a month ago, we moved to New Jersey, far from our previous location, which was Seattle. I was pissed beyond words, I guess you could put it like that.
I wouldn't talk to my parents for days. I'd just be hiding out in my new room, which was -surprisingly- bigger than my old room back in Seattle. But still, it made me angry that we had to move. I had to leave my friends I've known ever since I was born; I had to leave school.
That's a huge change that any typical adolescent would practically die over.
Of course, I was one of those typical adolescents. I didn't wanna leave, but was forced to.
Anyways, after kicking and screaming, which was no use, I kept quiet for a long time. Not speaking to my parents, not bothering to make friends at my new school. Sure, some people at school seemed to like me. I didn't cause any trouble; my grades were pretty okay; I always managed to force a smile at my teachers.
But that was only because I was trying to avoid any more discussions at home.
My mom would always break out into dramatic mode and ask me why I didn't talk as much as I used to. She knew the reason, though. She knew it was hers and dad's fault.
I mean, did she really have to take a job in Belleville? So far from Seattle?
But, anyways, that was the main reason why I was in that stupid psychological center, which may as well have been a mental institution.
To me, there were no differences between psychologists and psychiatrists. It was the same damn thing. The patient had to sit in a room; had to spill their guts to the person sitting on their chair, writing everything you said down in a notepad.
"Samantha Hayes," A woman called from behind her desk. I cringed at the sound of my name, and sank lower into my seat.
"Sam, come on," My mom said, standing up and taking my arm. I forced myself to stay seated, as my mom tried pulling me up.
"Samantha, I'm warning you. Don't make a scene," She hissed, tugging my arm forcefully.
I looked around, seeing that everybody's curious eyes were laid on me. Like I was the craziest of all patients.
I made a face at mom, but made no effort to move.
"Dr. Goldmen is waiting," The woman behind the desk said to us. She looked weirdly at me, breaking immediate eye contact once I looked at her.
My mom sighed frustratingly.
"Samantha, I swear, if you don't get up right now-" She began saying, murderously glaring down at me.
I smiled innocently. "You'll what? Send me to an asylum?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm asking you nicely. Please?"
I gritted my teeth, glaring at her.
Then, I jerked my arm away from her and stood up, crossing my arms.
"I swear, it's like you're not even sixteen," I heard her mumbling, as she put a hand on my shoulder, leading me towards a door, marked Dr. Goldmen in bold black letters and underneath it, Psychologist.
The woman behind the desk glanced at me from the corner of her eye as I passed by her.
I just sighed, knowing there was no way I could make a run for it without my mother making a scene.
"I'll pick you up in an hour, okay?" My mom whispered, as we stopped in front of the door.
My eyes widened. "You're leaving me here?!"
She scoffed. "Sam, please. It's only an hour. Now I'm begging you, don't be rude to Dr. Goldmen. Tell her everything you feel. Be yourself."
"Mom, you should really be more concerned about losing all that money you spent on this shrink. It might not pay off like you expect," I muttered.
She ignored my rambling and kissed my forehead. "Don't be rude," She repeated.
"But didn't you tell me to be myself?" I smirked, making her roll her eyes.
"Bye," She said before turning around, gripping tightly on her purse.
I watched her walking away and out the door to the free world.
"I'm in hell," I mumbled, before turning back to the door again. I stood there, hesitant.
Was I supposed to knock or something?
I bit my nail, not moving.
Then, taking me by surprise and nearly making me jump, the door opened. A woman wearing a white lab coat appeared in front of me. She peered down at me through her frameless glasses, giving me a smile.
I tried forcing a smile back, but it only ended up being a crooked smile.
Oh well.
"Hello, Samantha. Please come in," She said in a polite welcoming voice, as she stepped aside, motioning for me to come inside her office.
I nodded briefly and entered, looking curiously at my surroundings. The office was spacious. The walls were white, and a bunch of paintings and certificates hung on them. There were dozens of little portraits, probably of her family, placed on her desk.
I stood there awkwardly in the middle of the office, not knowing exactly what to do.
Dr. Goldmen chuckled at me, pointing towards the chair in front of her desk. "You may sit, Samantha."
I nodded and sat myself down on the black chair, noticing it wasn't sticky and uncomfortable like the ones outside in the waiting room.
"You know, you can call me Sam. I hate Samantha," I said casually, surprised at how honest I was being right up front.
"Oh. Okay then. Sam," She said with a smile. "So tell me, Sam. How are you?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Um, I'm fine, I guess," I answered with a shrug.
She nodded, looking at me.
I shifted awkwardly in my seat, pretending to be interested in the paintings that surrounded the walls.
"You like art, Sam?" She asked, noticing my eyes locked on one of the paintings.
It was a small house surrounded by trees and flowers. It was pretty.
I turned to her. "Sure."
"Do you draw?"
I shrugged. "Sometimes."
She nodded again, and continued staring casually.
I bit my lower lip, suddenly realizing something.
"I know what you're doing," I said, shifting again. "You're doing the pause."
She smiled. "You're familiar with the pause?"
"Yeah. You therapists ask us patients something; we answer; and you pause."
She furrowed her eyebrows, nodding once more. "Ah."
"What's up with those pauses, anyways?" I asked curiously, lifting an eyebrow. "I mean, what's it good for? It just makes this situation more uncomfortable than it already is."
She leaned back in her black, cushy chair, intertwining her fingers on her lap.
"You seem to be a very outspoken young lady, Sam."
I snorted. "So?"
"It's good," She answered, thankfully not doing the pause. "It defines you. You're not afraid of speaking your mind."
I shrugged, bouncing my leg up and down impatiently; staring at nothing.
How long is this gonna take?
"Are you in a hurry, Sam?" She then asked a few minutes later.
"Hmm? Uh, not really," I mumbled.
"Would you like to talk about school?" She asked.
I furrowed my eyebrows at her. "No, thank you."
She nodded. "Family?"
"What is there to tell, exactly?" I said with a shrug.
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you," She responded with a smile.
I sighed. "My mom was the one who made me come here. My dad listened, as usual. End of story," I stated.
She nodded comprehensibly.
Stop nodding!
"Do you have any siblings?" She then asked, clearly sticking to the whole family subject.
"A sister," I replied bluntly.
Seriously, how long is this going to take?
"Younger or older?" She asked.
"Older."
She smiled. And that's when the pause happened again.
Oh God.
I stared off into space, still sitting awkwardly.
"Hey, did you ever wonder why it's not Spidermen?" I asked randomly, knowing I had caught her off guard. She looked at me curiously.
"What?" She asked interestingly.
"You know, like Goldmen or Silvermen."
She made a face as if trying to understand. I was being confusing on purpose.
Might as well enjoy myself while being there, right?
"I mean, because Spiderman isn't a last name like Goldmen. Like, for instance, Bob Spiderman. He's a spider man. And like, Goldmen is a last name but there's no such thing as a Gold man," I said, rolling my eyes.
She put a finger to her chin, nodding. "Yes, I suppose you're right."
And then she paused again and I wanted to rip her little head right off. But I didn't.
I wondered how long I'd have to stay in that torture chamber before being set free to go back to the outside world.

**********

An hour later, I found myself scrambling to my feet and quickly saying goodbye to Dr. Goldmen, before making a mad dash out of that office.
Once I was out and I shut the door behind me, I could distinctly hear the hallelujah chorus in my head.
I practically skipped my way to the waiting room, glancing at the receptionist behind the desk. She gave me a sort of crooked smile and I returned it.
I then scanned the waiting room, noticing my mother wasn't there.
"Excuse me," I said, catching the woman's attention. She snapped her head up to look at me.
"Yes?" She asked politely.
"Is my mother by any chance in the bathroom or something? She told me she'd pick me up but I don't see her."
"I'm sorry, Miss. She's not. But I'm sure she's already on her way...." She trailed off.
I sighed, giving her another crooked smile. "Okay, then. Thanks," I said, before turning around, scanning the people who sat in the waiting chairs.
It was pretty full, but then again, there weren't much chairs there.
I suddenly spotted a vacant chair beside a boy, who had his head down, reading a book in his hands.
I shrugged to myself before walking over to the chair and hesitantly sitting on it.
The boy didn't look up from his book, nor did he move. He looked pretty concentrated, so I made sure not to move around so much in my chair, careful not to disturb him.
I crossed my legs casually, leaning back against my seat.
So much for my mother being on time, I thought.
I glanced discreetly over at the boy and his book from the corner of my eye. I couldn't quite see what exactly he was reading.
I then focused my gaze on his looks instead.
He was really good looking. He had short brown hair, his face from what I could see, was a little rounded, which acentuated some boyish features. He was wearing jeans ripped at the knees, along with a black shirt and black converses. I couldn't see the color of his eyes, since he was looking down at his book.
He looked about my age, maybe a year or two older.
I smiled slightly, taking in his looks, and looked straight forward again, hoping he didn't notice me staring.
Ten whole minutes had passed and my mother still hadn't arrived.
Did she forget me?
I sighed, shaking my head. The boy beside me, for the first time, looked up from his book, taking a quick scan around the room and glancing for less than a second at me before looking back down.
I stiffened a little in my seat. I smiled, because when he looked at me, I saw the color of his eyes. Hazel.
I had always thought hazel eyes were the prettiest. Even having dark green eyes, I kind of preferred hazel. It just makes the person more mysterious in a way.
"You waiting for someone?" A voice suddenly met my ears. Then I noticed it belonged to the boy next to me.
I hesitantly looked up at him, seeing that his eyes were still on the book. He didn't even look up to ask.
"Um....are you talking to me?" I asked, looking at him confusingly.
He smirked and a low chuckle escaped his mouth. "Yeah."
I furrowed my brows. "Uh...yeah. My mom," I answered with a nod.
He nodded, turning a page in his book, still looking at it.
"Scared she forgot you or something?" He asked with a hint of humor in his voice, catching me by surprise once again.
I let out a small laugh. "How'd you know?"
He smirked. "You look worried."
"I'm not worried. I just wanna get the hell out of here," I mumbled, hoping he didn't hear the last part.
Finally, he looked up from his book to peek at me, a crooked smile playing across his lips.
"You're not alone," He said in a low voice. "Trust me."
I stared at him.
"You here to see a shrink, too?" I asked, lifting a brow.
He took a deep breath, smirking again. "Yep."
I nodded, looking down at my hands.
"Why you here?" He asked, now shutting his book on his lap. I peered down, only to find out that the book he read was Catcher In The Rye.
I had read that book many times before.
"My mom thinks I'm crazy," I replied jokingly, hoping he'd catch on that I wasn't really crazy.
He laughed quietly. "Again. You're not alone."
"They think you're crazy?" I asked.
He nodded. "Well, only because I tend to get into fights at school. But I could hardly call that being crazy," He replied with a shrug.
"Sounds like you need anger management rather than therapy," I joked.
He smiled, showing off his white teeth. And that's when I felt my legs go numb.
Gorgeous smile.
"Frank," He then said, sticking a hand out in front of me.
"Samantha," I said, taking his hand. I then noticed his arms had a few tattoos on them, including his knuckles. "But I prefer Sam."
"Sammy?" He asked with a smirk, after releasing my hand.
I pretended to look horrified. "Only my grandma calls me that."
He laughed.
And just when I was about to ask him about his tattoos, I heard my name being called.
"Samantha!" It was my mother. She walked into the building, over to where I was.
Frank eyed her coming towards us and didn't say anything.
"How was it, sweetie?" She asked, completely oblivious to the fact that a cute boy was sitting right next to me.
I rolled my eyes. "It was fine," I mumbled.
She smiled. "See? I knew this would be good for you."
I peeked over to Frank from the corner of my eye, seeing he had once again opened his book and was reading; a smirk playing on his lips.
"Can we go now?" I hissed, now completely embarrassed.
Why must she do that?
She smiled. "Of course. Let's go," She patted my knees.
I stood up from the chair, eyeing Frank.
My mom began walking ahead of me, and soon I followed.
"Bye Sammy," I then heard Frank say, with a low laugh.
I turned to look at him, a smile on my lips.
On the car ride home, my mom continued the I knew you'd like it crap and told me she was bringing me here again.
And to her surprise -and mine- I didn't argue.