A True Friend Stabs You in the Front

"How was therapy?" My big sister Lizzy asked, once my mom and I stepped into the house. She looked at me like she was gonna laugh, and I could clearly detect the humor in that voice of hers.
"It was great. You should try it sometime," I replied sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
She scoffed. "Like I need it. I'm not the one with a mental disorder."
"But you're the one with a stick up your ass," I muttered.
She frowned. "I am not."
"Wanna be?" I asked, now with a smirk.
She rolled her eyes, and went back to watching TV.
"Freak."
"Robot," I quipped.
My mother sighed. "Girls, please."
"She started it," Lizzy mumbled under her breath.
I shook my head, and flopped down on the couch. "Ugh. You're watching Not Another Teen Movie?" I said, staring at the TV.
"That movie's sick."
"Like you?" She said with a laugh.
I rolled my eyes. "You should come up with better comebacks, Lizzy. Seriously."
She ignored, and kept her attention on the movie.
Once the commercials were on, Lizzy turned to look at me from her spot on the recliner.
"Seriously, how was therapy?" She asked, this time with no sarcasm hint.
"A bust," I replied plainly. "Worthless."
"What happens there?" She asked, fairly interested.
I shrugged. "She just asked me a bunch of questions. Oh, and of course, there was the pause," I said with a humorless laugh.
She raised an eyebrow. "The pause?"
"She'd ask me a question and then when I answered, she just stared at me without saying a word. It's ridiculous." I shook my head, reliving the awkward moment in my head.
Lizzy laughed. "It does sound ridiculous. You should've ran from there while mom was out."
I scoffed. "You think I wasn't planning on that? Besides, they'd probably bump me up to a psychiatrist. That's way worse than a psychologist."
She nodded in agreement. "I didn't think mom would go all the way with her idea. I actually thought she was kidding when she said she'd be sending you to a shrink."
I shrugged. "Mom is pretty set on making my life miserable."
"So, basically, no good came from your experience in a psychological center, huh?"
I paused, suddenly in thought.
Well, one good experience came.
"Not entirely," I admitted, feeling the need to break eye contact with my sister.
She looked at me suspiciously.
"So something good happened?" She asked intriguingly.
I shrugged. I didn't really feel the need to tell her about Frank. After all, it wasn't worth telling. I just met someone who could possibly be as misunderstood as I was. No biggie.
"Tell me!" She whined, making me stare at her in confusion.
"Ugh, don't be so whiny. You sound like a dog," I stated jokingly.
She rolled her eyes. "Fine."
She then turned back to the movie, finally leaving me at peace.

***********

I stared absent-mindedly out the window of the car, my hand placed under my chin. Trees passed, as did cars and people, but they were all a blur.
The background music my dad had put in was just about killing me.
"Dad, could you switch the music to something a little more.......less depressing?" I asked, shifting in my seat to look at him.
He raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with the music?"
"It's classical," I replied in an obvious tone, as if to answer the question.
"So?" He asked with a laugh, as his eyes stayed focused on the road.
"It's depressing, dad."
He laughed again. "Oh, come on. It's nice."
"Sure. If you're suicidal and looking forward to a wrist-slitting festival," I mumbled loud enough for him to hear.
He shook his head. "You really are outspoken, aren't you?"
"That's what I'm told," I answered with a smirk.
He sighed and began switching stations, until it finally landed on a good song.
"Leave it," I said, as I turned the volume up. Box Full Of Sharp Objects blasted throughout the car, much to my father's displeasure. He hated rock, but he didn't exactly give me a hard time for liking it.
My dad eyed me weirdly. "What the hell is this?"
"The Used, dad," I replied, bobbing my head along to Bert McCracken's voice.
"But this guy is just screaming his head off. How could you possibly listen to this?"
I rolled my eyes. "Dad, The Used is an amazing band and I can't think of a reason not to listen to them."
He cocked a brow. "You honestly think this is good music?"
I smiled. "Better than that classical crap."
He laughed a little, ruffling my hair. "It's soothing, Sam. It makes you calm."
I shrugged, looking back out the window.
"Well, I see that there's no point in arguing. Everyone has their own individual taste in music," He mused, with a chuckle.
I nodded, putting my feet up on the dashboard.
"Couldn't agree with you more."
As soon as the song was over, my dad turned the volume down, and I knew he was preparing himself to talk.
"Sam?" He asked, glancing at me.
"Yeah?" I replied, turning my gaze at him.
"So your mother tells me that you didn't complain much about therapy. You liking it so far, then?"
I made a face. "It's pretty boring."
He smiled crookedly. "You know we just want what's best for you, Sam. We don't think you're crazy. Therapy isn't for crazy people."
I laughed under my breath. "I know."
"Good," He said with a grin. "Listen, honey, I know you were angry when we left Seattle. I don't blame you for expressing strong emotions. But your mom's job-"
"Dad, seriously, I get it. No need for explanations," I cut him off, not wanting to hear any more about Seattle or mom's job.
He nodded understandingly. "Okay."
Minutes later, we arrived. The psychology center was in clear view and I stared up at that blue building, already anticipating the torture of losing an entire hour once again.
I groaned, leaning my head back against the head rest, once we were parked.
My dad chuckled at my raging enthusiasm. "It's only an hour."
My head snapped to look at him. "To you it may be an hour. To me, it's a whole century of torture."
He rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen, Sam."
"I'm not. This is actually me being optimistic," I replied wryly.
He laughed, punching me playfully on the arm. "Go on, Sam. Don't wanna be late, now, do ya?"
"Actually, yeah I do," I said with a grin.
He laughed again, before stretching his body over my legs and grabbing the handle, opening the car door for me.
"Pick you up at five," He said with a smile.
I sighed, stepping out of the car. I turned around, and shut the car door, pressing my face up against the glass, pouting my lower lip.
My dad stuck his tongue out at me, laughing. Slowly, he began backing the car away from me and I took a step back, watching him turning around in the parking lot, and driving away to the road.
I saw him waving at me, before he turned into a street corner, disappearing altogether from my sight.
I sighed loudly, kicking a rock that stood next to me on the ground. I then twisted my body around towards the building, making my way up to the glass doors.
Once I was in, I immediately walked over to an empty chair, relieved that there weren't many people in today.
As I darted past the receptionist's desk, I gave her a smile and she did the same.
I sat on the last chair that was against the wall, leaning back, my legs bouncing up and down.
I looked around.
Frank wasn't there. It was a bit disappointing, though I maintained a straight face.
Most people in the waiting room read magazines or talked in whispers amongst themselves.
I then spotted a water cooler right next to the receptionist's desk. I shrugged, getting up and walking over to it.
I grabbed a plastic cup and placed it under the cold water dispenser, pressing down on it. Once it was filled, I brought it up to my mouth, taking a gulp.
After gulping down 3 more cups of water, I tossed the cup in a nearby trash can, and turned around, ready to walk back to my seat.
I suddenly paused, noticing my seat was no longer empty.
Frank was there.
I began walking steadily towards him, wondering if I should greet him or not.
He didn't have a book with him this time; just a bored expression on his face.
He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the white wall. I sat in the chair next to him, trying not to make any noise.
Though, he seemed to have sensed my presence, one of his eyes flickered open and looked at me.
He smirked. "You again."
I clicked my tongue, nodding. "Yep."
He laughed under his breath, closing his eye and shifting in his seat to find a comfortable position. He then groaned. "These chairs suck."
"I know," I agreed, leaning back against mine.
He sighed, bending his arms and placing his hands behind his head.
I then noticed more tattoos on his arms than I did two days ago.
I cleared my throat. "So....did they hurt?" I asked casually.
He opened his eyes, staring at me confusingly. "What?"
I pointed to his tattooed arms. He furrowed his eyebrows, smiling crookedly.
"Nope."
I nodded. "You're brave. I'm scared shitless of needles."
He chuckled. "So is my friend Gerard."
I smiled a little.
"What's up with the Halloween one on your knuckles?" I asked, seeming a bit more comfortable in talking to him than I was the last time.
He took his hands away from behind his head, and opened them in front of him, palms down, revealing his tattooed knuckles.
I stared down at them and he smirked.
"My birthday's on Halloween," He answered.
"Oh," I said. "That's so cool. I wish mine was on Halloween."
"That'd be a tremendous coincidence if you ask me," He said with a smile.
I laughed quietly, staring at his hands again.
"Ever think about getting one of these?" He asked, now placing his hands back behind his head.
I snorted. "Are you kidding? If I ever came home with a tattoo, my parents would probably disown me on the spot."
He smirked. "I thought you were crazy. Surely crazy people love tattoos."
"I do like tattoos........on other people. Like I said, needles freak me out."
He nodded. "What else freaks you out?"
I made a face. "Why do you wanna know?"
He shrugged. "Curiosity. Not much reason than that."
I smiled, leaning my head against the wall like him. "Spiders. And people who stare at me for too long."
He laughed.
I liked the sound of his laugh.
"Same here. Although I should add heights to that list."
"You're scared of heights?" I asked.
"Yep. Aren't you?"
I shrugged. "Not really."
He smirked. "Guess that makes me the scaredy-cat out of both of us."
I laughed.
"How old are you, anyway?" He then asked, his hazel eyes boring into my dark greens.
"Sixteen," I replied nonchalantly. "You?"
"Seventeen. Ha, I'm older," He said, making a funny face.
I rolled my eyes. "What's a year, anyways? Hardly anything."
He shrugged. "True. But it still makes me a year more experienced."
"Yeah, okay."
"Samantha, you may go in now. Dr. Goldmen's waiting," The receptionist called out to me.
I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Oh joy."
Frank laughed. "You hate it, don't you?"
"You're just now picking up on that?" I joked. I then stood up.
Frank looked up at me, a cool expression on his face.
"I'll be here when you're out. It's not like I have anything else to do after my session," He said with a shrug.
"Um, okay. See you in an hour, I guess," I said quietly.
He smirked. "See you." He then leaned his head back once more, and closed his eyes.
I turned around, walking towards Dr. Goldmen's office, taking a last look at Frank before going inside and beginning mytorture therapy session.