A True Friend Stabs You in the Front

"Bye, Samantha. See you next week," Dr. Goldmen said.
"Bye," I said with a small wave, as I power walked out of her office.
Sweet freedom.
I shut the door behind me and walked out into the waiting room. Sure enough, Frank was sitting there, eyes closed. It's like he maintained that position for a whole hour, which I found weird. How was it that he was always out there before me?
I smiled as I slowly walked up to him. Once I was in front of him, I lightly tapped him on the shoulder.
He opened one eye again, and smirked, seeing it was me.
"How was it?" He asked jokingly.
"Do you even have to ask? I had to tell my whole life story to that woman. And I'm getting tired of that stupid pause thing she does whenever I answer a question."
He laughed. "Yeah, the pause thing is annoying. Sometimes I wanna take my chair and bash the shrink's head in. But then I remember the words anger management and I manage to control myself."
I laughed quietly. "That takes a lot of control. You're strong."
He shrugged. "Well I am a year older than you, aren't I?"
I raised an eyebrow. "What does that have to do with anything?"
I sat next to him, mimicking the position he was in.
"It just proves that I'm a better controller than you. Like, if you wanted to bash your shrink's head in, you probably would. I, on the other hand, know how to control myself. Therefore, I'm a better controller." He grinned.
I made a face. "This is a stupid conversation."
"I agree," He then said, turning serious again.
I laughed.
He shifted again in his chair, until suddenly, he stood up. I couldn't help but stare up at him, as he fixed his shirt. Today he wore a white shirt that said Black Flag in the front and ripped jeans.
He started walking slowly away from me, towards the entrance doors.
"Where you going?" I asked curiously, my eyebrow raised.
"Outside," He answered with a shrug, not looking back at me.
His slightly rebellious attitude intrigued me. Though he told me he'd be going outside, he didn't invite me to come along. And that just made me desperate to follow, but I remained seated, trying to keep my face nonchalant.
He gave me another smirk before stepping outside. I watched from the glass doors as he leaned against the building wall, one leg flexed. He pulled something out of his back pocket, bringing it up in front of him.
I then realized it was a cigarette pack. He took one out, placing the pack back in his pocket and then taking out a lighter.
He brought the cigarette to his lips, lighting the end of it and taking a drag. He stared straight forward, taking a few more drags, ones longer than others.
My legs bounced up and down in an impatient manner. I looked at the clock which hung above the receptionist's head, seeing it was 5:15. Knowing my dad was picking me up, I knew he'd be late.
I then stood from my chair, pretending to stretch out. I wandered over to the entrance doors, and opened them, stepping out. I was received with a cool breeze sweeping across my face.
Frank watched as I began walking around in circles, my hands in my pockets, staring down at the ground.
He took another long drag, examining my actions.
"What are you doing?" He finally asked, with a quiet laugh.
I shrugged, not looking up. "Being bored."
"You're weird," He stated; and I nodded.
He wasn't wrong.
"That stuff can kill you, you know," I said blankly, as I leaned on the wall across from him.
He peered down at the cigarette in between his fingers. "I know."
I smirked. "You wanna get killed?"
He shrugged. "We live merely miles away from Camden, the murder capital of the country. I'm never killed."
I raised an eyebrow. "What does that have to with a cigarette?"
"You tell me."
I made a confused expression. "You don't make sense sometimes."
He smirked. "Neither do you."
I shook my head, looking down at my shoes. His stare was a bit intimidating.
"Do I scare you?" He asked amusingly after he finished his cigarette, throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.
I hesitated before answering. "Not really."
"A little then?" He smiled.
I shrugged. "You're different. Not scary."
His smile grew wider; probably glad to hear my answer.
"How different?" He asked, placing his hands in his front pockets, taking a step forward.
"Too different. Not like most guys I've met." I continued looking down at the ground, feeling my cheeks burn red. Had I said too much?
He furrowed his eyebrows. "And that's good or bad?"
I shrugged again.
"You seem nervous," He commented, running a hand through his dark hair.
"Well, I did just come back from a therapy session," I mumbled, making him laugh once.
"So did I. Only mine lasts shorter."
"Lucky you," I replied, placing a strand of hair behind my ear.
He smirked again, looking out at the road.
"Are you waiting for someone?" I asked, noticing him staring at the cars passing by.
He shook his head. "Nope."
My eyebrows knitted together. "Then why are you still here? Your session's over."
He shrugged. "I don't wanna go home right now."
I stared at him. "Why not?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You always this curious?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
He laughed quietly. "Don't feel like it, that's all."
I made a funny face. "So you prefer staying in a treatment center than going home?"
"Call me crazy," He said with a shrug.
"No need. I know you are," I replied with a smile.
He smiled, looking down at his shoes. I couldn't keep my eyes off him for too long.
He seemed interesting. Too interesting.
"Your parents always this late?" He asked, now looking up.
"My dad's supposed to pick me up today," I answered bluntly.
"Are your folks separated or something?"
"No. My mom works on Thursdays. So now I'm my dad's own personal problem today."
He laughed. "You're lucky your parents aren't divorced."
My face loosened, noticing a slight change in his voice. "Are yours?"
He nodded, scratching his neck.
"Oh," I said quietly. "I'm sorry."
He smiled crookedly. "You don't have to be. It's not like it's your fault."
I nodded. "But still. I'm sorry."
He just nodded in response. So I guess parents was a touchy subject with Frank.
"Linda's cool, though. I live with her," He began saying, and I was surprised he continued talking about it.
"Linda's your mom, I presume."
"You presume correct," He said with a smile.
I nodded slowly.
"What, you're not curious anymore?" He then asked.
I shrugged. "It's a family subject, which I'm not so good with."
"Me neither."
I glanced at him, seeing he had yet another smirk on his lips.
I was about to say something more, but a horn honking suddenly met my ears. I looked over to where the noise had come from, and sure enough, dad was pulling up in the parking lot in his Toyota Corolla.
Frank glanced over at the car then at me for a brief moment.
"Your dad?" He asked emotionlessly.
I nodded. "In the flesh." I sighed, slightly disappointed. I was actually enjoying being with this Frank kid. He seemed to get me like no one else.
"Samantha! Let's go, kid!" I heard dad call from inside the car, after he had rolled down his windows. I saw his eyes laying on Frank, then back at me.
I looked at Frank and he smirked.
"Guess I'll see you next time, then," I said, a bit hesitant to move.
He nodded firmly. "Okay."
I bit my bottom lip and wondered if I should give him another form of goodbye but my dad's honking interrupted once again.
I sighed, and walked passed Frank, suddenly feeling his eyes on me. I walked fast towards the car, opening the door. As I got in, I looked back at where Frank was supposed to be standing. He wasn't there anymore.
I stared confusingly at his empty spot, but shrugged it off.
I turned towards my dad, giving him a smile. "Hey."
"Hiya," He greeted cheerfully. "How was your day with Dr. Goldmen?"
"Absolutely splendid," I replied sarcastically. "Dad, you know better than to ask me that."
He chuckled, holding his hands up defensively. "Okay, okay. Forget I asked. By the way, who's that guy you were talking to?"
I bit my lip as I pulled the seat belt around me, buckling it down. "Oh, the guy? Um...Frank."
He looked at me, as if expecting me to say more.
"How'd you meet?" He asked, as he turned around in the parking lot and we were out on the road.
I shrugged, looking out the window. "He does therapy, too."
"Oh," He said. "Is he nice?"
"Yeah, sure."
He nodded. "How long were you guys talking?"
"Dad, what's with the third degree? It's not like I just met him today. We also talked on Tuesday," I snapped, regretting immediately.
Sheesh, he was just asking a question.
"Sam, chill. I just wanna know. Is it a crime to know who my daughter is hanging out with?"
"We're not hanging out. This is the second day I've seen him. He's a patient, like me."
He nodded. "Okay, then. No need to be hasty."
I rolled my eyes, careful for him not to see. I looked back out the window.
"And by the way, when a person goes to therapy, they're not a patient. They're a client." He said with a laugh.
"Oh, that sounds much better," I mumbled.
He chuckled.
"Was it my eyes deceiving me or did that boy have tattoos on him?" He asked, after a few minutes of silence.
Crap, he saw the tattoos.
I sighed. "Dad."
"Did he or did he not? It's a simple question, Sam."
I shrugged, fumbling with the hem of my shirt. "Yeah...."
"Ah," He said, nodding, drumming his fingers on the wheel.
I looked at him weirdly. "Does that bother you?"
He shook his head calmly. "Not really. It will only bother me if you decide to get a tattoo."
I snorted. "I'm scared of needles, remember?"
"Yes. And thank heavens for that. I don't want any needles piercing my daughter's skin. You know better, don't ya, Sam."
"Yes, dad," I mumbled.
Jeez, just be sure not to tell him about Frank smoking. That'll totally flip him out.
"I'm glad. See, I trust you. You're responsible enough to not do anything stupid."
"Too bad mom doesn't think that way," I said with a smirk.
He sighed. "Your mother....is overprotective, that's all. She knows what's best for her daughters."
"She's not like that with Lizzy," I complained.
"Lizzy's older, Sam."
"Like that's an excuse," I muttered.
He laughed, playfully punching my shoulder.
"So tell me about this Frank kid," He then said, pushing the Frank subject further.
I inhaled deeply, breathing out through my nose. "What else do you wanna know?"
He shrugged. "It's not often I see you interacting with people your age. I mean, not in Jersey at least."
"He's seventeen. So technically, he's not my age."
"He's a year older? Hmm," He said, as he began drumming his fingers on the wheel again.
I bit back a laugh. He looked so nervous.
"Is that a problem?" I asked genuinly.
He shrugged. "Why would it be a problem?"
I nodded and was about to look back out the window, when I heard him clearing his throat.
"I'm just saying.....he's older and he's got tattoos."
"So?"
"Well......it just worries me a little. But like I said, I trust you." He struggled to get those last words out and I bit back a laugh again.
"Dad, really. What do you think I'm capable of doing?"
He looked at me confusingly. "I don't know."
"I'm not gonna run off with him if that's what you're thinking," I said with a chuckle. "I barely know the kid."
He sighed in relief and quickly regained his posture. "Good to hear, Sam."
And the rest of the car ride went silent. The only sound was the background music my dad had put in.
Classical, ugh. But I didn't complain.