Shatter

" -- You and I both know that self-mutilation isn't the answer here!" The guidance counselor scolded. I was at school, being forced to listen to a psychologist rant. I glared at her from my corner of the room.

This woman was a complete idiot.

She had no idea why I had scabs and scars on my knuckles. Besides, self-mutilation is mostly burning (which I don't do) and wrist cutting. I had scabs on my knuckles.

My irritation at this fool was growing without pause. She continued to blabber on about why I shouldn't harm my body, blah blah blah.

Ten bucks says she's a pill popper. It's gotta be Valium. There's no way someone can be this happy and optimistic twenty-four seven without it.

I inwardly sighed. Silence was my only weapon here, and I was going to use it to the fullest extent.

" -- Well, looks like our time is up. I hope you benefited from this talk." She said, looking at her wristwatch. I got up from my corner and headed for the door.

"Oh, and I signed you up for the Anger Management classes. I thought you might need it."

Okay, this woman was on my list.

Pasting a smile on my face, I turned and spoke: "Well, I must say, this was an excellent session, as well as the others before. But, I'm afraid I must know, what is your name?"

I smiled at her hurt expression and left before she could say anything else.