Breathe

I missed him, and his voice never once left my head. It echoed the last words that he ever spoke to me, taunting me. It was painful, and almost unbearable. But somehow I had managed to get myself this far. Why not go farther?

"How was your week?"

I didn't look up, but I knew she was staring at me. She tapped her pen quietly against the side of her clipboard.

"Same ol', same ol'."

"You know that's not an acceptable answer." The woman, who called herself a therapist, retorted. I didn't particularly like her, and I was one hundred percent sure that nothing could change my mind. She was prude, and insistant. "I can't help you unless you give me something more."

The thing was, as much as I knew I needed help (Mom tended to tell me a lot), I didn't want it. I wanted to recover by myself. Was it that hard to understand?

"Nothing happened last week that would cause me to hurt myself, if that's what you're implying," I said, rather snarkily. This woman was incredibly annoying and I couldn't wait until my hour was up.

"No one said anything of the sort," she responded softly.

"I wake up, I go to school ... sometimes, and I eat. That's it. That's all there is to know about me." My hands were freezing. Why were they so cold?

"Why don't you go to school?"

I rolled my eyes, and looked at her. Her mousy brown hair was pulled into a tight pony tail. She was a thin, frail woman, probably around forty years old. The woman definitely knew nothing of make up, because her liner was off by a quarter inch. Her mascara clumped her eyelashes together, making her emerald green eyes look older. Then, she wore those nasty three piece women's suits, with the pantyhose and everything. Today, her suit was blue.

"Because I don't feel like it," I answered, pulling the sleeves on my sweatshirt down over my hands. "Mom's stopped waking me up in the morning."

"What about your grades?"

"They're not important."

"What do you plan to do after high school?"

I sighed, and clenched my jaw before answering, "I don't know."

"It's good to know what your goals are. Do you plan on going to college?"

"I hate school. Why would I go to college?"

"To get a degree, get a good job. Don't you want that for yourself?"

"I want to be happy."

"Everyone wants to be happy."

I looked at her, lifting my chin a bit. My brown hair fell into my eyes, but it didn't bother me. "Are you?" She shifted uncomfortably. No, she wasn't. I could tell. "Is it worth it? Going to college, getting a degree in something that you're not even sure you want to do? Is happiness worth sacrificing for money?"

"I do believe that I'm supposed to ask the questions."

"It doesn't matter. It's five o'clock."

I stood up, and without saying another word, left her office. I hated being here. The neutral colors made me want to vomit, and the artwork looked as if it had been created by pre-schoolers. I wonder what it said about Dr. Quintero.

Mom was parked in front of the building, sitting idly in the car. I was a licensed driver, and had been for about a year and a half, but for some reason, she liked to think that I was incapable of driving myself anywhere.

"So?"

I had only just opened the passenger door. Throwing myself in the car, I ignored her question and buckled myself in.

"Sarah Christian Nicole," she snapped. I looked at her. It wasn't an uncommon thing for her to use my full name. "Do not ignore me."

"You didn't actually ask me a question," I mumbled. Resting my head against the window pane, I closed my eyes. "Don't yell at me for something you did."

"You know exactly what I want to know, Sarah. Do not do this today."

"It was the same as always, Mom. There's really nothing else to say. Can we go home?"

I'd hurt her feelings, but it didn't phase me. We haven't had a great relationship since her and Dad divorced when I was ten. She had transformed into this ... monster.

The ride home was absolutely quiet. The only thing I had to listen to were the sounds of passing cars and the wheels turning. Ever since then, I couldn't bear to listen to any type of music. It all reminded me of him. Every single bit of it.

*

"Don't even think about taking another step towards those stairs," Mom said as we walked through the front door. "Sit down on the couch. We're going to have a talk."

I did as told, holding the couch pillow against my chest. She disappeared into the kitchen for a moment before returning with two cans of soda. I watched her sit down in the recliner that was positioned to my left.

"Sarah, you know I love you, don't you?"

I blinked. Something was wrong.

"Sure."

"And, we both know that you're not happy."

"According to you."

She sighed, and pushed her shiny black hair out of her face. "I've spoken to your father, and we agreed that it would be best if you went to live with him."

"Seriously?" I asked, not so much in shock but rather in disbelief. "You're going to ship me away?"

"Sarah, I love you. I always will, no matter what. But, you're out of control. There is nothing that I can do for you. I've tried everything."

But I was already on my way up the stairs. I had never been this angry before. She was giving up on me.