How To Save A Life

Jules' Point Of View

It was definitely worse than id ever imagined it would be. I would say that as soon as I got here, I had wanted to leave, but I never wanted to be here in the first place. No, I certainly wasn't here through choice. I'd replay the scene in my head, wondering why I didn't put up more of a fight for my freedom. After all, my grandparents weren't getting any younger, and they usually let me get away with everything, support me when I was at a low point; but apparently enough is enough, and I respected them enough to actually listen this time, for their sake. Even if it did mean I was now trapped in hell.

Someone always seemed to want to "help" me with my "problem", even after I pointed out time and time again that I didn't want or need help, as I didn't see myself as having a problem. I had to admit though – all that putting up a fight all of the time was beginning to get to me, wearing me out more than I could handle. It took one heartfelt conversation with Nona and Gramps and here I was.

"So you do know why you're here don't you Julien?" The councillor asked me, as though he was speaking to a child who had been sent to the principles office for cussing at a teacher. I didn't like him much, didn't even bother to learn his name – why should I when he kept calling me Julien? Oh, how I despised that name. I had looked him over as soon as I got in the room, scrutinized every aspect of his appearance. He was a short, dumpy man, though he didn't seem uncomfortable at the fact I towered over him. In fact we were totally opposite: old and young, short and tall, fair haired and dark haired, fat and thin.

"Yes, I know why." I said, as usual trying to keep calm and not flip my lid. Mood swings seemed pretty common with me these days. "And I'd prefer if you'd listen to what I said in the first place and call me Jules. Actually, call me what you like, just not Julien."

I mustn't have been as calm as I thought, because he looked at me, almost curious as to what brought on my little outburst, as though he could sense how tense I became. "Am I right in thinking you detest the name?" No duh. "May I ask why?"

I rolled my eyes at him, and not for one second did I consider telling him. It was the name she gave me. That vile, disgusting excuse I have for a mother. In the, thankfully, very rare occasion I saw her, she was the only one to ever call me Julien. If I mention my hatred for that woman, I knew he'd bring it all back to my 'problem' or 'illness' as it was now being referred to. "I just don't like the name. I prefer Jules." I said, regaining the calm I thought I had before. Besides, I didn't see how my dislike for my name had any connection to what I was there for.