One World Away

"So," the man who sat across from me started, steapling his fingers and regarding me with a raised eyebrow. "How've you been doing, Leigha?" He had a dark beard with a few wiry gray hairs sticking out like sore thumbs. A pair of thick glasses were just barely hanging onto his rather large and crooked nose, and two black, beady eyes stared over them at me.

"Um, I'm doing fine," I told him simply.

"Stressed?" He asked.

I shook my head.

"School problems?" The therapist tried.

"None," I said quickly. I always hated these little sessions.

"Any fights with your parents?" It was like he was trying to find something the matter with me.

I had to remind myself not to roll my eyes. "Nope."

"Boy troubles?" That was crossing the line.

"No!"

He held his hands up in surrender and sat back in a more relaxed position, apologizing under his breath as he did. "Sorry, sorry, it's none of my business."

You're a therapist, and my parents are paying you the big bucks. Technically, everything is your business, I thought to myself, leaning back in my own chair as I estimated how much longer I had to stay in the shrink's office.

I had been making monthly visits to Dr. Agetti for a few years. Once I got into ninth grade, my parents somehow came to the conclusion that, as a teenager, I needed someone to talk to about all of my angst, the angst that I didn't have, so they started sending me to an "adolescent counselor". It was more than likely just a way for them to make sure that I was getting through the days okay without asking me directly. To be honest, I would have preferred to keep everything to myself rather than talk to this quack.

He was always sitting in an old wooden chair that couldn't have been comfortable by any means. It was situated in the middle of his undecorated office, which was basically a beige box with a tacky, plaid couch pressed against one wall, a shelf full of books that he'd probably never even read against another, and a desk right next to the only window in the room, though the blinds were never open, let alone the window itself. It was stuffy, uncomfortable, and far too cheap for the money he was actually making.

Leaving the office was the highlight of my day, and if I had the energy, I probably would have clicked my ankles. Instead, I just took the slip that the secretary gave me and shuffled out of the building and into the parked Highlander that awaited me.

"Good god, I hate people," I muttered, buckling my seatbelt and causing the girl behind the wheel to laugh.

"You say that every time you come out of that place."

"That's because that place makes me hate people," I said matter- of- factly. "The friggin' doctor is just so... I don't know. He has absolutely no bedside manner, you know?"

My best friend smiled grimly and shook her head, flipping some black and purple hair from her green eyes, then putting the car in reverse and backing out of her spot before she turned onto a busy street in downtown Montpelier, Vermont.

Abbeline Fletcher had been a good friend of mine since she had started attending the Central Vermont Catholic School. I had been educated there for roughly my whole life while she had been sent to the campus as an attempt to straighten her out a bit. It was definitely a more controlled environment, but I doubted it was helping turn her into a good little girl.

She wasn't exactly a bad kid; she was just a little on the wild side. She did stupid things every once in a while, but she wasn't a delinquent. Of course, that wasn't good enough for my mother. Ever since she had met her in the sixth grade, she hated her. My stepdad didn't mind her much, but he had always been the more lenient of the two. Mom was just so worried that her rebellious attitude was going to rub off on me, and while I had become a little more outspoken, she really hadn't done very much "damage".

Her guardian, on the other hand, who was her Aunt Sophie, was the kindest woman on the face of the planet. She had some of that hot blood running through her veins like Abbeline, but she was really just a fun- loving woman who refused to let the child inside of her die entirely. That wasn't a crime.

Together, the two females made up my second family, and I tried to spend as much time with them in their cute little town- house as I could, because, to be honest, I liked it a whole lot better than my monster of a house, and I felt more comfortable around them than around my own mother and father.

"So, uh, you wanna pick up dinner at Panda Express and hang out at my place for a while, or will your parents freak out?"

I sighed and watched as the sun slowly set. "They always freak out. It's inevitable, unavoidable, kind of like death," I mused out loud, though a couple of giggles broke through my dark façade and enlightened my friend that I was only joking.

"Well, Miss Debbie Downer, make up your mind, because the exit for Chinese is coming up, like, right about..."

"Take it," I demanded. "I don't want to go home yet."

Abbeline grinned widely and quickly swerved into the far right lane, causing for a few horns to blare out in protest. "Yeah, I don't blame you."

I rolled my eyes but had to smile at her lack of comforting words. That was just so her. I always listened and talked people through their issues. Abbeline just accepted them as they were, acknowledged them only when necessary then moved on with her life and hoped that everyone else would do the same, and at that point, I just followed after her because all I really wanted was some good, cheap Chinese food, an evening full of jokes and laughter, and a bed to rest in.

~

Instead of a bed, I ended up resting on one of Aunt Sophie's couches, "resting" being a relative term. It was more like passing out for a good three hours while my best friend watched her favorite Ben Stiller movie. By the time I woke up, it was ten o' clock at night, and I knew that at least one of my parents was up and waiting for me, either my mother impatiently tapping a foot and checking the time every twelve seconds, or my father, dozing in a recliner and acting like he cared even though he really didn't.

"Crap," I muttered. "Can I get a ride home?"

Abbeline didn't even let the annoyance flicker across her face, though I knew her well enough to tell when I irritated her. She could never understand why I didn't just "grow a back bone and tell them to suck it". I told her that it was because I actually respected my parents, unlike some people.

She drove like a madwoman and punched in the gate code in record time. She wasn't supposed to know it, but I had told it to her the first and only time that I ever drank in my life. I was kind of surprised that I even remembered it then. It was pretty impressive.

"Alright, good luck, girly. I know you'll need it." She saluted me before pulling around the circle drive and exiting the premesis.

My parents weren't terrible. My mother was strict, and as a result, so was my stepfather. My mom liked to shelter me as best she could, which I could understand, but sometimes she and Nicholas blew up at the smallest things. I was almost positive that I was going to get the "You're throwing away your future" speech as soon as I stepped into the house, and that was just for taking a nap at a friend's house. They didn't slap me around or starve me, but sometimes I wished they did because it would go a whole lot faster than their giant lectures.

I punched in the security key and unlocked the door, then turned the system back on and locked up again, nibbling on my lip as I made my way into the downstairs living area.

To my utmost surprise, I didn't hear any loud voices ring out, and neither of my parents sprang up from the furniture. Instead, I was met with the scene of them sleeping in separate recliners in front of a muted television, their feet propped up, empty wine glasses on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

"Well," I muttered to myself, "That worked out nicely."

I let a smug expression unfold on my features, then turned and walked out of the room and up the grand staircase to my personal living space.

Opening the door, I ran my fingers over the light pad, making the room respond to my touch and brighten almost immediately. Everything came into view, my carpet, the large window that overlooked my backyard, all of my shelves, books, and trinkets, the desk that sat right in the corner, and the bed that called my name even after my miniature coma. It was all just as I had last left it save for one extremely alarming thing.

There was a familiar dark haired man sitting in the swivel chair in front of my desk, dressed in riding breeches, boots, a frilled linen shirt, and a dark blue waistcoat, and even though I hadn't seen him for ten years, I knew exactly who he was.

Staring at me with a pair of mysterious brown eyes that I could still remember from my childhood was the man who my parents had so adamantly believed was long since dead, Mr. Brian Haner, Jr.