Distorted

I glanced at the person as they moved closer to me, barely registering who it was until they wrapped their arms around my back and I sank into them. A hand touched my face, fingers working to wipe away tears.

“What did you do?” Christian asked, lifting me into his arms. He turned to stare at the broken mirror and I buried my head in his chest. “Jesus, what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” I muttered. “Just please get me out of here.”



That stupid paperweight is all I see when I sit down across from him. He’s giving me a look, his eyes locking with the gauze around my arm. I scrunch smaller in the chair and shake my head. I don’t want to talk about it yet, so instead I tell him a story.

I talk about my dad. I talk about how he was a good father, always checking to make sure I did my homework, or checked the doors and windows when I got scared, making sure they were secure. Then I talk about the alcohol, the smoking, the constant cheating, and about the day he came home from work early just to beat up my mom.

He always told me that crying was weak, which was probably why I rarely did it, with the exception of this morning. In all fairness, I hadn’t realized I was doing it until Christian touched my face.

I’ve found out the doctor’s name, because I finally decided to look at the name plate. It says in bold capital letters: Dr. John Monroe.

“Is Christian your boyfriend?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s just a friend.”

“Does he know about your dad?”

“No.”

Green eyes widened in surprise.

The entire time I’ve been talking, he wasn’t looking at me, and now I know why. He slides a piece of paper across the desk toward me and nods.

“This is my home and cell number. If you need me again, call me. I mean it, Kendall.” Before I can ask what’s on my mind, he cuts me off. “No, your sessions aren't done. I just think you could use some time to yourself. You look like you hate it here.”

“I don’t, not really,” I said, frowning. “It’s just I feel like you’re—”

“Prying?” John smiles and shakes his head. “It’s not my intention. I’m just supposed to listen and give advice. It’s okay, we can reschedule. But remember what I said.”

After I thanked him and left, I stood in the parking lot of the office for awhile, the sun beating down on my heard, warm and calming. I stared down at my shadow on the asphalt, and was startled when I was joined by another.

It’s just a stranger, I told myself, probably a wandering homeless man looking for some money. I lifted my head, the words out of my mouth before I could stop them. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any—”

“I don’t want anything from you,” a familiar voice spat. Then they whispered, “But now I know your secret. You’re a freak. Here to talk about your daddy issues? Or maybe you’re telling the shrink how much of a whore your mother is.”

Cassie Barnes never got any further in her insult, because at that moment, my fist came in contact with her jaw. She stumbled back and slammed her head on the edge of one of those potted plants that was sitting inches from us.

Just as I heard the sickening crack of Cassie’s skull hitting the pot, I saw the blood that blossomed from the wound. It dripped down her temple. I bent down to see if she was okay, to tell her I didn’t mean to do that, but she wasn’t moving.

As I stood frozen to the spot, all I could think was, I guess that’s better than gutting her. Less messy.