Trespassing

Trip's POV

I stared at the clock wondering why it was against me. Not that I should be surprised, every other thing in the world was against me. Not just today—every day. I couldn’t understand why I had even bothered with getting out of bed. It was Saturday I could be anywhere else, but no, I was sitting in a chair waiting for my appointment with my new Psychologist. It wasn’t the first time I wished I could snap my fingers and make myself disappear, I couldn’t, though. In the end, I knew why I was here. My parents remembered they had a son for five minutes and this was their way of saying ‘we do care about you, even if we talk with you once a month’ and yes, we live in the same house—or triplex, whatever you want to call it.

All my life, I had never been my parents’ first concern, or the second. It was money, money, appearances, more money—and I’m not sure where I came in, but it had to be pretty low on the list. So, it was easy to get the idea. My Dad owns a Bank and my Mom’s a famous designer. Money isn’t a problem, or friends, I have plenty of those as long as the money comes into my account. Pft, those people really piss me off, but I can’t change my name and hope to get a normal life, I would have to change my face too, which sucked since I like the one I have.

Anyway, my parents recalled they had me after I crashed a car. It was an accident; I wasn’t trying for suicide or anything. I was, however, running from the police. I scratched the cut on my eyebrow, it was the only thing left from the accident, the only thing that didn’t seem to go away. It was going to leave a scar, oh well. The police arrested me because I’d been drag racing, and it’s illegal so my parents were contacted—or their lawyers were. I got out and my Dad booked me a session with a shrink. They didn’t even care to lecture me, but of course there had to be something wrong with me. How dare I crash a car and stain our family name with my arrest?

Rolling my eyes, I sagged further into the leather chair. This was seriously the most boring time ever.

“Yes, Mom, I’m here, alright? Jesus, I didn’t run away… no. Right, see ya’.” There was an audible click and the brown haired girl stuffed her cell into her bag.

I could already see the brand on it, GUCCI, of course. Anyone who came into this office had money; it was the most expensive around. Though… looking at her face, I drew a blank. It struck me as a little strange since I knew every rich kid my age, around here, even if I’d never met them—which was pretty impossible. My Mom loved me to be social, especially with the girls. But her bag… I took another glance. It wasn’t brand new like all the others. I could see it was an older design, worn, spent from years of usage. That wasn’t what I usually saw in the Upper East Side.

Her arms were crossed swiftly as she sat down in the chair across from mine. I straightened out a little, giving my hazel hair a shake. The girl sighed looking away from the clock; it was pretty obvious she wanted to here as much as I did. When her eyes fell to me they widened. Weird, that was the reaction I got from all the other fan girls out there.

“So, what are you in for?” I asked wrinkling out my jacket.

She stared at me for a while.

“Huh… what?” She croaked.

Well, that wasn’t the same person who’d been talking on the phone. She sounded angry, revolted and whatnot. Now she was bewildered, quieter.

“You know, what did you do for your parents to send you here. Steal, smoke—that sort of thing.” I shrugged.

Catching up her composure, the girl wiped her hair strands to the side.

“I… I rather not talk about it.” Her chocolate eyes averted from mine. “You’re Thomas Harrington, aren’t you?”

I held in a sigh. If she was going to ask me for an interview with my Mom, I’d flip. My Mom loved to have new beautiful models and occasionally, girls came to me trying to seduce me in hopes I’d get them a job.

“I prefer being called Trip, but yeah I am.” There was no use in lying, pretending would do no good. She obviously knew who I was the moment her eyes set themselves on mine.

“Wow,” she mumbled. “You were arrested two days ago for drag racing—”

“Yeah, I know it was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it. It gives my family a bad name. Whatever.”

“Really? I always heard there was no such thing as bad publicity.” She showed the outlines of a smile. “I was going to say it was pretty epic. I saw the whole thing on TV.”

Well, that was a new one. All the other girls had been worried about my Father cutting me off from the family, because this hadn’t been the first “awful” thing I’d done to screw with our perfect family portrait.

The door opened and my new shrink called me in. I gave an eye roll as I walked to the door that would lead me into hell, there was a smile on her face and before I grasped the knob…

“I’m Ava, by the way.”

I glanced over my shoulder taking a mental picture of her, even knowing she’d still be sitting there when I got out.

“Nice meeting you, Ava.” I winked.

Just as a nice batch of emotions came they went once I stepped into therapy turf. I wasn’t crazy, I really didn’t need this shit, but I’d go through with it just to amuse them.

My crystal-blue eyes took in what laid before them, and I swear this was messier than my room—and I tended to make my room a mess.

“Jesus…” I whispered involuntarily.

There were files all over the mahogany table, papers stacked up out of order, clearly—the diplomas from Harvard hung askew. Where had my Dad sent me to? A blond head snapped to me. I swear it was like she wasn’t expecting me, and she’d just been outside to call me in.

“Oh, Thomas I didn’t notice you coming in!” Okay, this lady got scarier by the second. “Please, sit down. I won’t bite.” She joked smiling then went back to scribbling on a paper. I gave a wry smile; at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if she jumped me. “So,” she said, adopting a much more serious expression than the previous one. “My name is Lydia Coleman. I’ll be your Psychologist for the next…” Lydia stopped tapping her chin, looking lost and a little confused—until she shrugged. “Well, we’ll see how our first session goes.” Her happy tone did nothing to cheer me. I waited as she pulled an inch thick file with my name on the side. “I read through your file and first of all, congratulations on your grades—they’re perfect.”

“My thoughts exactly, do you think you can let my parents know?” I began tapping my foot down impatiently.

Lydia blinked her almond shaped eyes.

“What do you mean by that, Thomas?” She laced her fingers, resting her chin on them and leaning forward.

There it was the analyze procedure. I’d gone through it a few times before.

“I mean, they don’t share our opinion. Now, Ms. Coleman—”

“Please, call me Lydia.” She interjected softly.

“Lydia,” I humored her. “Can we please get on with this? I know what I’m here for. I dragged raced, crashed a car running from the police and got arrested. I’m a terrible son because I have no concern for our family name—yada, yada, yada. I’ve heard this lecture so many times my parents don’t even bother giving it to me.” I crossed my arms feeling the brown coat tightened on my shoulders.

“And would you like them to?”

I frowned.

“Excuse me?”

Lydia cleared her throat, her kind smile never leaving.

“Would you like to be lectured by them, Thomas?”

My jaw felt rigid, my blood ran cold. The only thing I could get out then was…

“Everyone calls me Trip,” I mumbled with apathy in my eyes. Lydia nodded taking a sip of whatever was in her white mug. Why would I like to be lectured? They always said the same thing over and over. Why would I want to listen to that? “No, I wouldn’t. I’d just like to be left alone.” I practically was already.

“Is that so?” Lydia’s face was crossed with a shadow of doubt. “Then why would you keep doing all these bad things, Trip? When you were a junior you stole tests, every time you go out you get into bar fights over cigarettes, drinks, bets—one of them ended up with you being admitted to the hospital—among other things. And now… you get arrested for illegal racing.” She flipped my inch file closed, lifting her eyes to mine. “Seems to me you want attention—”

“I have attention. I can’t step out of my house without getting a camera flash in my face. I have all the girls I can possibly want, friends—I have it all. I’m Thomas Harrington.” I said the last part a little lowly, almost like it was a curse being me, and sometimes…

“But not your parents, right?” My eyes drifted from Lydia, my teeth gritted. “You don’t have your parents’ attention and you want it. That’s why you’ve been doing all these crazy things, isn’t it, Trip?” I don’t know what bothered me more, the fact she kept smiling softly, or the fact she was touching a nerve. “It’s normal for kids to want their parents’ to acknowledge them. I can see how it must be hard for you, since they’re so busy,” I shifted, my fingers curling and uncurling. “Have you tried talking to them?”

Talking to them? I almost choked thinking those words; the last—real—conversation I had with my Dad was about one year ago when I bought my first SUV. With my Mom… well, there was nothing to talk about with my Mother. All she cared about was fashion and I really didn’t give a rat’s ass about it. I let out a breath facing her straight on. All the other shrinks I’d gone did what I told them, they stuck to the matter that took me to them. This one, this one was nosy. I was sick of having my life laid out to the world like an open book. I leaned forward, placing my hands on my knees and the smirk I formed was ironic.

“I don’t think this is going to work, Lydia. Thanks for the time, though.”

I slammed the door on my way out—the last thing I caught before walking out was how Ava was fiddling with her fingers. Then her eyes crossed mine. She didn’t smile at me. I wondered what she had done, and while I passed her, I tilted my head with curiosity. She didn’t seem familiar at all…