Ghosts Of The Past [BoyxBoy] ✓

35. Brave

I groan as we turn up at the psych ward. 

"You've got this." Aron squeezes my arm. 

"Don't say that until you've gone to your therapy." 

"You're right." He leans in and kisses my cheek. 

"Good luck." He says. 

"Yeah, you too." I get out of the car. 

As I walk into the waiting room after checking in I'm happy to see no one's there. No freaks for a change. 

I sit down on a chair and a second later Harold walks in with with Heather following shortly after.

I look up at the ceiling. 

"Kill me now."

"Suicidal, I see?" Harold grins as he walks further into the room. 

"That makes a bit more sense, I could see why someone like you might not want to continue on."

"Someone like me?" Why am I talking to him? 

"You're BASIC." His hand rests on his hip and he's literally looking down on me as he says this. 

"And you're a sadistic psychopath." I spit back. 

He gasps exasperatedly and holds his hand to his chest. 

"How dare you!" He exclaims theatrically. "Sadistic, maybe, but a psychopath?" 

I roll my eyes. 

"Yes, go ahead. Roll your eyes! That seems to be all your good for." 

"Said the nuisance!" I scream at him. "And on top of that you're a fucking jerk, in case you didn't know!"

"I'M a jerk?! Oh, don't get me started on you, mister—" 

"Harold?" A man sticks his head in he door. I assume he's Harold's therapist. 

He gets up and walks over to the man. He gives me a snide look and disappears. 

I sigh of relief.

The only one left now is Goth Girl.

She looks at me with big eyes.

"What?" I say after a while, a little more harshly than intended.

She flinches.

I sigh. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna punch you." I say annoyed.

She peers over at me for a while.

She doesn't say anything.

Whatever.

I look away and drown in my own thoughts again.

"I like your hair." She says quietly, suddenly.

I turn to her.

Her eyes are big, cautious.

"Thanks." I smirk.

She smiles back at me. It might just be the softest, shyest smile I've ever seen. Even more so than Chase's.

My heart fills with warmth.

Before I know it, I find myself asking: "So what brings you here?" 

"Social anxiety disorder and c-PTSD." She says softly like it's nothing.

"You?" She asks.

"I don't fucking know, honestly."

She flinches at the swearing.