The Art of Faking It

Dr. Sapphire

Hey guys, so, I was way more than overly thrilled to see this story had even made it on the humor list, or even the romance list to be honest. It's super cool to me that you guys take the time out of your day to vote and comment, even read my story. This chapter is kind of a filler, I guess you could say, because I don't want to have a book that's all action all the time like I've done with every other piece I've ever done. Anyway, I hope you guys like it, even though it isn't necessarily an exciting chapter. 
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The Art of Faking It
Chapter 2

Sammie

"And how did that make you feel, Samantha?" The question was so overly Doctor Phil that I had to roll my eyes.

"I don't know, bad, I guess."  The room was bare, as always, except for the little green poster in the corner of the room and some psychology books sitting on a bookshelf over in the corner. 

Dr. Sapphire sighed, sitting back in her chair just as I had done moments before. 

"Samantha, you've been coming to my office for three years, and never once have you ever opened up to me. Quite honestly, I still don't know anything about you besides the fact that your birthday is August 2nd, you hate cats, and for some reason you have a deep hatred towards your math teacher." I had never seen my therapist so..... broken down, she had tried for years to get me to open up to her, tell her where I thought my life just went wrong, but quite frankly I never thought it was any of her business. My parents are only sending me here so they wouldn't be investigated again. Not only that, but this woman only listens to me because she gets paid for it, so there is no way in hell I'm letting her in on everything I've ever done in my life. 

"Sorry." Was all I could say, and Dr. Sapphire nodded her head, getting up out of her chair and going to open the door. 

"Well, our time is up so we'll have to continue this later." I wanted to snap at her, to yell at her and tell her that maybe I would open up to her stupid ass if she just pretended to care about me instead of that damn paycheck showing up in her hand every damn week. 

But instead, since my parents raised me better and I wasn't in the mood to fight with someone who could tell almost everything I felt based on a movement, I ground my teeth together and stood up, heading for said opened door. 

"Come back next week." I was used to the saying by now, I'd heard it every Friday at four for the last three years, so I just sent her a wave of my hand and walked out the door. 

In this part of the world, it was almost constantly raining. Sure, there were the small drizzles and then the insane downpour that caused everyone to curse the day they were born, but it was rain just the same. 

And that's exactly what I was greeted with when I walked outside of the two-story brick building. A downpour that began to seep through my light winter coat and ripped hand-me-down jeans. So, knowing there was no way my foster parents were going to come pick me up, I started the walk home. 

I didn't mind it as much as I would have a few years ago, this wasn't the first time I had to walk home in the rain and I'm sure as hell it won't be the last. Somehow the rain always helped me feel better, and this was one of the only moments I ever got to myself. My "parents" hated me, and as much as I loved my brother spending every moment of my day with him outside of school was physically painful.

A car pulled up beside me on my walk home, and while at first I was a little skeptic to actually look and see who it was, I eventually bent down to see who had pulled up beside me. The face was familiar, but for some reason the name was a complete blank in my head and I couldn't begin to figure out why. He went to my school, I knew that much. 

"Get in." 

At this point, soaked, tired, and emotionally detached from the world around me,  I did the one thing your parents tell you to never do as a kid. You would think I learned my lesson the first time I did something my parents told me not to, because I paid dearly for that mistake, but I didn't. 

And I got in the car. 

Once I plopped my soaking butt into the passenger's seat I turned to look at the boy, once again trying to put a name to the face. 

What will never cease to amaze me in this world is how some people just know what you're thinking. 

"Hey," The guy said, his lips moving up into a smile, "I'm Dane."

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OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH. WE'VE GOT OURSELVES A NEW MYSTERY MAN! LMAO, you guys know his name so he's not really a mystery I guess. :( Any guesses as to who this "Dane" might be? And I'd just like to say again, thank you, to all of you, who vote and comment. It really makes writing worth writing and it pumps me up just a bit more every time to see you guys like it. So thanks. I think I can honestly say that you guys ARE my inspiration.