Finding Home | Finders Keepers #1✔️

Thirty-Seven - Three Weeks

It's been three weeks since the gym fiasco. It was easy finding therapist, especially when you talked to your parents about it. It wasn't easy to ignore it—after going to lunch and cleaning up at Luke's house, I went back home alone. Luke wanted to come with me, but I knew that when questions came up about the bruise on my jaw, Luke would be sitting awkwardly at the table.

"What happened to your jaw?" Loren gasps, her hands cupping my jaw to the side to get a better view. "Who hurt you, sweetie?"

I pull away from her. "I'm fine. I was sparring with an old friend and things got out hand. He got it way worse than I do."

"Look, honey," Philip takes my hand with his. It was weird, seeing them like this. Not because this was the first time this happened, but because, this time, I'm realizing that they're acting like mom and dad—because, well, they are my parents. "We don't ask when you don't come home most of the time but when you do, will you please not make us worry by showing up like this?"

Every alert on my brain wanted to pull away from their reach, protecting the memories of mom and dad but I knew that even though they aren't the ones who raised me, they are the ones who are here, trying to get to know me, trying to love me.

So, I don't move my hand away. Instead, I grasp at his hand.

He stares at our linked hands. I think they're more surprised than I am when I had decided to do that. It meant that I was no longer rejecting some ounce of affection they gave. It was new, it was nice.

"I have to tell you guys something," I breathe out, unable to hide my nervousness. Holding Philip's hand helped soothe my nerves, so I don't let go. "I'm planning to see a therapist."

"Oh-okay," Chris nods.

"It's no secret that ever since I got here, I've been a little angry at everyone." I say, simply. "And after Nate... I couldn't help but be angrier. Today, sparring with my old friend, I almost knocked him out unconscious. If Luke wasn't there, I don't know what I would've done. Everyday, I'm angrier than I was the other day and seeing what I did to an old friend, I realized that I don't want anyone to be in the end of that. So, I'm getting some help."

"That's great," Chris smiles. "Not the fact that you have anger management issues and have some PTSD that you need to work on, but the fact that you admitted that you need help and you're telling us."

Philip squeezes my hand in support. "We'll, of course, pay for the medical expenses and we're going to help finding you a fit therapist."

Loren reaches for my other hand and I take it.

The therapist, Dr. Sands, was nice and had his assistant set up a meeting for twice a week; one on Wednesdays after school and one on Saturdays. I've had about five meetings and so far, it's tough. It's hard talking about my parents, reliving the good things and the accident. It's been up to there so far, not talking about Nate. Sometimes, little snippets of him would come up and he would always ask me.

"Why is it so hard for you to talk about Nate?"

It wasn't as if I could talk easily about the gang, you know. We were lucky enough that no cops and reporters had blasted the house and what had happened there. If it wasn't for Antonio's leadership, it would have been discovered that there was a war between two gangs.