Rules of a Rebel

Chapter 38: Never Cry

Rule #9: Never Cry

Tears make every situation worse. 

- () - 

My first day of therapy is during the second week after school starts again. Already tired with all the stress of last-minute college applications and meetings of prom committee (which has really kicked up now that prom is actually coming), the last thing I want to do is go a session and spew out my feelings to a stranger. 

But I don't have a choice. 

So here I am in my mom's car, sulking in my seat. 

She barely spares me a glance as she parks in the front of the building the therapist is at. After grandmother left, we haven't talked much. Every conversation between us is awkward and forced. Sometimes, I think she wants to say something, but she never says it.

"Alright," Mom sighs, tucking a few strands back into her bun. "We're here.

"Yeah." 

"Remember, it's Room 251." 

"Okay." 

"And I'll pick you up at five-thirty."

"Okay." 

Mom presses her lips together, a sign that she's annoyed. "You should go now." 

"Okay," I open the car door, step outside, then turn around at the last second. "Bye, mom." 

"Bye Peyton." 

She speeds off as I close the door. As slowly as possible, I walk towards the towering building. It's white and seven stories tall. The front doors slide open automatically when I enter. 

The inside of the building is surprisingly nice. The air smells like peppermint, the carpet is colored pine green, and the giant windows offer great views of the parking lot. I linger out in the hallway, taking as much time as possible, until I find Room 251. The door is dark wood, with a small plague with the name of my therapist - Dr. Robinson - plastered on top. 

Should I knock? 

No, that'll look weak. 

I check my watch, making sure the time is accurate - 4:30 - and swing open the door. The doctor, a plump woman with graying hair and a business suit, glances up. 

"Hello," She pulls herself up and straightens her skirt. "You must Peyton Monroe. My name is Doctor Marie Robinson. Thank you for taking the time to come here and meet me." 

I shake her hand, saying nothing. 

"Of course. I understand that your mother has made appointments for sessions twice a week," She motions to the plushy seat across her desk. "So we have plenty of time. Please, come and sit down. Get comfortable." 

I sit down, but don't do anything that would suggest I should get comfortable. 

Before coming here, I set a couple ground rules so I wouldn't end up humiliating myself. There's a lot of them, but a couple include a) don't rant, b) don't raise your voice and c) don't cry. It should be easy enough. All I have to do is not get emotional.