The Fault in Our Tumblr

Chapter Two

Therapy was as painful as it always would be. When I set foot on the concrete slab in front of the YMCA, my heart dropped into my stomach faster than the old ride Demon Drop from Cedar Point. I felt like I was going to vomit, but even if I faked a few gags my mom would have still pushed me through the doors. I took a few shallow breaths before walking through the sliding doors and entering the beginning of my end. 

The smell of the heavily chlorinated pool water mixed with stuffy ventilation heat penetrated my nostrils; and even though it was outrageously cold in the building, my body felt like it was ten-thousand degrees inside. I stole a glance at the guy who sat behind the counter, watching his fingers fly across his phone keyboard as he texted whoever it was. I looked at the billiards tables and the ping-pong tables that sat unused in the front lobby. I listened to the droning noise of the pop and candy machines just off to my left. With a heavy, heavy sigh I pushed myself to walk back down the hallway of destruction to the room known by many as the killing grounds of Mickie Croon, some gangster that stole some cash and almost got away with it. He probably would have too if it weren't for the meddling cops and his girlfriend too. 

There I stopped, right in front of the door. My hand felt slick against the knob as I knew my palms were sweating horribly. I turned the knob and pushed the door open with as much care as I could, popping my head around the corner to see a few regulars tossed in with about three new kids. That meant going through introductions today. My heart sank even more. 

"H-Hey H-Henry, h-how's it g-going!" Ishmael, a quick, long-blonde haired spazz, walked up to me and opened the door further so he could see me better. Ishmael was one of the coolest people in the entire group therapy. He was understanding of people's personal space, and above all enjoyed many of the things that I did. He had a stuttering issue he had been working on since the moment he could talk, and even now that he was sixteen he still had problems with his D's, G's, H's, J's, P's, T's, S's, and W's. Specifics, I know, but I'm not a creep I swear. Peter makes us explain when we get new kids what our problems are, and he emphasizes that we must be specific. 

"Hey, Ishmael." I said, my mouth nearly going dry as I kept thinking about the new kids and having to explain how stupid my "problem" was. I didn't even have a true problem, so every time I had to explain something, I felt like an idiot for just saying, "Oh, I'm just hear because I'm awkward around society. Please don't mind me. I'll be in the corner rocking like a baby in the fetal position. Carry on." No. You just do not tell people that. You just don't. 

"Who are the new kids?" I pointed to the two teen girls who sat quietly off to one side and one younger boy who looked only thirteen. 

Ishmael looked over at the kids as if he hadn't noticed them. "Oh! T-Those g-guys are j-just s-some new comers. I d-don't know much about t-them. But enough s-small t-talk. W-Where h-have you been? You s-skipped T-Tuesday." 

I shoved my sweaty hands in my pockets and stepped more fully into the room, slowly pressing my back against one of the walls. "I skipped out. I didn't want to come."

"P-Pet-ter t-took us out for ice cream." Ishmael beamed, brushing a bit of his blonde mess of hair from his eyes. 

"What flavour did you get?" I pushed, but truthfully I didn't care.

"S-Strawberry." He replied with some difficulty. 

I rolled my eyes a little. "Of course you did." 

Suddenly, the door opened behind me and nearly made me jump out of my skin. I turned to see Peter walk in, a smile popping onto his face as soon as he saw me. "Henry! It's so good to see you here today!" He slapped his hands against my shoulders, nearly knocking me down.