Straight Boys

Straightedge

Corbett's POV

"You know. . .you don't have to go today. You seemed really worked up yesterday when I picked you up from school. We can go home, snuggle up on the couch and drink some of my homemade hot chocolate. What do you say, honey? It is cold enough for hot chocolate." I didn't look my mother in the face as she tried to baby me. I kept my glare away from her and looked out the clear glass of the car's window. She wasn't making me feel better. She tried, but it never worked. Then again, nothing ever worked when it came to me somehow. It only seemed to work at making herself feel better as her cold, dainty hand tried to rest a comforting feel on my shoulder.

I clenched my neck and snapped it to my right, popping the stress off my spine like a pop-a-top bottle. "I'm fine, mom." I unlocked my door and stepped out of her car, allowing myself to break free of her maternal issues, but turned to give her my best sonny smile as I said, "See you at six," and then I slammed shut our routine conversation like I slammed her car door. Sighing to myself - at myself because when it comes to the area of expertise in dealing with feelings, I was a neophyte - I turned away from the vintage BMW my mom had insisted made her feel like a teenager again, and stalked towards the entrance of the recreational center that was used for more than just recreation.

Maybe therapy is recreation for some people?

Shoving my calloused hands deep into the pockets of my sweat pants, I shoved my way through the doors, took a left before I hit the receptions desk, then a right, and went through another set of doors to find myself in a large room that probably used to be a daycare center for children by the way the walls were painted in fading blues, pinks, greens, yellows that were in shapes of plants and animals. I was early, only by a few minutes, but I wasn't the first person to arrive at the den of "Acceptance and absolutely no judgement."

Jack Dresden was there, mulling next to the large punch bowl that had a spot in the corner of the room on a wooden table sprinkled with a few dry sweets and stale candies on its surface. He had clinical depression because his bitch of an ex-wife had an affair with his boss. Everybody knew that that wasn't the real reason he was always so sad.

Then there was Annie O'Phanny: a hardcore Lesbian that had issues with liking herself. She was nice, very charming, and very intuitive. She had a mouth on her that never stopped yapping during our sessions, always with jokes and shit-washed facts that nobody knew how she knew.

Polly Pocket - nobody knew her real name because she was a real nutcase - was already sitting in one of the thirteen chairs that lined up to form a circle in the middle of the room. She was a pathological liar, and she had said her mom had signed her up for group therapy because she wanted her to shut up about the nonsense she spewed about her other therapists trying to make her really crazy. Nobody knew if she had told the truth or not.

Shawn Pierce sat a few chairs away from Polly, shoulders hunched and his signature trenchcoat dangling from the metal chair. He had a knack for self destructing and impulsive stealing. His dad came in one day yelling his head off at him, at Shawn, because he had gotten a call from a colleague at work asking him if he had seen his thousand dollar flat screen anywhere. Shawn's sixteen and better with his hands than most quarterbacks.

Then there was me. An eighteen year old, shit-eating-grinner with a fuck ton of bullshit stuck with me for forever.

Letting the door slam behind me, I made my way over to Jack, not even bothering to pay my respects like the gentleman my mother tried to raise me to be, and went straight for the too sweet punch to drown my sorrows in, much like he was doing.

Although, I guess I didn't need to say anything to get the guy to talk. "Corbett! Hey, man, I haven't seen you since... since well the last session... I... guess." I downed the last gulp and raised my eyebrows up at the weird conversation starter. "Nice to see you, too, Jacky. How's Leslie?" My biting comment, even though I wasn't meaning to sound like such an asshole, made him look away and purse his lips.