Backstage; Wonah/Rester

10: Control

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of guns, depression, topics regarding mental health and abuse

Reed

"I'm not a basket case." I say to myself in the boys bathroom mirror. "There's nothing on my forearms. I don't need happy pills. You should know this is stupid."

My reflection doesn't respond.

The therapy session or whatever Metcalf wants me to do was suppose to start fifteen minutes ago. I really don't know what they were expecting at this point. Schools out, so I can only make up the excuse that I had homework, not that they would believe it. But it's cute to think they no me.

I grab my bag abandoned on the floor and walk as slowly as I can down the hallway. It makes me think I'm some sort of special agent. Then I stop that, because I'm not a child. My fingers brush against the schools wall, probably filling my hand with as many germs as one of those health code videos I sleep on in class.

When I enter the school office, probably for the billionth time this year, Metcalf stands out the front, hands crossed.

"You're late." He says seriously.

I shrug. "Don't know what you were expecting."

He ignores me and points to the door. "Dr Illigan is waiting for you. Hurry along before you make them even more upset."

"Dude who even says "Hurry along" anymore?" I'm not in the mood to start a fight with him today, but I'll poke as many buttons as I can.

The room off the side of the office that I've never really cared about before, waits expectantly at me. I'm still tempted to walk right out of this, but I could risk Metcalf telling my dad. Which is much worse than whatever this is suppose to be.

Shiny Blonde hair catches my eye as a young Asian man with ear piercings and a suit that has almost a skirt like bottom extends out his hand.

"Reed. You're late."

"You're-" Not exactly what I was imagining.

"Not what you expected?" The guy shrugs, "what were you expecting, Reed? A short plump lady with frizzy brown hair and a cat sweater? Because Nina is out sick today."

I swallow my words as if he could stop reaching into my mind to pick each letter out. "Stop calling me my name like that. It's unprofessional."

"Well, when we really want to connect with kids, they don't really see us as something real until we use their first names. It at least takes a few session, but since you are for one day only, you get VIP privileges." 

Dr Illigan pushes a spinning chair in my direction. "Sit."

I want to sneer back "No sofa for me to lie in and tell you about my mother?" But I just follow instructions.

"I'm not a basket case-" I try and start my speech to get out of here as quickly as possible.

"Oh, please don't try and give me that." He flicks through his folder which was lying on the desk, "not only have you had zero connections regarding your fathers participation to your school achievements, but it seems you had access to a gun throughout most of middle school and high school. Would you care to elaborate on that?"

I stay silent. My right finger curls slightly into a trigger holding position like I'm not in control.

"Reed, do you know how dangerous even being in an area with a gun can be? Especially for your age?" Dr Illigan sits in the chair across from mine. "Regular people, give a guess as to how many are injured each year with gun violence."