Hard 2 Face Reality

How it is.

"Mr. Bieber please answer the question."

Snapping out of my thoughts, I focus my eyes on the sharp lady in front of me, writing my every move on a pad.

"Sorry, can you repeat it?" I mutter for the hundredth time since I met this woman one year ago.

"I said, it's the anniversary of your first session with me. You are being discharged tomorrow. Do you feel that you've progressed these last 365 days? That you can handle what's out there?" she asks tentatively.

'No. He can't,' my subconscious sneers.

But he's not the one out here dealing with this fucking place. "Yes. I think I'm ready." I sigh.

"And how do you know?" she prys.

"Because I can't live in this fucking place one more day Gale." I snap.

"Not wanting to live here and being ready for out there are two totally different things Justin." she counters, just as snippy as I was. I liked how she never cowered from my bullshit.

"I'm ready," I mutter.

"Explain to me how you know? I still have to sign your final discharge papers, and you know I want to, but I won't. Not unless I'm sure I won't see you in a jail cell or back here Justin." She talked now from her friend voice, not her hard objective voice she used when she was trying to figure out why I was beating my hands on the cement in my room.

She was my friend, I guess. The closest I have in here, I guess. Her weekly visits were the only thing reminding me that there was still a free, not uniform world, where you can do what you please when you please.

"I'm ready," I repeat with more confidence.

"Justin, explain."

"I haven't fought anyone in a few weeks. I talked to another inmate-"

"Patient. You are not in jail." she scolds, hating when I referred to the "only place that will help me" as a prison.

Rolling my eyes, I give in. This could be our last day together and I don't want to ruin it. It would be nice to talk to her outside of this place. She knows how to handle me somewhat and I can't ruin that.

"Whatever. I talked to someone. More than once. He sits with me at lunch." I note.

"What is his name?" she asks, writing on that annoying ass pad. I roll my eyes again.

"Andrew. He's okay, I guess." I shrug. He was okay. I actually might miss the guy. He is the only one I talked to besides 'Ms. Tell me how you feel'.

"And this is what is supposed to make me sign my signature?" her eyebrows arch as she leans back shaking her head, "Tell me how you feel."

Wow she is predictable now.

"I don't." I answer automatically.

"Don't what. Know that you're ready?"

"No! Gale don't you dare try to not sign those fucking papers." I growl, "I meant I don't feel. That's how I know I'm ready."

"Not feeling is how you know?"

"Yes," I simply state, "Not feeling means I don't get as mad or sad." This is far from the truth, but I'm a bit desperate to say the right thing to get me out of here.

"So, you believe this is good?" she asks, writing heavily.

"Yes," I shrug.

"Justin, not feeling is an identifier of a person being a psychopath."

"What the fuck!" I exclaim, on my feet in an instant. "I'm not fucking crazy. Just because I live here does not mean I'm crazy remember? You told me that!"

"Justin I do not believe you're crazy." she calms me, requesting I sit with her hands.

I unclench my fist, remembering the discharge and take my seat across from her again.

"I'm only noting that you may not be helping yourself with your statement," she assures me.

"Gale, I'm ready." I sigh, again.

"Prove it." she insists.

"My mom. I miss her so much, and Dad. I can't go another day looking at year old photos of Jazzy and Jaxon. I need to see them. To apologize and stuff."

"So you miss your family?"

I nod insanely, my heart lurching at the thought.

"What about... Scooter?" she continues.

I nod again. "I miss them all."

"And your... Beliebers?"

At this my whole body instinctively goes rigid. I immediately shut down, only responding with two simple words, "What Beliebers?"