I Was Abducted

Chapter 5 Jackson

I've been home for about an hour. My stomach is growling from the lack of lunch and breakfast. It's been a long ass day and I want it to end badly.

Moms picking Charlie up from elementary. I told her I would, but she said she had to go grocery shopping anyway.

Today was, eventful, sorta. That girl called me an asshole. A lot of people call me an asshole, but I didn't expect that from a cheerleader. Most girls fall for me in an instant. Like that one cheerleader that showed me to my first class.

I'm just waiting for mom to get the call about me being in Mr. Boner's office. She's going to bust my balls. I still can't believe mom and dad told him about Raymond. I thought this was a "New start" or, whatever bullshit the told me this move was about.

I know I should eat something, but I don't eat unless it's offered, or if I'm given the okay to eat. It's a weird habit that I haven't broken.

I have to be at my new therapist's office in 20 mins and it's a 15-minute drive. I have 5 mins to leave. I roll my eyes and rush out the door to the Volvo.

My shaky hands stick the keys in the ignition and twist. The engine is loud and overpowering... I like it. I back out from the driveway and focus on the road.

15 minutes later I find myself hesitating to walk into the building. The center is made out of red bricks with small windows. It reminds me of my friend Jake's house. I met him when I was 14 and his brother tattooed my arm. Jake's my age and an extreme pothead.

I smoke weed a lot. I stuffed the rest of the weed I have in my bag of clothes before we left the old house. I really need to find a new dealer before I run out.

Mom can always tell when I'm high. So, I avoid being around her when I'm fucked up. I don't want her to bitch me out. It happened a lot when I first got into drugs in 7th grade. I think I was 12, but I can't remember much.

I smoked a cigarette before I came here so, I feel even shakier. It might be because I'm hungry, but I can't decipher between the two.

My feet carry myself into the building and I'm greeted with a smiling redhead. She looks like elastigirl from the Incredibles. "Hey hon, you must be Jackson Peter. Mr. Manifesto's room it's right there." She points at a door to my left. She kind of sounds like elastigirl too.

I just nod in her direction and approach the door. I take a deep breath and pull the handle down and push my way through.

A fat man with long grey hair and a long beard sits in a swivel chair, staring at a large compute screen. He turns his hair to face me. "Hello, Jackson," he says with a raspy voice.

I nod hello at him stand with my back to the door. "You can sit there," he says pointing at an olive green loveseat.

A slump onto the couch and pull the box of cigarettes and lighter out of my pocket. They make my jeans tighter so, I place them on the coffee table in front of me.

"I know you've gone to therapy before so, I guess you know that the first meeting is all about getting to know each other," he scoots his chair closer to me.

"Okay," is all I respond with.

"So, you smoke." He says stating the obvious. "I do too," he says and it doesn't surprise me. His throat sounds like it's been through hell.

"I'm Mr. Manifesto. I know it's a cool name, but it's only fitting because I'm a cool ass guy," my brows slightly raise by his choice of words. "Your mother told me it wasn't a problem if I swear. Thank god, honestly, it's hard to crosswords out of my vocabulary."

One side of my lips twitches up slightly. "No problem," I say monotone.

He lets out a little chuckle. "So, tell me about yourself, Jackson."

"What do you want to know?" I ask raising a brow.

"Anything. Hobbies, family, facts about you or, shit that bugs you," he explains. "When did you get your ears pierced?" He asks pointing at my dangly silver piercings.

My eyebrows knit together. "When I was 13," I say popping my knuckles.

"Why?" He simply asks clearing his throat.

"Charlie wanted to pierce her ears. She was scared and I told her I would do it too so, she could see that it wasn't bad." I answer looking back at the memory of Charlie squeezing my hand as hard as she could.
~
Charlie was so, scared. She planed weeks before the day came to get them pierced, but she freaked out in the store. Her eyes were full of tears and I rubbed her back and told her I would do it too.

I went before her and it only stung for a second. I held her black hair with one and she clung to the other. Her tiny hand squeezed mine with every she had. Her eyes were screwed shut and after she opened them wide. I'm glad I did it with her.
~
"Who's Charlie?" Mr. Manifesto questions, tapping his pen against his knee.

"My little sister Charlotte," I say picking at loose threads on my jeans.

"How old is she?" He asks, running his fingers through his beard.

"She turned five in May." My throat feels dry and scratchy.

Usually, I don't tell anyone anything about me, but all this shit stays confidential. If he said shit I hope he likes fists in his face and a boot up his ass.

"So, you and your sister are close?" Mr. Manifestation asks and I feel like I'm being investigated.

"She's the only person I love," I admit. I like some people, but I will never deny that I love Charlie.

"And how about your parents?" He asks clearing his throat. It sounds like someones starting a car when he does that shit.

"What about them?" My parents are just my parents, nothing else.

"Why don't you love them?" He asks.

"Curious aren't you?" I huff. He's really pushing it right now. I mean, we just meant.

"I guess you could say that," he shrugs.

"And you do know curiosity killed the cat," I say smirking evilly at him.

"I do know, but I on the other hand I am fearless." This guy is funny. And stupid. I kind of like him, more like tolerate him.

"Tell me about them," he suggests.

"Uh, my mom is a piano teacher. And my dad is a Fanatical advisor." There's nothing really about them. They're perfect parents to Charlie.

A smile stretches across his face. "Not their occupations." He laughs loudly and I raise a brow.

"You told me to tell you about them, and I did." What the hell does he want me to say?

"I guess I did, but most patients don't say their jobs right off the bat like that." He says sighing and running his hand through his grey hair.

"I'm not like most patients," I growl.

"I can see that. You're very unique," he tells me.

"Unique? I've never heard that one before. Usually, I get asshole or, troubled."