"I don't want to be here," I tell Dr. Frey as soon as I walk through her door.

The woman barely flutters an eye as she starts to write down in her folders. When she's done, she locks her eyes with me. "Why is that?"

For some reason, her stare causes me to squirm in my seat and my thoughts to mingle up. I have no idea why I ever went along with these sessions. They're no help to anyone. All she's ever done for me is trick me into telling her my most guarded secret and convince me to tell the world.

I know I should never have said anything. I would have been living The Amazing Life of Rachel Jackson right about now. Dr. Fray and she started this. It's all their fault that I had to resort to breaking my best friend's heart in order to regain my rightful place in this city – the all-around mean girl.

"I found who I truly am. I'm not nice. I'm crazy and I'm fine with that. I don't want to keep pretending to be something I'm not. You don't know me, you can't help me. And I certainly doesn't need your help."

I make a move to get up. "We're not done yet," she calls on me.

"I just said I don't want to be here."

"I know but you're already here. Knowing you Rachel, if you didn't want to be here, you wouldn't have showed up at all. You being here tells me that there's still a part of you that acknowledge that you have a problem that requires professional help."

"There's also a part of me that keeps telling me to put a bullet through my skull, there's another that tells me to slowly poison my dad's girlfriend, and there's another part that tells me to run away and hide. The thing is there's a lot of me telling me a lot of things. It doesn't mean I'm going to do them. And just because you've guessed one of them doesn't mean you know me."

"Rachel," she says surprisingly gentle, "sit down. Let's talk about that book."

Small talks? Seriously? Can she be any more annoying?

Nevertheless, I sit back down. I keep telling myself it's because I'm curious to what stupid things she will say next but I do know there's something in me that wants to be here, that wants her help.

"For God's sake Rachel," Sarah whines, "stop wasting my time. If you're going to stay here, at least make it fun. Throw some glasses, break the table, or better yet, swallow those pills in the cabinets."

My eyes immediately look up to the locked cabinet besides the small library.

"It's not what you think," Dr. Frey brings my attention towards her. "Even if they were, they won't do you any good."

"You don't know me, you don't know what I'm thinking."

"Okay," she agrees. She lays the folders and the pen on the table between us, fold her legs, and lie back in her chair. "What don't you tell me what you're thinking? Anything?"

"I don't want to." I drop myself on the sofa and lay down with my arms over my eyes.

"Are we going to regress to the silence treatment stage?" She asks with a hint of amusement in her voice.

"The nerves on that woman." Sarah says, shocked. Her feelings immediately transfer to me.

The woman's laughing at me. I can't believe it. No wonder she wants me to be here so badly. I'm a big joke to her. I'm the crazy patient with a background more dramatic than the Days of Our Lives.

"You're laughing at me," I accuse. My fists tighten around the couch's plumpness.

All humor disappears from her face. "I'm not laughing at you, Rachel. I'm laughing with you."

I sit up, my body language indicating that I'm not pleased with her using my problems as personal entertainment. "I wasn't laughing."

She clears her throat and wipes her lenses before pushing them back up the length of her nose. "Okay, let's back up here."

"I'm not backing up," I stand up in warrior mode. "You're laughing at me. These sessions are not for my benefits; they're for your own entertainment. You're just like everybody else."

"I think we're losing focus here," she signals me to take back my seat but I ignore it.

Her eyes say it all – the pity, the laughter, the hate. I can't believe I've blinded my own self. Here I was thinking that the world could learn to love me if I sealed my anger and bitterness away when in reality, they are all rooting for me to vanish.

"Rachel, I'm here for you," she says to me.

"She's lying," Kenny shouts. "They're all lying."

"We're the only one here for you, baby girl," Sarah's soothing voice drips like gasoline on my blazing fire.

I feel my long suppressed rage gnawing my insides to get out. In one second, I've gone from calming ocean breeze to an Oklahoma tornado. I black out for what seems like one second and the next thing I know, there's a man holding me down and glass fragments digging my skin.

My heartbeat is in a frenzy and my breathing is abnormally high. The framed picture of Dr. Frey's family lies by my head while flower petals are discarded everywhere. Did I do this?

I feel the oh-so-so-concerned Doctor's eyes on me. They're well-guarded, professional but I know what's hiding underneath that professionalism.

"They're going to cram you back in that crazy hospital," Kenny voices my thoughts.

"I told you darling," Sarah says. "Mamma knows best. You should have listened to me."

Tears stream down my face when I look up to Dr. Frey. My arms ache at the awkward angle her assistant has them on. All I wanted was to be left alone. They won't listen, they don't want to listen to me.

"Please," I beg her. "Please, don't send me back."

She signals for the man to get off me but he stays at an uncomfortable distance in case my rage decides to take the wheels.

"Maybe you should have prayed for Jesus to take the wheels instead," Kenny snickers.

Dr. Frey approaches me. "Rachel, I called your dad. He's going to drive you home, nowhere else."

I nod slowly, my pulse still going haywire and the voices in mind are getting louder by the seconds.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear two muffled voices coming from behind the door. I bite my lip and concentrate on the words instead of the ticking clock. This is proven to be quite difficult since the people are speaking with extremely hushed tones.

The tick-tock blends in perfectly with Sarah and Kenny's voices. It's as if I'm in a movie and it's the background noise for the graphic scene rolling inside my mind.

"Worthless...crazy...die already...kill yourself...slut...just like your mother."

The insults have merged into a lullaby that's gradually spiking up my insanity.

I don't know whether to be grateful or not when my dad comes up to me and hugs me. In less than a minute, we're in his police car.

I sit silently watching San Francisco pass by me. The city that used to fascinate me has become just a blur of despair and melancholy reaching out to choke me. Every corner of this beautiful place holds in the memory of a broken Rachel – the girl who never deserved happiness.

My dad kills off the engine once we get to the parking lot of the apartment complex..

"You're going to be fine," my dad assures me as he grips my hand.

He brings my knuckles in for a kiss just like old times. The only difference is it's not old times and it will never be like old times again. I'm crazy, that's it.

I pull my hands away from him. "I don't want your pity."

"I'm not..."

"Stop lying to me," I scream. "I know everything. I know about the baby. I know that you're planning on sending me back there, locking away your crazy daughter so she doesn't make a fool out of you. You're going to get rid of me just like mom."

I storm out of the car without giving him a chance to answer. I walk even faster when I hear him calling me.

"Poor daddy," Sarah says cruelly, "it can't be easy having such an insubordinate girl like you as a daughter. If you loved him, you would have killed yourself by now."

My feet falters a bit when I see Brandon standing by the elevator in his usual carefree attire – T-shirt and jeans. He moves away from the wall when he sees me coming.

Sarah groans angrily. "Walk away, Rachel."

My feet stay rooted but my lips automatically form a smile. He walks towards me, his hands in his pockets. His face looks torn down under the weight of life. Not one part of the man walking towards me resembles the boy I once knew.

"Hi," he greets when he gets to me.

"What are you doing here?" I spit out.

Wait, why am I angry at him?

"It's not like he left you to die alone like last time," Kenny reminds me.

I slap him. "I don't need you. I don't need anyone."

"I just wanted to apologize. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you but I had school. What did you want me to do?"

"Be here like you promised. I'm sick of your excuses, Brandon. You're just like everybody else. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be so messed up today. You made me like this."

I punch his shoulder. Although, the action hurt me more than it hurt him. The pain somehow fuels me. "You did this to me." I hit him harder and harder. He stands there taking it all like a petty little dog. I hit him until my dad comes to grab me and pull me away.

I struggle every step of the way, throwing insults and accusations at Brandon whose face is the epitome of guilt and shame.

He should be ashamed and guilty. He shouldn't be able to wake up in the morning. 

I'm feeling so guilty for Rachel's relapse but that's life. I can't believe I'm best at writing stories I would probably don't read. I prefer stories that are as far away from the real pain of life as possible but it's the easiest for me to write. 

Is that weird?