"Where's Brandon?" Dad asks when I pull out a chair to sit with him at our small round table in the kitchen.

I shrug as I begin to roll some spaghetti on my fork. Soon all that could be heard in the room are the soft breaths we take and my dad gulping down three glasses of orange juice by the time he's eaten half of the food on his Styrofoam plate. We never eat in anything else when we're by ourselves since neither of us is interested in wasting precious time by washing dishes.

It's different when Jenney's here. She makes us do all the dirty works. I had to do my laundry last week. ME! Not the housekeeper nor her. Just me with the freaking pile of dirty clothes. Eww!

"I have some good news," he says before finishing yet another glass of OJ. You'd think he would be able to eat the food he prepared with his own hands.

It's not that bad but it's not something that could get out of a MasterChef's kitchen either.

"You've finally decided to go with the public school idea," I say with little hope.

"Don't be ridiculous. You have a session with Dr. Frey on Monday."

I stop chewing and stay still, looking at the half-eaten food on my plate. I don't know whether this is good news or not. On one hand, I'm thrilled at the news. Dr. Frey helped me, she listened when there was nobody left to do it. Even if at first she was only doing it because it was a job but I feel like at some point she might had actually cared for me. She wants me to get better.

However, it been so long since I've seen her – two months – that I think the spell has broken. I don't know if I'll be comfortable enough to tell her everything anymore.

"Great, that again," Kenny chimes in. "Haven't you learned anything by now?"

"I thought that woman was dead," Sarah says. "Why can't she stay dead? All she ever does is trick you into thinking she's helping you. She's actually making your life worse than it's supposed to be."

"Do I have to go?" I whisper.

My dad raises his head from his plate to look at me for a fraction of a second before chopping down the last bite. He wipes his mouth with a napkin.

"I thought you liked her."

"She's nice but..." I struggle to find the normal way to state my reasons. I can't just tell him it's because I'm too paranoid to let her help me anymore. It's not safe for one person to know so much about me. She might turn out like those women in my head – cruel. I tend to do that to people.

"There are others that can fit your budget better," I lie.

He sits back down but I don't dare looking up. I used to be so good at lying, snicker than the fox but that skill is slipping away. I think that's what I've missed the most about my old self ever since my crusade to become a better person has started.

He chuckles, "Good to know you're not completely changed yet because you changing so fast was kind of scary."

"What?" My head shoots up.

"You always try to turn the conversation towards something completely unrelated whenever we're talking about something you don't like. I have to say I was never too good at catching them."

"What are you talking about?" The high-pitch sound gives me away before I could continue to dig the hole. Nevertheless, I keep on shoveling dirt away to build my fragile castle. "Obviously your finances have everything to do with me going to therapy. It's not for free. My health is not dependent on the highest paid shrink in San Francisco. There are many other good ones out there."

Yes, many good ones who don't know the full extent of my case. Good ones who don't know me well enough to catch my lies. Good ones who only care about the money and won't care that I'm not making any positive progress.

That's the real scary part, to make changes, to become a better person. Everyone knows the better you are, the more the world screws you over. As if I haven't been screwed enough yet.

"Since when do you care about my finances?" he protests. "Just last week you went and bought hundred dollars' worth of clothing you'll never wear." He stops me before I could say anything in favor of my case. "This discussion is over. I'm the parent, you're the child. I make the decisions, you go along with them. So, Monday right after school, Jenny will come pick you to bring you to the doctor's office."

"You don't think it's going to have a bad effect on me that I continue to see the shrink Steven hired for me?" I ask as a last straw to drop the subject.

"It might," he pauses at the door, "but only Dr. Frey can tell us that. Goodnight," he says before closing the door, leaving me with a half-empty plate.

"That was just pathetic," Kenny says. "Pathetic at its highest."

"Uhuh," Sarah agrees. "The old Rachel would have done a better job at guilt-tripping him into changing his mind."

"I don't want to guilt-trip my own father," I argue. "I'm a..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I can almost feel her rolling her eyes. Creepy, I know. "You've been chanting the same song for weeks now. I don't lie, I'm a good person. I don't steal, I'm a good person. I don't get people arrested to satisfy my own need, I'm a good person. Ughh, I want to puke. What has been good given you so far?"

Umm, I don't know. I don't think it has given me anything. Brandon's mad at me. Cassie's mad at me, the kids at school hate me, my mother can't stand me, and my dad is bossing me around. My dark paradise.

I throw away the plate before taking a shower to end the night.

After a good refreshing shower, I climb in bed and decide to text Brandon under the soft glow of the moon.

I love our nightly texts, it makes me happy to know if I don't wake up the next morning, he will be the last thought on my mind.

What r u doing? I text him then wait for his reply. My eyes stay glue to the screen, touching it every few seconds so the light doesn't die. I want to see the text as soon as it comes.

But it doesn't come. I wait for more than half an hour before giving up and slide under my covers.

A few seconds later, I hear my phone vibrating on the bedside table. Excited, I wipe the sleep off my eyes.

Sleeping. That's all it says. Brandon never used to send me one word texts. He must really be mad at me.

With a heavy heart, I rest my head on the pillow and wait for the restless night to start.

--------------------------------

"Is this for real?" Mike asks for the fifth time since I got in here. I wish he would stop. Seriously, he needs to stop before I take it back.

Jenny sits in the waiting area, a magazine in hand, pretending not to smile at this boy's unflattering disbelief at my abilities to do nice things for other people. It was a last minute thought and it could be removed as easily. I really didn't want to come here. I like Dr. Frey but she's too easy-to-talk for comfort. I might slip more than I intend without noticing it like I did last time.

"Do you want it or not?" I snap at the boy wearing turquoise dress shirt barely tucked in his grey dress pants with the 70's creases, his hair brushed up with an insane amount of gel.

When will he learn fashion?

"Are you sure it's for me?" He brings out his hands to take the package.

How I wish I could smack him in the head, making him see how bad it feels to be doubted by everyone for exhibiting friendly behaviors. It's not like it was premeditated. Jenny happened to pass by an electronic shop on the way here and it occurred to me that the little geek might appreciate a new video camera. The danm thing cost me almost all of my allowance. Stupid good gesture.

"Take. The. Freaking. Present." Oh God, I want to hit something so bad.

"Thanks," he takes the gift, eyeing it suspiciously.

"It's not going to kill you," I shout.

He places it on his desk in the middle of the piles of papers, McDonald's lunch bags, and broken pencils.

"Sorry about the mess, I was supposed to clean up this morning but I came late. As usual, Dr. Frey's really disappointed in me. I really wished I could have made a better impression but I'm so disorganized which also makes me wonder why she chose me to intern this summer. My resume was so terrible. Anyways, today's my last day. School started over a month ago but I had to stay here for a while longer. It's been so hard..."

"Ms. Jackson, are you ready?" Dr. Frey comes out of her office, clipboard in hands, black rimmed glasses firm on the bridge of her tan nose (new glasses!), black pantsuit hugging her plump body, and black low-heeled shoes. Her dark hair has been brushed back into a tight ponytail.

"Let's get this over with," I grip tighter on my backpack's strap and march over to her.

"I'll be here when you're done," Jenny calls out right before the door closes.

Nothing has changed inside of here since the last time I walked in here. The same orange wallpaper, chandelier hanging on our heads, small coffee table separating the doctor's black leather chair and the patient's reclining sofa. The same little girl is smiling back at me next to her father.

It also retains the same ominous feel it has always projected on me, pass the weirdly comforting atmosphere. The one that makes my mind aware of the threat hanging around this room, the danger it possesses. The danger of me losing myself, my cutting myself open for the sake of this woman's paycheck. Even if she had helped me in the past, it doesn't mean she would have done it if Steven's pockets weren't so deep. Regardless of the side it is shown, this is pure business. I'll help you get better if you help me buy a new house, a new car.

"How's school, Rachel?" She asks as soon as I settle in.

I shrug. What can I say that would get her off my case? I'm fine? It's fine? Everybody loves me at school? Even I know those lies are just filled with empty holes that will end with me hanging myself with my rope of craziness.

"We're back to the silent treatment, I see," she says, like an intrigued tourist returning to her bland country with her boring job. I was the new, exciting environment she was curious to uncover but now I'm kicking her out.

"There's nothing to tell," I recline all the way down, letting myself rest a little bit. This feels so nice, not like the hard mattress I have to sleep on every night.

Oh God, I miss my old bed, my old clothes, and my reckless spending. I miss it all. Can I take it all back and convince Steven to forgive me? Or will it be possible for me to get the wealthy life without Steven and this new version of my mother?

"What are you thinking?"

"Did I make the smart decision?" I blurt out.

Nonononono, back the hell up, Rachel!

"You'd need a brain to be able to make a smart decision," Kenny says.

Is it me or they always seem to come out at the worst possible moments now?

"What do you mean?" Dr. Frey asks.

I get up to be able to watch her reaction. She knows the right thing to say but I know she won't be able to hide her body reaction. I'll have my answer.

Looking at her set in the eyes, I do exactly what I said I wouldn't do before I came here – empty my heart to her. Why can't I ever keep my promises to myself? "I know it was the right decision but was it the smart one? It doesn't seem like anyone benefited from the truth. No one is happy. Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut."

"Oh! Great! Now she decides to hear the voice of reason," Sarah says.

I keep my eyes on Dr. Frey, trying to act nonchalant at the conversation going in my head.

"How can staying quiet be the smart decision when it would have left you dead inside with no one to listen? Speaking up was, is the smart decision. I hope you know that. No one deserves the life you had."

"You think the one I have right now is better? It's not. They all hate me, everybody hates me and they're right to. I was a horrible person. Why should I be forgiven? Why?"

"Because you did the right thing. I know everything seems off right now, it's to be expected. You've made a big change in the life of many people in this city. The name Steven Reel had reached many high places and you showed them the side they couldn't see for themselves. Don't expect roses and kisses, we're humans. Not all of us like changes, they will despised you for that. They will make your life a living hell but all you have to do is get better. You have to continue to show them that he's the enemy not you."

"So much bullshit for someone with a degree from Georgetown University to be spitting," Sarah makes a sound of disgust.

"Can she hear herself?" Kenny says. "She sounds like a con artist trying to pass as a therapist. I knew it, she's not a real one. Any real therapist would see you're a lost cause. They'll know instantly the only medication for you is death."

"Rachel, are you listening to me?" I didn't realize I had spaced out. Do I do that every time they talk? Oh God, that's worse than I thought.

"Are they talking?"

For a second there I forgot she knew everything, I almost had a heart attack. "No, no one's talking."

"Rachel, you can tell me. I don't judge. I'm here to help you, I promise." She comes to sit next to me. The clipboard stays on the table. "Tell me so I can help you."

"They're talking."

"About?" she presses on.

"Stuff," I turn my gaze towards the little library on the far corner. I think out of all them I've only read one – The hunger games. I actually only attempted it, never finished it just like every other books I've attempted in my life. Kenny thinks ready is too boring so she never leaves me alone when I try it.

"Why do you have young adult fictions in your library?" I ask her, still incapable to reach her gaze.

"I try to be a little diverse," she explains calmly as if she doesn't mind I have entirely changed the course of our conversation. "The top shelf contains only books about the mind – researches, essays. The second one has a few young adult fictions and the classics, and the last one is for kids."

"You take care of kids too?"

"Not many, just a few." She walks over to it then take out a thick volume. She hands it to me.

"Oh no, I don't like reading," I protest.

"It helps you calm your mind. You can keep it as long as you like."

The scarlet letter. That sounds like a stupid name for a book.

"I'll pass. It takes too much time."

"You can't pass. I want you to do it. The scarlet letter is one of the best books of all times. It will do you good to focus on something other than what's happening around you. It will give your mind some rest. You might enjoy it."

I highly doubt it, I think as I take the book from her.

"This so not going to happen," both ladies declare, their anger frying the neurons in my brain.

-------------- 

Everybody knows what comes after one step forward so brave yourself.