"Brendon, can you tell me what you're feeling right now?" I lift my head up towards her, with a blank look on my face.

"I don't want to talk to you," I reply, angrily. She can't help what happened, she can't help me; she can't change anything. So, what's the point?

"Brendon, I'm here to help you a-"

I interrupt her, still mad, "You don't want to help me! You're not interested in anything to do with me! You're only here because you're getting paid to be here."

She looks around awkwardly, obviously struggling for a reply.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," I scoff. "What makes you think I'm going to spill my heart out to some random person, just because my parents paid for it? I'm not that kind of person."

I look up at the clock and see that it's the end of my session.

"You ran out of time to try and get information out of me, I'm afraid. Try again tomorrow." I laugh, turning towards the door.

Suddenly, she grabs my shoulder and spins me round, "Brendon, seriously, I need to know."

I pretend to be confused, even though I know exactly what she's talking about.

"Do you want to file a report?"

I quickly go back to my original demeanour; angry and fierce, "On what? On who? I'm a 17 year old boy without any evidence or proof, who's going to listen to me?"

"I'll listen to you, Brendon." She smiles, resting a hand on my shoulder.

However, before she can say anything else, I storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

Stupid therapists; they always think they know everything.

Nobody knows about Ryan... I mean, not really. I never met his family. Actually, I don't think I've ever met anybody who knows him. I've always found that a bit weird but it's his business, I guess. I actually lied to that therapist, though; I have filed a report... Well, tried to. Nobody seems to believe me.

Earlier today, I went to the police station to see if anybody had seen Ryan. I was kind of hoping I'd see his parents or his friends or something, but to no avail. The officer looked him up on file and the only thing he could find was some guy, with the same name, who died 100 years ago. He told me to go home and talk to my parents but that's what got me stuck here, with some stupid therapist. Everyone thinks I'm crazy... But I'm not crazy! Am I?

No. Of course, I'm not. Ry and I have been friends for 2 years now. But where did he go? I just can't wrap my head around it.