Trigger warning: contains talk of blood and self harm

Chapter 14-

I'm all packed for the weekend. Dad's picking me up soon. I got a weekend pass, my therapist said I was ready for the weekend to go. Dad said he would take me to any fast food place I want. Wendys, here I come. I could taste the french fries already. While packing up all my books, a rapid knock almost made me drop my book. I caught in time with my fumbling before it dropped.

"Sorry," Kalina giggled, "didn't mean to scare you." She holds up her hands in defense. I breathed out and shook my head. "All packed?"

"Almost. I'm looking for my shirt. The black graffiti one," I muttered the last words. I whirled around, "Aha!" I found it on the floor and snatched it up.

"When are you coming back?" She leaned her shoulder on the door frame.

"Monday morning. I'm cleared for a visit." My hands were shaking when I was closing my suitcase. I passed my urine test, I'm participating. I engage with others. My head didn't hurt. I didn't make any smart ass remarks, as my therapist would say.

"Excited?"

"Yes, my dad's picking me up." I grinned, wiping an eyelash off my cheek.

"Wow, I thought your parents divorced."

"They are. Different houses. Weekly visits. Well, barely. My dad visited twice. Mom, a few times. She showed up last time tipsy." I scratched the back of my head. "She's good now. Like me, she goes to AA."

"What? Really?"

"Long story. It's been hard. But things are changing. I get to stay at his new home and see my brother. Hopefully his new girlfriend is not there." I shook my head, sucking in my bottom lip. I couldn't bear the fact that dad moved on so quickly. "Life goes on."

"Wow. This is the first I've seen a smile on your face."
"Shut up," I zipped up the suitcase. Ok, so I wasn't happy when I arrived. I didn't think I belonged here. I woke up and before I could consent, I was sent here. What was the point of smiling? I did drugs to keep a person next to me. It wasn't his fault. It was mine. I've accepted that I'm an addict. I'll always be an addict even if I don't do it for a long time. It's me.

A knock rapped on the door, "Jordan, phone call," a nurse said with her head peeking into the room.

"Ok. Thank you." I followed the nurse to the phone station and picked the phone up from the receiver, and sat my legs in crisscross. "Hello?"

"Hey, sweetheart," dad responded.
"Hi dad! I'm almost all packed, just give me a few minutes-"

"Sport, listen," he cuts me off. "I can't make it. This weekend is not a good idea."

My shoulders slumped, "oh. Why? Is everything ok?"

"It's fine, I just. Your mom she's- she doesn't want me to pick you up."

"Oh. but when I talked to her yesterday, she made sure for you to pick me up for the weekend. We had everything planned.

"I'm sorry, sport. Next time, ok?" I seethed, breathed in. Don't lose it. Don't lose it. I shut my eyes tight.

"Ok," My nails picked at the closed wound of my cut. No, stop. I rubbed my hands and closed it together.

"I love you." His voice sounded like he meant it, like he was sorry. I believed him.

"Yeah. Love you." My throat closed up, like I was choking. Suffocating. I'm not going to cry. I hung up before he could say another word. Or before I screamed. I went to my room, dragging my feet. Kalina was throwing a ball in the air, I sat on my bed removing my clothes from the suitcase. I tossed them on the ground like a ball.

"Hey, what happened?" Kalina asked.

"He's not coming anymore," I said in a flat voice.

"Why not?"

"Apparently my mom doesn't want me to be there for the weekend."
"Oh. Is she picking you up?"

I shook my head, "no."

"That sucks."

"Yep." I jiggled my leg and swallowed spit.

"Jordan. Phone call." The nurse announced. I rolled my eyes.

"Tell my dad I'm taking a shit."

"Jordan!" The nurse scolded.

I shrugged, "what? I already talked to him. I'm in the bathroom."

"It's not your dad." I groaned, falling my head backwards. Mom, please, no more lectures. I breathed out and went to the phone station again.

"Mom."

"Jordan, that bitch thinks she can take my children away from me," her words slurred. Of course she's drunk in the afternoon. "Who does your father think he is? He has your brother, he thinks he can take you? Over my dead body!" I held my forehead and listened to her rant on. Blinking over and over. I wondered how many times mom called dad's new woman a bitch. Then the line went dead. 

 I frowned. "Mom?" No dial tone. Did she hang up? I heard breathing. "Mother." The dial tone hit from the end of the line. I placed the phone back on the receiver. And went back to the room. I sat on the edge of my bed, hanging my head low. I scratched again, scratched until it hurt. Scratched until it was red and raw. Scratched until I felt liquid. I looked at my nails, there was blood. I licked my lips and scratched again, I breathed in and out. I felt comforted, more comforted than my parents, more than Jason. I closed my eyes and laid back9 continuing my scratch. Maybe if I did it enough it would put me to sleep. It didn't. I looked at my open wound, watching the blood dripped to the crook of my elbow. I cleared my dry throat and stood up quickly to the bathroom to clean up. Washing the blood, it circled down the sink drain. I wrapped it up with the leftover toilet paper. No one would notice.