Ch1

I never liked circles, (I was always more of an oval kind of girl, you know) and I especially didn't like them now.  Not as I was succumbing to the musings of a high-pitched preteen who couldn't escape "the voices", or when the rape victim sitting two feet away from me was glaring daggers at the side of my face.  I didn't even like them when the cute boy across the room kept sending me looks and dumb faces that spoke volumes of our torture.

Yeah, not even then.  Not with the constant reminder that he was just as insane as the others in the 'super cool sharing circle'.

I guess I shouldn't be talking, though.  After all, I'm also -allegedly- as insane as the others here.

It wasn't even as if the boy looked insane. I would never be able to tell he had any issues if he weren't sitting across from me.

I looked up from the brunette to the counselor when I heard my name being called the third time. He was nice enough, with sweet brown eyes and a genuine smile that left no room for doubt. It was obvious he loved his job, but maybe that's why I hated him. I can't see how anyone could survive this, nevertheless voluntarily. 

I didn't bother tuning in to hear his next question, but I didn't need to; it was the same one every week. "Well, doc, I think Mr. They're Coming For Me and Mrs. Everyone Hates Me pretty much covered it all. Not sure I can top those performances."

He nodded, full-fledged professional, and referred to his notes, "Would you rather a one-on-one session? I have a hunch that it could help with the intimidation."

He was teasing, but the threat still stood loud and clear. That was the sort of relationship I had with Dr. Scary- ironic that the friendly doctor's name is Scary, right?- he knew I didn't want to be there just as well as I did, and didn't hesitate to use it against me.

"You and I both know that I'd much rather die."

He gave me a warning glare and chastised me for the "inappropriate" joke. I told him to piss off.  He told me to wait outside until the end of the session. So I left, sparing one last look at the boy on my way out, now snickering and wiggling eyebrows in my direction.

Asshole.

The brunette across the circle, if I'm being honest, is the only reason I haven't skipped one of these totally helpful group therapy sessions yet. He made everything a little more tolerable. He also serves as a well enough distraction to keep me from strangling someone. He was interesting. He was quiet, but you could see the recognition in his eyes. He was a shut door without a lock and my fingers were inching towards the knob- closer and closer, only to jerk back with every sense of

I turn back to the door and hurried my footing, shooting a cheeky smile at the therapist on my way out... maybe I should not mention shooting and Dr. Spooky in the same sentence, with how intense these professionals liked to get.

So I waited. I waited and waited until the cute brunette was dragged out by the therapist. I watched as he was lead around a corner and into another room, and I watched as he turned around last minute to meet my eyes and winked. He watched as I grinned back and blew a kiss.

Then, he was gone and I was left waiting again. I turned my attention back to the therapy room's door and watched the youngest kid- a shy, eight year-old boy- walk out and dart to the lobby where his parents were no-doubt waiting with big broad smiles and open arms.

For a moment, just one, I let myself envy the stupid kid. For one moment, I let myself miss my stupid parents and their stupid hugs. Then, I forgot. I pushed it to the back of my head and let myself remember drug deals and abandonment because that was the truth.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Nothing but deep self-loathing and unfortunate memories," I said in the most sickly sweet tone I could muster under short notice.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, drawing me away from the lobby's door and to the therapist. I forced a smile and plucked his hand off, to which he frowned and switched to Dr. Scary's scary doctor look.

"Maybe I should recommend you for one-on-one sessions."

"Maybe I should just end my life," I shot back, with just as much contemplation.

I vaguely wondered when he had returned and where he had left brunette boy. I let my imagination run wild just enough to picture a torture scene when Scary piped up again. "You're always pushing."

"Pushing for punishment or pushing people away? You know, that's all pretty unoriginal. I've heard just about everything at this point."

"Pushing your limits," he said. The words magically bit mine in the ass, successfully rendering me silent; a challenging feet. I felt the heat rise to my face, and I combed a hand through my hair.

"That's new."

He gave me a teasing smile. "At first, I thought you pushed other people away. I was wrong. You're more complicated than that. You make yourself seem so insufferable that people chose not to be around you. Then you use your loneliness as fuel."

"Then, I use that fuel to fly my sorry ass back to Jupiter."

He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped abruptly. "Jupiter?"

"Yes, Jupitar," I scoffed, "as in, 'Girls fly to Jupiter to get even stupider'? Uncultered swine."

Dr. Scary, who really could be scary when he put his mind to it, smiled and put his hand back on my shoulder. I resisted the urge to step away, or smite him. "Exhibit A. Well, your pushing isn't going to work on me," and he held up his right hand. "I, Jeb Scary, am pledging my upmost loyalty to you. No 'if's, "and"s or "but"s permitted. I will remain by your side regardless of situation. I am your number one partner from here on out."

"Cool," I said, short and sweet, and cocked an eyebrow, "does this mean we get to do cool spy missions and stuff. Would you take a bullet for me, Jeb? Oh my god," I paused, lowering my voice, "are we on first name basis?!"

I heard a snort from the other side of the room. I glanced over to see the cute brunette's stupidly adorable smile. He was leaning on the door of Scary's office, with his arms crossed and his foot twisted behind him. The perfect epitome of calm, cool and collected.

I turned around again, putting my hands together and jutting out my lip. "Can he be our spy dog? Please, oh, please, Jeb!"

Dr. Scary, instead of answering like a polite human-being, looked over my shoulder to meet brunette's eyes with a helpless look. Brunette Boy wiggled his eyebrows and stepped closer.

"Wise words," I said somberly, nodding my head and grinning at the doctor (who looked concerned until meeting eyes, again, with the brunette. I filed that away for future reference).

"You know, that voice of yours could do so much good," the doctor said, shaking his head with a noise of false disappointment.

"Yep, but you know me, doc. I'm a very evil girl," I winked, "Now, if I'm freed, I'll be walking back home to Mr and Mrs Douchebag."

Professor Spook gave me a warning look, "'Mr and Mrs Douchebag'," he said with far too much professionalism, "are also the only reason you have a roof over your head, at the moment."

I scowled, just because he was right, and the previous picture of warm hugs and loving parents shot back with so much rigor I almost fell backwards.

Jeb, almost as if he himself saw the image (or maybe he was just smart enough to see the not-there-tears in my eyes), said "Hey," his voice too nice as he placed his hand once again on my shoulder, "what's wrong?"

"Virtually everything," I grounded out, swatting away his hand, "I'm fine."

"You're not-"

"Fuck off, Scary," I muttered, "I'm leaving now. Even if the next place is definitely no better than my luxurious stay at White Walls and Picket Fence Prison."

I shoved my hands in my pockets and shouldered the door open. On the other side of the door, I was met with the familiar sight of different therapists speaking to concerned parents, and little kids either jumping around or clutching the nearest adult's sleeve. There was even the occasional teenager, like me, either talking to their therapist or sitting down waiting.

I walked straight through and out the door, never slowing down, and continued my treck. I was in the middle of preparing myself for the ten minutes of complete silence and deafening thoughts when I was knocked off my feet and held captive by two hands. I was found face to face, way too close, with the same small smile that had held my mind captive the past three weeks.

I wanted to thank him for breaking the routine. I wanted to kiss him, because hormones and why not? I wanted to hug him simply since he was here and alive. I wanted to run my hands through his hair, because there's no possible way someone can have such soft-

"What's your problem?" I snapped, shoving him off me and standing up. "You know, most people just say 'hello'."

He laughed, for god knows what reason, stood up and brushed the not-there dust from his jeans.

"Just- what do you want? I'm already late, so unless you want to deal with Mommy and Daddy dearest-" it was then when I realized he had moved, and was walking in the direction of my house. "You're a charmer, Mr. Man of Many Words. I'm swooning."

I jogged a bit to catch up with him and pulled my jacket closer to my body. He didn't respond, not a word, so we didn't talk; instead, we walked side-by-side. It was like that for a few minutes, before I had to break the peaceful quiet.

"You know, Mommy and Daddy don't like me taking boys home," I said, shaking my head, "I'm a virgin, mister. I'm afraid I can't offer you much."

He didn't respond for a good couple of seconds, and I thought he would continue the no talking thing until, "You don't shut up, do you?"

His voice was hoarse and rough, and the first thing I could compare it to was a fifty-year old smoker frog. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and make it one of the cool ones, though. The ones with enough poison to end a small village. My second thought trailed a bit down roads of sweet honey and-

"That's real nice. No, really," I said, the initial shock wearing off, "The first words I've ever heard you say are 'You don't shut up do you?'. My folks, not the foster ones, the other douches, would've adored you."

He looked at me and tipped his head not unlike that curious cat in Caroline; like, all the way to the side as if his neck didn't-

"Perfect," I muttered. "Not only is it the first thing, but probably the last thing too. I don't understand why you went out of your way to follow me here if you don't-"

He reached over, confident and sure of his actions, interlocked our fingers and gave me a look so meaningful I was sure he would never need to speak again and I would be alright with it. A chill ran up my arm and straight to my stomach, butterflies taking over and an indescribable heat coming up from my toes all the way to the tips of my ears. Suddenly, the cold was a lot more bearable.

"Oh." Like usual, I found myself met without a response, but this time I didn't care. "What are you getting out of this?" I asked, noticing the unusual lack of bite in my tone.

He swung our connected hands between us and smiled and, before I knew it, he was twirling me. A surprised laugh escaped, and I fell back into his arms in a giggling mess.

"You move me, sir," I said, snapping my fingers to the inexistent music.

"No, madam, you move yourself," he said, the endearing sounding smooth on his tongue, "I'm simply here for motivation."

"You talked!" I grinned, genuinely surprised.

"I like you," he responded, as if it held the truths to the world. "Isn't that what normal people do to those they like?"

"Or they fuck," I said, matter-of-factly. "Regardless, we're not normal people. We're nuts. We're in therapy, sweetheart."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"I mean, even though you don't look like you need therapy." I said, voiceing my previous thoughts.

He didn't move.

"Hey, you can't pull that talking shit on me now," I said, suddenly defensive at his lack of words. I thought we had already moved past that. "I was sorta hinting at a question. I think it's pretty obvious for me, I think everyone knows by now, and if you don't you really do need to be therapy."

"Not as obvious as you would like to think." I almost let out a relieved breath to hear his voice again.

"Fine," I rolled my eyes, "I tried to kill myself. Now you tell me."

"Is that all? You tried to kill yourself?"

I glared, separating our hands and crossing the street. I wasn't sure how I felt about him continuing to following me. "Why?"

"That's totally not vague-"

"Cara," he said, and I got that same disturbed feeling, because no one should say a name with that much emotion. "Why did you attempt suicide?"

I wanted to be angry, but I couldn't. Not when he was looking at me like that.

"You're a dick," I said. "I don't even know your name."

"Samuel."

"Samuel...?"

"I don't know my last name."

"What? Did you forget?" I muttered, genuinely curious but too mad to care.

"My mom dropped me off at some nun's house in the middle of the night. She wrote 'Samuel' on my forehead with a marker." It sounded like he was reciting the words of a play; he was too rehearsed and detached from his character.

"Your mom sounds like an ass."

"You're one to talk."

"Fair enough," I said, because it was true, "but my mom didn't draw on me."

He was quiet for a few seconds, and I was almost scared that this was the end of our conversation. "It was washable," he finally decided after a couple seconds.

"Fair enough," I repeated. "Better to give you away than keeping you, I guess."

"Why's that?" but he didn't sound offended, only interested.

"Parents who don't want their kids are assholes," I said, "and parents who don't want their kids, but keep them anyways are even worse"

"Do you wish your parents gave you away?"

"No," I said. "I wish my parents wanted me."

He opened his mouth to respond, but I didn't want to hear what he was going to say and my house was conveniently right around the corner we were about to pass.

"This is me," I said, clasping my hands together and obnoxiously rocking on my heels. "I better get going, sir."

He didn't respond, but that said enough for me. I turned around and strutted to the door.

I glanced down at my watch, and my blood ran cold. I found myself missing the warmth that spread from my toes to the tips of my ears when I found myself near Samuel.

"Are you alright?"

I realized I had stopped walking, and swallowed thickly, "I'm fine. Bye for now, Sam." I ran the remaining steps and jammed the ugly brown key in the ugly brown keyhole and swung open the ugly brown door. 

The change of air was immediate.