Anathema

twenty four - i can't believe how much i hate

"I hate them!"

The slam of Dr. Ann's door echoed the sound in his bedroom the night before. The shocked look on the therapist's face almost made Tyler feel more angry. He knew what she was going to ask. He knew what she was going to say.

"I hate them!" he repeated, yanking his beanie off and throwing it on the floor like a child throwing a tantrum. "I hate them, I hate them, I hate them!"

"You hate who?" she asked softly.

"My parents. I hate them." He sat down, but then stood up again and paced in front of the couch. "Especially my mom. She doesn't listen to a word I say. She hears me, but she doesn't listen."

"That would be hard," Dr. Ann mused.

"Sometimes I think she hates me back," Tyler said, digging his hand through his hair as he paced. "But I don't really believe that. I think she loves me. But I think she loves me because she has to."

"What do you mean?"

"She's my mom," he said simply. "She has to love me."

"No, she doesn't."

"What?" Tyler paused and looked at her in confusion.

"She doesn't have to love you," Dr. Ann said.

"Then it's official," Nico said. "She definitely hates you."

"So she actually does hate me?" Tyler asked her. "I thought you were supposed to make me feel better."

Instead, Dr. Ann smiled. "What makes you think she might love you?"

Tyler opened his mouth, ready to answer the question if she had said hate, but then paused and had to think about it. He slowly sat down next to Clancy as he thought, but his hands wouldn't hold still and he picked at his cuticle until it bled. He looked down at his hand and stuck his finger in his mouth to clean off the blood. His hands were still shaking.

"Do you want a bandaid?" she asked.

He nodded, and she gave him one. He put it on and wrapped it tight enough to turn his finger purple. Clancy gripped his arm until it hurt.

She watched him for a moment and then stood up and got something from the closet where he'd seen the suckers last time. When she turned back around, he saw it was a zentangle coloring book and some markers. "Will coloring help your anxiety?"

"How did you know I was anxious?" he asked softly.

"I can see it in your body," she said. "You're tense and shaking, and your knee is almost vibrating. Your eyes keep darting across the floor, and you're still picking at your fingernails."

He hadn't realized he'd been doing half of those things. "Oh," he said. "Yeah, I'd like to color."

She handed him the coloring book and markers and he flipped through the pages until he found one he liked. As soon as he started coloring, he felt more comfortable talking. There wasn't the pressure of making eye contact, and he didn't bounce his knee, since the coloring book was on his lap.

They sat in silence for a long time, but it was a sort of peaceful silence. He wasn't sure how long they didn't speak, but he was about a quarter done with the coloring page when he felt comfortable enough to speak again.

"She tells me she loves me a lot," he said.

"Hollow repetitions," Nico said. "That's all they are."

"Do you think she means it?" Dr. Ann asked.

"Sometimes," he answered truthfully, coloring a flower yellow.