Fluorescent Adolescent~Jughead Jones

twenty seven

Hey guys, a quick note before we start, this chapter talks a little bit about depression and self harm, but nothing to graphic or deep and I just wanted to let you guys know in advance.

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Mrs. Keaton's office was small but cozy. Soft lighting filled the room, comfortable chairs and beanbags sat around the room and the walls matched her rosy pink smile.

Mrs. Keaton smiled at Poet, one leg crossed over the other, a small notebook resting on top of them. Poet gave a forced smile back, his nails digging into the purple corduroy chair.

They sat in silence, the room quiet except for the gentle trickle of her stone fountain.

Sensing Poet's discomfort, Mrs. Keaton started. "This is a safe place, Poet. As was explained in the packet I gave to you in the lobby, anything you say in this room says here unless it involves you hurting someone, someone hurting you, or someone getting hurt. Then I'll talk with your guardians and anyone else to insure your's and other's safety, alright?"

Poet nodded, his combat boot tapping on the floor. "Okay."

"Now," She smiled, picking up her pen to begin writing. "Let's start. Tell me about your life, your family. Who is Poet Price?"

Poet thought for a moment. "Uh, I live with a foster family so other than that I don't have any living relatives. I've got a few friends both from the North and Southside but the ones from the Southside and I aren't really, uh, talking, I guess."

She nodded, "Why's that?"

"The-the kid who died near Christmas he was um one of our best friends. And since then everything's been...different."

Keaton nodded again, pushing back her long dirty blonde hair. "Well that's normal. Death is scary and can bring people together or apart. How have you been handling all this?"

Poet shrugged and leaned back into his chair, growing more comfortable. He thought for a second before answering. "I don't really know." His fingers tapped faster against the chair's arm. "I think I've been getting more angry, kinda? I've been trying to control it but sometimes everything just feels like to much and overwhelming, you know? Enoch was one of my closest friends and now my other friends aren't even talking to me. An' I think I'm coming to terms with it, though. Slowly. But I don't know." Poet took a breath, rubbing his hands across the thigh of his jeans to calm himself.

Keaton gave him a soft smile and stopped writing, having taken notes while he was speaking. "I understand. It's hard. Especially for someone your age. Life isn't easy." She paused before leaning back into her chair. "Poet, if you don't mind me asking- and it's okay if you don't answer, you have total freedom in here. Do you ever have...bad thoughts?"

He cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well...like thoughts about hurting yourself or causing yourself pain. Those kinds?"

Poet gave a light sad chuckle, clasping his hands together. He leaned forward. "Well, yeah. But who hasn't right? I've always kinda had them."

Keaton bit her lip and sighed. "Poet, those aren't normal. They aren't a regular part of life, I need you to understand that. Do you know when you first started having them?"

Poet thought for a second, the sinking feeling in his chest growing. "Um...I guess since I was twelve or thirteen maybe. I don't know. They've gotten better. Or were better. Enoch's dea- ...everything with him kinda messed it up. It's like everything's dialed to eleven, you know? I've never acted on any of them, though. I've already got a bunch of scars, I don't really need anymore."