The Touch

Chapter 2

As soon as we pulled into the driveway, I got out, stretching.

"You want me to help you unpack?" I asked my parents.

"No," my mother said.

"No?" I asked. I didn't exactly want to help but I knew it had to get done. I kind of wanted a room to sleep in tonight.

"No," my father replied.

I frowned. Okay, weird. What did they thin Iwould do, set the house on fire? Whatever.

So I took off on my skateboard.

You must be wondering why I kind of seem to hate my parents.

It's mostly because I do. and i don't mean in the rebellious teenager way, although that's probably what they think. It's from a lifetime of them not accepting me for who I am.

Okay, yeah, that sounds a little melodramatic. But it's not, I promise.

See, I have this thing. This weird, supernatural, inexplicable thing that I can do. I can touch people and think what they think.

That's right. I've been a freak my whole life. What could have been a cool party trick has become something i have come to loathe.

So, what does this have to do with me hating my parents? Well, let me give you some background info.

When I was young, say, second or third grade, I began to notice my 'gift' was not something other people had. Not knowing any better, I went around, touching the hands of teachers and other kids on the playground. I would say whatever popped into my head first. This could be anything from "Jimmy didn't share his pretzels with me." to "why does my mommy hit me?"

So you see how this became a problem very quickly. My teacher happened to stumble upon another classmate and I talking about his babysitter that called him stupid. The teacher jumped to the wrong conclusion, and I took her hand and told her that she needed to lose some weight, sensing her poor body image and failing marriage. Of course, I was very young, so I didn't know anything that came out of my mouth.

The teacher called my parents and my parents seemed to think there was something wrong with being brutally honest, so they brought me to a doctor. Then came the steady flow of doctors after that. Doctors among other things; shamen, witch-doctors, occult-worshippers, priests, the list went on and on.

My parents couldn't understand me, so they tried to cure me. Some treatments were weird and involved things that I think were maybe illegal. The point is, that after every unconventional treatment, I became more and more distant from my parents. They wanted to homeschool me because they just couldn't bear for me to go back to that horrible school. But neither of them had the credentials to teach me at home and didn't want to pay for a tutor (but god knows they could pay for "doctors" to come in from all over the world.)

So we moved. And the same thing happened all over again. And again. And again. And again. As I got older, I was able to sort though people's heads and find the stuff they didn't want anyone to see. The anger an lack of affection that I felt twards my parents was getting to me. I trained my mind, and became practically a weapon. I kept stirring up trouble at the new schools and we kept moving. Soon, I was old enough to have my own thoughts and ideas. I told my parents that I didn't want any more "treatments" and that I could take care of myself.

So, that's the short version of why I hate my parents.

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okay soo that was rough. well. i dont care. this is just kind of cathartic for me to just poop out a short little chapter and be done with it.

its bad because i had to do it twice. wattpad has the power to make my draft dissappear after its written perfectly well the first time. ugh.

well, i'm gonna try to write more tonight but I have an SAT prep course thing tonight from 6-9pm what even. This better boost my SAT grade by like 200 points cause i hate it...theres homework and everything...kill me...

bye