Danny Clark is a Nobody

Chapter Twenty Eight

I was saved from myself by a notification. I reach for my phone, which was on my bedside table, and see a bunch of texts from the person I least expected to contact me again. Kim. Jesus, she texts a lot.

Kim
Hello, Danny.
How are you?
The Clarks treating you alright?
You don't have to protect them, you can tell me the truth.
You know that, right?
They're not hurting you, right?
Well, it doesn't matter what you say. I'm coming over for their evaluation in 2 weeks.
Your father already knows, so I just wanted to inform you.
Why aren't you replying?
Danny?

Me
Hello, I'm well and they're treating me well. And okay, thanks for telling me

Kim
Okay, good
I hope what you're saying is true
See you, kid

I then stared at her texts for a little longer. What if she takes me away from the Clarks? I mean, they're the best family I've had in years. I think I did love them. And I did think of them as family. Subconsciously. As much as I'd like to admit it, I sometimes almost call Michael "dad" and I think of James, Freddie, and Sam as my brothers. More than just by title or by biology and blood. They're my family. I love them. She can't take me away. They're good to me.

I got up and decided to take my mind off things. I walked to the wall bookcase and grabbed a book. I sat back down on my bed and started reading. About an hour or so later, someone knocked on my door. "Come in." I mutter, setting my book on my bedside table.

Freddie came in, holding the medicine box. "Can I check up on your wound? Wanna make sure it's not infected." He said. I nodded my head. He's already seen every nasty scar covering my stomach. I laid down on my bed so that he could see the wound better. I pulled my sweater up slightly, and he glanced at my faded scars before turning his attention to my current wound.

He removed the bandages slowly, making me wince. He regarded it thoughtfully, with extreme focus. "Doesn't seem like it's infected." He informed me. He then got some new bandages and tended to my injury. "How are things with Blake?" I asked him quietly. I didn't know if it was in my place to ask or not.

"We sorted things out." He told me, smiling. I nodded. "That's good." I mumbled. I was starting to feel insecure when Freddie finally finished bandaging me and I instantly pulled my sweater down. "Thank you." I said, sitting up. "No problem. If you feel uncomfortable at all, just tell me." He smiled and left my bedroom.

I returned to my book, reading for what seemed like minutes, but was actually hours. I heard a notification from my phone, and I grabbed it.

Lily
HELP
I'M GONNA FAIL CHEMISTRY
danny :(
save me, fake bf

Me
Calm down, first of all
And second of all, you're good at chemistry
You got a full score on our last test

Lily
that lesson was easy
i don't understand this new one
and that was the only time i got a full score in chemistry
because i wanted to beat you ;)

Me
Okay, I can help you if you want
How about tomorrow morning at the cafe you're always talking about?

Lily
yess, please
my saviour
does 9:00 am sound good?

Me
Yes. Don't worry, you'll do great in the quiz :)

Lily
you're so sweet <3

Someone knocked on my door. "Come in." I said. Sam walked in. "Dad told me to come get you. You have a therapist appointment now." He said. I nodded and got out of bed. Sam looked at me shyly. I raised my eyebrow. "Is there something else?" I asked.

Sam fidgeted. "Can I trust you with a really big secret?" He whispered. I nodded, confused and curious. "Come with me." He muttered. I followed him into his bedroom. "Nobody knows this about me, but..." Sam trailed off, and opened his closet, revealing red lights and a bunch of hanged pictures. He's into photography?

"I'm only telling you this because I wanted to um... participate in a contest and I wasn't sure if these were any good. And I can't trust Freddie or James because they're rude." Sam said, smiling shyly. My mind was blown as I regarded the pictures he had taken. They were absolutely beautiful, it the most unique way possible.

I've never seen photos like these. They were artistic yet simple, and incredibly creative. He had pictures of the most mundane things, but somehow they looked magnificent. "Wow, these are- they're beautiful." I said. "Really? Do you really think so? You don't have to lie to me. I wouldn't care if you said they were the worst pictures you've ever seen. I'd probably cry afterwards for about an hour, and that's it. Actually, I'll probably also cry myself to sleep. But-" Sam rambled.

"I'm being honest. You really have a talent, Sam." I interrupted. "Thank you." Sam squeaked, and then wrapped me into a bone-crushing hug. I returned it, unable to breathe. He squeezed the air out of my lungs, then finally let go. "Okay, you should probably go to the garage now. Therapy and whatnot. And... please keep this a secret between us?" He said. "Yeah, of course." I told him, smiling.

I then left his room and walked downstairs. Michael already had started the car, and I sat in the passenger's seat. I texted Lily again, while she continued her panic. "Um, Michael?" I broke the silence. "Yes?" He replied. "May I go out tomorrow?" I asked. "Yeah, sure. Would you like me to drive you there?" He responded.

"No, I can walk. It's not too far from the house." I said. "Okay then." Michael said. And we fell into a comfortable silence, one that was so unlike the first silence we ever shared. I thought back to when I first met him. How I had been taken out of school and been informed that I was to move in with my biological family. How overwhelmed I had been. How closed off. And then how much I've changed now. I opened up, however reluctantly. And now he's driving me to a therapist. This was the first time I wasn't forced to go to one. The first time they let me make my own decision to go.

We arrived a few minutes later and Michael and I walked to the building. I felt my knee bounce anxiously as we waited for the shrink to  come. I hoped he was a good one. Of course, I trusted Michael's judgment. But most of the time, people pretend to be better than they are when they're in front of parents or authority figures.

When the receptionist called my name and I hesitantly parted from Michael, I walked into the creepily tidy and well decorated office. Dr. Cohen was sitting on an armchair and gestured for me to sit on the facing couch. I fidgeted with my hands nervously. I saw Dr. Cohen's eyes glance down at my hands briefly, and I know he made a mental note about that. It seems they judge, analyse, study every fraction of a movement you make.

I always had to choose my words carefully. Make sure my voice didn't quiver while recounting things and make sure I didn't shake with any emotion. Therapy was always just a draining hour I had to endure twice a week. I smiled politely, and Dr. Cohen returned it. "Hello, Danny. I'm glad you decided to join me today. Let's get started, shall we?"