Truth or Dare

Trouble, Support Group and a good talking to.

                                                                                                       Lydia

"Lydia Isabella Hanson! What the hell do you think you were thinking?" my dad screamed as I walked in the door.

"I was thinking neither you or Charlie were home to drive me and I wanted to go out."

"You don't have a license and you took the car without asking. Do you know how panicked I was when I came home and the other car wasn’t here? I thought someone hijacked it."

"At least I'm driving. I was only gone a hour," I rolled my eyes and started walking toward my room.

"I hope you like your room because that's where you're going to be for the next two weeks. I just don't get it Lyd, you hate driving and cars."

"Well, maybe I decided to get over my fears of them. Now, it's late and I'm going to bed. I'll see you when you come home from work." I slammed the door and groaned. Busted again. That was the third time in the last month and a half. "Lydia, you need to remember the nights your dad gets home early…" I muttered to myself before belly flopping onto the bed.

Since Wes had left I'd been restless. I was healed physically, but I wanted to go out and do something all the time. My therapist, his name was Edward but he told me to call him Eddie, told me this was normal. That though my body was healed I wanted to do something to not make myself feel as though I was a victim.

Which I was.

Victim of Brando's craziness, a victim of crappy luck, a victim of a car crash that took my mother. I had been a victim. I guess I still was. But Eddie was wrong when it came to why I did rebellious things. Because I was rebellious before Brando hit me and tried to kill me. I was rebellious before I could understand that I was a victim of crappy luck. I was always the rebel. I snuck out and me and my friends went on car rides after curfew and went skinny dipping.

Eddie claimed that this all sprouted from the trauma of watching myself lose a mother at such a young age.

Yeah well I claim that Eddie is full of crap. Or at least he had no clue what the hell it is he's talking about. I wasn’t a rebel because I didn’t have a mother. I didn’t end up in a abusive relationship because I didn’t have a mother. I didn’t like weapons and fighting because I wanted something to mask my emotions behind or whatever the hell he wanted to use it as a symbol for. I was a rebel because I don't like rules, I got into weapons and fighting because I found it fun and interesting, and I ended up in a abusive relationship because I believed someone meant it when they told me they loved me when they just wanted a play thing.

"Why do you think Eddie's full of crap Lydia?" I blinked, forgetting I was in Support Group again. Us complaining about therapist. Or maybe why we did stupid stuff.

"I'm sorry what were we talking about?" I asked Megan, our Group leader.

"Your recent destructive behavior and where you think it's coming from. You said your therapist was wrong?"

"Well yeah, because he is. I do that stuff because it's boring if I don't. There's nothing else for me to do now."

"Do you feel empty in a way?"

"I swear to god Megan, if you go all Eddie on me I'm going to go plank in the corner." I earned myself a few giggles from the other kids, always a good feeling.

"What happened to the boy who wrote you the letter?" a girl named Alex asked. Alex was thirteen, she had been beaten by her mom before she was taken to go live with her dad last year. She struggled with depression, and loved hearing about other people's love stories. Especially mine.