"Why I gotta talk to these niggas? They ain't gon listen."
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★ California
Counseling
3rd person pov
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Semaj stood in front of the tall brown building that read "Therapy & Counseling" in big brown letters.
He shook his head, not even wanting to go inside, but since this was a part of his community service, he had to do it. Pulling at his hair, he knew he needed a re twist soon. Walking around looking boogus was not on the list.
He walked up the concrete stairs, making sure he pulled his hoodie over his head before going in.
The inside smelt like pine sol and bleach. It almost made his eye water on how strong the smell was, so he pulled his hoodie over his nose.
It's been almost a week since he got out and already wanted to go back. He didn't understand shit in this new generation or why the fuck everybody was weird asf. When he first got out, all he wanted to do was sleep, but his patrol officer wasn't letting him get any until he handled the shit he needed to handle.
First was Counseling.
He walked up to the front desk that was occupied by a ginger white lady. He stared at her as she talked on the phone to who knows what.
He stood there for a minute, thinking whether or not to snatch the phone or be patient. After another minute or two she finally hunged up the phone and looked at him.
"How can I help you, dear" she asked in a southern tone. It was one of those accents you would assume that they had american flags displayed over her yard or liked to bake shit.
"Yeah, I got an appointment with Omar" He told her, staring at the clock on her desk. It read 10:20, meaning he was 20 mins late to his session.
Did he care? No, he purposely does it so he doesn't have to go.
"Ah, yes, you're late, but we can squeeze you in," She told him, typing away the on the away with her long manicured nails. "He doesn't have another session until the afternoon."
He sighed as she led him down the hall that had multiple photo frames on the wall. Some were family photos with Omar in them. Others were just random paintings.
The lady knocked on the brown wooded door that had the name "Mr Omar" stamped on it in white letters. They waited a few moments before hearing a "come in."
Semaj walked in and sat himself on the sofas. He slouched down a little, wanting this to be over already. Looking around the room, he noticed the same old plant vase sitting by the window screaming, "I NEED WATER."
He turned his attention towards Omar, who was already staring at him with a frown.
"Do you know why we do these sessions?" He asked, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.
Semaj didn't answer. Just sat there silenty. Omar didn't wait before answering himself. "We do these sessions to help you. Not to just purposely miss them or sit quiet the whole time."
Semaj kept quiet, just listening to him repeat what everybody tells him.
"We're here to help you,"
"We want you to get better,"
"Your feelings matter."
"You're not alone,"
That last statement always stuck with him.
All those years ago, he was alone. Nobody cared to check up on him and see how he was doing. Didn't matter the times when he harmed himself, the abuse he encountered. Those stages of life he truly needed a shoulder to cry on, but now? All he wanted was to be left alone.
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Well, that was the first chapter. I'm really excited about this book.
Some of the things I put in here reflect on my personal life, by the way.
