Because of You

Phone Calls

This is not edited. Because it is late. And I don't want to make you guys wait another day. But ignore any mistakes. They will be fixed. And I hope none of this seems rushed; I don't think so. That's always my concern. Please review!

"It must be difficult, not having your mother around very often. Do you think her presence would help you?"

I sat across from Marcus, my hands tucked neatly in my lap. He was just as he was last week, as if he hadn't moved at all. It was Sunday evening now, and though I'd assumed therapists went along with the general rule and took the weekend off, that seemed not to be the case when I was concerned. He said he was repaying a favor to my mom, for keeping his cranium intact after his accident.

I would've laughed if the image didn't fill my mind with the pictures of blood and broken bone.

I looked from him to the coffee table. It was perfectly clean, no hints of brown stains or dried circles. Either no one used it, or Marcus was paid enough to keep even his office furniture in mint condition. Looking at the way he dressed, you wouldn't think he made much. But then your eyes would catch on the nice watch glinting on his wrist and end on his polished shoes, and you'd know he made plenty.

I shrugged. "Before, maybe. Not much now."

"Why not?"

"Because like you said, she wasn't around much. She compromised knowing me for being the best at her job."

A line appeared between Marcus's brows and he readjusted his posture. "And you resent her for that?"

I shook my head, somewhat annoyed. I was reminded of that one film with Lindsay Lohan and her mother who worked as a therapist. And how do you feel about that?

"I don't resent her at all," I said. "She loves her job. She saves lives. It's just fact that she doesn't know me as well as she thinks she does."

"She spoke of a drinking incident. That you came home drunk one day."

My hands curled into fists in my lap. "That happened once," I said for what I hoped was the last time. "And I wasn't drunk when I came home. I was at the party, but I . . . stayed at a friend's house," I said quickly. "And was driven home the next morning."

"I see," he said calmly, nodding for emphasis. Not a strand of hair came out of its place.

"About friends. Do you talk about any of your struggles with them?"

Automatically, my thoughts went to Bellamy, sitting on my porch, talking about beating fathers and cigar burns, the size of nickels. "Yeah."

"And do they seem to share your mother's concerns?"

Thalia flashed through my mind. She and I had been friends for years, yet did she honestly know what I was dealing with? How could she? Her family was still intact. Whenever I ate over at her place, I couldn't remember a time her father came home and didn't peck his wife on the cheek. I couldn't remember when her mother didn't smile back and lean into him. No, Thalia couldn't understand.

My thoughts returned back to Bellamy, and I was suddenly struck with the knowledge that the guy I'd met only a couple months ago knew me better than my lifelong friend did. Than even my own mother did.

"Not really," I said. "They think I'm ruining my chances."

Marcus raised the tip of his pen to his face, creating a small dimple in his cheek. "Do you?"

"Yeah," I replied honestly. "But I already knew that. I wasn't struggling to come to terms with it."

"Then what is it you are struggling with?" asked Marcus. He leaned forward. "What seems so hard for you to do?"