Saving Sawyer | ✓

Chapter 01 | You Look So Freaked Out

"Sawyer," Dr. Fontana scolds, only he does it in that doctor-y way so that even though he's scolding you, he doesn't make it really obvious. I know he only does it because he's not legally allowed to yell at me or anything like that though. If I hadn't been seeing him for as long as I have now, I wouldn't think that he was scolding me but because I do know him pretty well, I know that he in fact is scolding me. "I thought that we agreed last week that you were going to try to make more friends? How are you going to make more friends if you never leave your house?" He asks, putting down his clipboard momentarily and giving me a curious look.

"No, you said that I should try to make more friends and I told you that I have all the friends that I need already," I remind him, going back to the conversation we had just a week ago, Dr. Fontana and I. I just hate this thing so much, the therapy thing, I mean.

After what happened this time last year as soon as I was released from Richmond Hospital my mother told me that I had to start seeing a therapist and out of all fifty-five therapists in this entire office building thing, she saw Dr. Fontana as the most fit to help me. I don't really mind him though- he's a nice guy, for the most part.

"You're being difficult, Sawyer," Dr. Fontana says, rubbing his forehead like he has a headache or something. I can understand that though, having a headache, because I would imagine spending eight plus hours a day talking to teenagers about their problems must be exhausting.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Fontana," I apologize, huffing a sigh and absentmindley running my fingers through my blonde hair. "I'm just ready to go home and take a really long nap- it's been a long week," I explain.

"Did something in particular happen that you need to tell me about?" He questions.

"No, I don't think so," I deny, shaking my head. "But it's been exactly ten minutes since I got here and as you can see, I am totally fine, so if I leave now, I could totally just stay for seventy minutes on Monday instead of sixty," I try to reason.

"No, that's not going to happen- I have another person to see right after you on Monday and if you stay for ten extra minutes, that'll take ten minutes from the next person's session," He explains. "Anyway, you do know my son, don't you?"

"Not like, personally but yeah, I have like, four classes with him," I respond. "Why?"

"His girlfriend, Lindsay, is having her eighteenth birthday party tonight. He said that it's an open party and that you could come if you want to," Dr. Fontana says to me.

"I don't go to parties," I deadpan, quickly rejecting that idea.

"You are very stubborn, Sawyer- how do you expect to be able to get better if you're not willing to spend time with other people?" He asks me.

"I am getting better and I don't know why you think that being around with other people is going to make that any easier. It only happened a year ago and just by surrounding myself with a bunch of idiots from school, the healing process isn't going to speed up at all- if anything, it'll slow down," I snap.

"Okay then," Dr. Fontana replies, not at all perturbed by my snapping on him as he leans down to pick up his clipboard again and start to jot down what I just said.

Or the gist of it or something. I don't know. He never tells me what he writes down during these sessions, which isn't fair and it's just very stupid because obviously they have to do with me so I have a right to know.

"Now, tell me about Flynn," He urges, referring to the entire reason that I'm even in therapy- because of freaking Flynn Decker. Well, not really because of Flynn but because of the thing that I did because of Flynn. So, yeah, I guess, indirectly, Flynn is the reason that I have to give up an hour out of my day every day until Dr. Fontana deems it okay for us to cut back on the sessions. He asks me about Flynn a lot, Dr. Fontana does, and usually I just brush it off because talking about him makes me really emotional and angry and those are two things I prefer not to be.