Chapter 7

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             There was a feeling of pure torture in my heart. It ached so loudly that my head started to deflate from the screech. Running with pounding lungs and a throbbing head never felt like such idiocy. But no matter what my body told me to do, I continued to run. I arrived home at a time before school would end and when I entered my house, my parents were sitting at the kitchen table talking.

         “Excuse me, what are you doing home?” My mom asked firmly, standing up from her seat. My dad placed his hand over hers to settle her nerves but she stood furiously staring at me.

         “I decided that French wasn’t worth the effort today.” I mumbled. Turning to walk past them both, they stood in my way.

        “Mademoiselle, you better sit down and listen.” My mother spoke. I looked for my dad for help but he nodded in agreement. I could still feel my heart racing as I took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

        “Kiersten you’re taking a bad turn.” My mom said with her hands folded. My eyes were set on my thumbs which twiddled with each other. Ignoring both of them wasn’t easy, especially my dad.

        “Doing things without our consent? Skipping school? This isn’t you Kiersten.” He implied from my presence. This isn’t you started to chase my other thoughts away and reverberated in my ears. I sat in silence while they looked at themselves, devastated by my reaction. My eyes lifted from the table and gazed at their faces. They appeared disappointed in the one thing they expected so much out of; me.

       “I don’t need anyone’s consent. And you know what?” I laughed, rising from my seat. “This isn’t me. I’m not your only daughter. I’m not Kiersten Liner. I’m just some figment of your imagination.” I yelled across the table.

       “Don’t use that tone with your mother!” My dad slammed his fists against the table, but nothing stopped my rant.

        “I’m sorry I’m not perfect. Would you rather me dead? I can make that happen! Just like Jasey did.” I threw my arms in the air, being as intolerant as I could be.

        “You’re going to therapy tomorrow, instead of school.” My mother calmly applied to the conversation, squeezing her eyes shut. My lungs gave out standing in front of them. I always thought that therapy was for crazy people and I refused to put that on myself.

         “You can’t make me.” I insisted, staring my mother down. Her eyes bulged in despair as I removed myself from the kitchen. I ran upstairs and threw myself onto my bed and dug my head into my pillow. I knew I would receive company soon, so I left the door open. The door shut, giving me the hint that my dad had arrived.

         “I don’t need somebody to tell me I’m delirious Dad.” I expressed loudly into my pillow.

         “Well you do need somebody to tell you to clean up your act.” He said, irritated. I arose from my pillow and sat Indian style on my bed looking at him. His arms were crossed and he leaned against the wall, not making eye contact with me.

         “This isn’t an act. This is you, actually hating your own daughter.” I explained, using my hands for more emphasize. Confusion filled the expression in his face as he turned and looked at me.

         “Hate? Kiersten, we don’t hate you.” He assured, walking towards me.

         “I’m a freak. And now, you want to send me to therapy. A place for freaks.” I spoke angrily towards him. He gently sat down on the edge of my bed inspecting the ground. His eyes roamed around the room until they surfaced to my face.

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