Splinters: Part One

Part One | 14

"Hi," I said wearily.

"You must be his mother."

She barely even hesitated from his choice of words."Yes. Melissa," she said, as if it were true.

"It's nice to meet you," Dr. Johnson said.

"You as well," Melissa replied uneasily.

I glanced at her with a straight expression. She looked nervous, of all things. I wanted to ask if she was okay, but then I realized our roles had somehow switched. She was the scared one and I was the calm one. I found it hard to believe.

"Well, Brayden, I'll have you come back with me alone this time, and then maybe I'll speak to you and your mother."

I nodded. "Okay."

Melissa looked at me, her eyes assuring that everything would be okay, but to me, it wasn't genuine. Dr. Johnson opened the door wider for me to enter, and I did. He closed the door after speaking a few gentle words to Melissa that I didn't catch and closed the door.

The room was much different from Dr. Hamelon's. there was no couch, only singular chairs. The walls were brown, a color I found inviting. The chair I sat on was not leather. Instead, it had a carpet feeling, but it was soft.

"So, Brayden, what brings you here?" Dr. Johnson asked.

I shifted in my chair, feeling like I could tell him a lot more things than I could for Dr. Hamelon.

"I'm, uh, adopted."

"Adopted?" Dr. Johnson's eyebrows raised. "For how long?"

I tilted my head. "A couple months."

Dr. Johnson froze. "So Melissa isn't your biological mother?"

I shook my head.

For some reason, I expected him to already know this. Don't they have files or something?

"Do you know who your biological mother is?"

I nodded.

"Can you tell me a bit about her?"

I sucked in a quick breath and shrugged slowly. "I don't... really..."

"Is it hard for you? To talk about her?"

I nodded, feeling my eyes sting. There were times where I hated her, and then there were times where I loved her. I missed her all the time, but she didn't miss me. I hated loving her because I knew that she didn't deserve that. If anything, she deserved only hatred from me.

I love my dad, but my love for him is no greater than it is for my mom, and that's not fair. He should be loved much more than my mom because he actually cared. He cared about me sleeping in a bed, eating, being able to go to a safe place if he ever got caught doing whatever he was doing.

"What about your dad?"

I nodded.

"You know a little bit about him?"

I knew a lot about him. I knew almost everything about him that I could at that age. I knew his favorite color, his entire name, his favorite type of music, anything. I knew about my father.

"Yeah."

"Do you not like to talk about him either?"

I shook my head, blinking furiously so that I wouldn't cry. "No, I can."

"Go ahead then."

"Well, uh, his name was Bryson."

"Bryson," Dr. Johnson, mumbled, writing on a piece of paper.