After attending the Winter formal, Bree Simmons knew something wasn't right. Things have changed, and she isn't sure if they're for better, or worse. As a rising photographer, all of her attention is on the mysterious happenings in Beacon Hills. Whe...
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With a knee bouncing up and down at a rapid pace, Bree sighed out as she observed Ms. Morrell, the French teacher as well as guidance counselor of BHHS, jotting down notes from the previous student in her office for the day. The forest green-eyed girl didn't want to be in a counseling session, but after what Sheriff Stilinski told her mom about what had happened at the police station, including the portion of the night where Matt was waving a gun around in a psychotic manner and injuring Scott while keeping them all hostage, Irene Simmons was not about to let her daughter go without talking to anyone.
Every Wednesday and Friday until the end of the school year, Bree would be forced to go to counseling, led by none other than Ms. Morrell. Irene didn't know what else to do with her daughter besides have a professional help her through whatever was going on and get to the bottom of Bree's newfound behavior and questionable actions recently. Ms. Morrell cleared her throat before putting her notes away in her desk drawer, now fully focusing on Bree, who remained silent.
"Bree," the counselor spoke, doing her best to retrieve the girl's attention, which she successfully earned a moment later.
Bree took a deep breath, focusing her thoughts on what she wanted to say, only for them to become messy and cluttered again as she reminisced over that night at the station.
"I still don't want to talk about it," she muttered to the woman, who only nodded, but continued to stare at the teenager expectantly.
A few minutes of silence passed before Morrell finally stated, "Bree, you've been coming in here for a week, and haven't been saying anything. I understand that you are a private person; however, your mother seems to be really worried about you, and personally, I am too. Keeping things in isn't the best way to handle anything."
"You're giving the reports to my mom by the end of the semester, right?" Bree asked rhetorically in a sassy manner before continuing, "What does she want to hear? The fact that I'm, what? Emotionally distressed? Practically having PTSD and panic attacks? I don't understand what I can do to be left alone. She doesn't like me hanging out with one of my best friends, because apparently he's become a "bad kid". She didn't even talk to me on my birthday, though that's pretty usual, and oh yeah, does she want to know how much it kills me to be kept away from my best friend? Does she really want to know what I went through that night?"
Morrell, calmly, folded her hands on top of the desk, saying simply, "That seems like a lot on your plate at the moment. Can you elaborate on how you felt that night at the station?"
Huffing out, Bree's eyes shifted over to the corner of the room, squinting slightly as she watched dust dance and float around in the air, thinking back to the dreadful night.
"I'm gonna go help Scott," she had told Stiles, who sat paralyzed in the chair, his eyes widening suddenly.
He argued, "No, Scott can take care of it, Bree. Please stay here. It's safer for you in here."
