Delinquents

Chapter Four: Group Therapy

"You coming to the party tonight, Harl?" Greg asked, leaning out so he could see past Jared.

"I'm not sure,"

"Go on. We haven't seen you in ages. There's literally eight of us, but around here that's a party," Greg laughed, raising a tattooed hand and running it through his black curly hair.

Greg was right, it was difficult to gather in large groups after curfew and eight was considered a party. The problem was, Harley didn't do drugs nor drink, or hook up with girls, so going to these parties were pointless. He'd prefer to read, go for a walk and smoke his cigarette. The last time he went, he felt pressured and drank half a litre of vodka. He spent the next day wrapped around the toilet, spilling his guts into the bowl.

"Nah, I think I'll pass this time, thanks though,"

Harley was grateful when Mr. Matton strolled in. He couldn't be asked with the questions and the pestering. Mr. Matton tucked his brown leather briefcase under the chair and sat down. Some of the students continued to chat amongst themselves but Harley smiled at the therapist. Over the past ten months, he was the only one who cared about him. Other Mrs. Barlow, for obvious reasons.

Mr. Matton was and unusual choice for a therapist here, a young adult in his mid-twenties with a couple of tattoos which were usually hidden under a black button up shirt. Perhaps that was one of the reasons Harley felt like he could talk to him about anything. Or maybe because he was a therapist, and a damn good one at that.

"How are we today lads?" Mr. Matton asked, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his knees.

There were some grumbles around the room. Harley just shrugged. He wasn't sure how he was. His mind kept drifting to what had happened last night. To Cassie. Even though he had seen the back of her head this morning, it didn't mean that she was okay, did it?

Mr. Matton passed a stack of papers to Luke who took one. He leaned over the empty seat and passed the papers to Harley. Harley repeated his actions and passed it along until the papers ended back with Mr. Matton. His eyebrows furrowed as he focused on the empty chair between the two boys. Eleven chairs were set up in the group therapy rooms, one for the therapist and then a chair for each of the students.

"Where's Gareth?" He asked the group.

"He's in the infirmary," Luke muttered, his eyes glued on the piece of paper that was resting on his lap.

"Okay, I assume he won't be coming today then... I want you to take fifteen minutes to read through the sheet and answer the questions. Please write the answer to the first four questions using a pen or pencil. For the rest, you can either write down your answer or answer it in your head. Whatever you're most comfortable doing," Mr. Matton said, knowing that almost all of the students would answer the questions in their heads. "If there is anything too invasive on the paper, skip it. If you want to step out and take a breather during this session, you know you can. If anyone needs to stay behind after and talk about something that was discussed or something that surfaced during these two hours, then you can."

Harley nodded at Mr. Matton and bowed his head. He scanned the page, browsing through the questions. 1. On a scale of 1-10 how angry have you been this past week? Harley shoved his hand into his jean pocket and pulled out a blue biro. He bit the end of the pen. Have I been angry this week? He thought for a second and wrote down two, in block capital letters. That was something he had picked up from Leo a few years ago and couldn't shake the habit. It was only numbers that he seemed to write like that, why? He didn't know.

2. On a scale of 1-10 how frustrated have you been this week? Harley didn't need to think about the answer before scribbling down the number six. 3. On a scale of 1-10 how upset have you been this week? Harley sighed, he hated this question every week. Every week the answer was the same, so he wrote down eight. 4. On a scale of 1-10 how lonely have you been this week? Harley surprised himself by writing down one. He hadn't been lonely. He had been kept company by Jared, his books and now, Cassie.

Harley took his lip between his teeth and tightened his grip around the pen. He didn't want to look at the questions. Last week, it provoked nightmares. More often than not, the questions were intrusive. But as Mr. Matton said, you need to delve into the root of your problems before you can improve.

5. How often do you think about the reason that brought you to Bispham Academy? All the fucking time. Almost every fucking night... Harley leaned forwards on his knees, gripping the paper in his hands. 6. Do you regret what you did? Yes, every fucking day... He closed his eyes. He couldn't look at the rest of the questions. Not without breaking. He couldn't let his façade slip. Not in front of the nine other men with pasts.

Harley was more than grateful when the fifteen minutes were up. The rest of the session was spent discussing emotional regulation. What they could do to manage their emotions in a healthy way and not bottle up the feelings or snap. For that, Harley was glad. He didn't have to dwell on the mistake that altered his life, not in the session anyway.

He had nightmares to haunt him instead.

"I'll see you guys next week. Keep yourselves out of trouble," Mr. Matton smiled as chairs scrapped across the laminated floors. "I'll see some of you tomorrow," he continued, nodding at Harley.

Harley nodded back and tailed Jared out of the room.

"Fucking hate that shit," Jared muttered as they entered the corridor. "May as well sing bloody Kumbaya and hold hands and shit,"

"I need a nap, I'm bloody knackered," Harley covered his mouth and yawned.

Jared wiggled his eyebrows, "because you were too busy boning,"

"You're fucking disgusting," Harley grumbled as a blur of auburn caught his sight. "I'll catch up with you later, I need to see Mrs. Barlow," he said, heading off in the direction of Cassie. He did need to see his Aunt, it just wasn't the full truth.