Pall Malls + Poetry // Judd Birch x OC/Reader

Daddy's Little Girl

Emily stood in front of Bridgeton High that next week. To say she was apprehensive was putting it lightly, she'd taken a triple dose of her medication that morning just to deal with the anxiety. It didn't help that she close to never slept, she knew that the bags under her eyes were dark, accentuated by the bright blue of her irises. Concealer did very little to hide her exhaustion.

She'd pulled her shoulder length hair halfway up into an adorable topknot that morning, having tucked her oversized persian green crewneck into her blue jeans.

She didn't want people to look at her body. She got enough of that at home.

Her first class of the day was US government, effectively the most boring history class she had taken in years. Emily wasn't one for mathematics and history, she liked english and science more. But her true love was in the arts, and if there was one thing she actually could thank her stint in the looney-bin for, it was that her therapist had pushed for Bridgeton to bump a student out of art class so that she could take their spot.

Written at the top of her printed schedule was a note in lovely cursive, likely the handwriting of a female. "Please report to the counselor's office upon arrival.", it read. So she did. She signed in on the clipboard, her name being the first on the list, and waited with her fingers pressed between her knees.

"Emily?" A woman said as teachers and other adults made their way up and down the secluded office hallway.

Emily smiled and followed her into the room, taking a seat across from the mahogany desk.

The woman looked kind. She was an older lady, likely a grandmother, and so tall for a woman. She had short white hair and a smile that was one of the most genuine Emily had ever seen in her life.

"I'm Shelia, the guidance counselor for your graduating class. I like to meet with all new students on their first day here at Bridgeton to make sure they're getting along nicely." She said.

Emily pursed her lips with a nervous smile, "Well I haven't even made it to my first class yet, but I don't plan on making too many waves before the end of the year."

Shelia nodded and Emily knew what was coming. She'd prepared herself for it by sitting stone cold on the edge of her bed and imagining each and every scenario she may come across, practicing showing no emotion whatsoever in response.

"I spoke with your therapist." Shelia said, "She says that you responded very well to treatment at Claymoore, that you haven't missed a session since reunification with your parents and you're taking your medication as directed."

Emily didn't bother correcting her. She didn't need word getting around to her teachers that she'd kneecapped a nurse by kicking him on her first day at Claymoore or that she refused to go to group therapy because she wouldn't listen to a dozen brainwashed teenagers recite lies that they'd been coached into believing about themselves.

"Now, she did say that it doesn't look like you've made an appointment with a new therapist since the move. Would you like some help with that? I was an adolescent therapist for a long time before taking up shop here at Bridgeton High and still have a few colleagues that I recommend from time to time."

She had no plans to attend another therapy session.

"That's fine, thanks. I'd like to get settled in for a few weeks first." Emily said.

Shelia seemed content with that response. She stood from her leather office chair and opened the heavy door that somehow kept them secluded from the rest of the world. "Coach Langford is going to be tickled to have you in his class." She said, and then placed her hand on Emily's shoulder as she made it through the doorway.