IT was a week later. I was sitting in my room, crying. I had no idea why. My room was trashed, and I hadn't been to school in a week. Beer cans were everywhere. I didn't know why I was crying, I didn't have an explanation for it. I had developed a tiny addiction for alcohol over the past week, and that would be the only thing that I would drink.
"Get in the car." My dad said, scratching his face.
"Uh, no?" I smirked, tipping a half empty beer can into my mouth.
"Fine I'll carry you." My dad walked over, kicking the empty cans out of his way. I didn't feel like fighting him, mostly because I was too tired. He lifted me down the steps and out the door, into his car. He sat me into the passengers seat, and he jumped into the drivers seat. He started the car and started driving.
"And you are taking me where?" I asked, sitting up. My head throbbed, and I was really tired.
"Rehab or therapy. You pick." My dad said, not taking his eyes of the road. Was he really making me pick? What a pathetic example for a dad.
"Therapy." I said, closing my eyes. We arrived at the office around 12:00. I sat in the car until my dad lifted me into my chair and pushed me inside.
"Hi, I made an appointment for my daughter to see Dr. Basil at 12:05?"
I sat in a white room. No windows, no artwork, nothing. Just a couch and a chair. I sat on the couch, dozing off a couple of times.
"How do you feel?" Dr. Basil asked me.
I sat up. "How do I feel?" I repeated.
"I feel fine." I slouched, and Dr. Basil just stared at me. "You dont have to blame yourself for everything bad that has happened." He said, even though I said nothing about blaming myself. Thats exactly how I felt, though.
"I dont? Really? Because last time I checked, I am the reason Parker cheated on me, I am the reason that I dont have friends, and I'm the reason I'm in this wheelchair." My eyes were all red and puffy, and all I wanted to do was drink.
"Okay, look. You had no control over any of those things. Especially over the accident."
"Yes. I. Did. I could have tried harder to get the keys. I should have died that day, not my mom!" Tears fell, but I ignored them.
"Lets face it, if I died, everyone would be better off without me." I said. I had felt that way all along, and it felt good to say it out loud.
"Let me ask again, how do you feel?" Dr. Basil asked again.
"I feel responsible, I feel broken. I feel angry, I feel like I want to die." I said. I sat up straight, not regretting a word I just said.
"I deserve to die."
I sat there, staring at the wall. I didn't think I would try to kill myself, but if I knew if I ever went too far, I wouldn't care.
"Okay, Jasmine. You are saying very serious things. I need you to come twice a week, okay? And Im going to prescribe anti-depressants, alright?" i agreed, but disagreed.
"Whatever, seeing you twice a week and taking some pills isn't going to change the way I feel." I got into my wheelchair, and as I was checking out, I saw a someone sitting in the waiting area.
Parker.
"Jasmine?" Parker looked stunned, he walked over to me.
"What are you doing here? How come you haven't been in school?" Parker asked. I rolled my eyes, and said, "Now, thats none of your concern." I smiled lightly and wheeled out the door.
PARKERS POV
I stood there and watched her roll out the door. Why was she here?
"Dr. Basil is ready for you." the secretary said. I smiled and went into his office, and sat down on the new white couch. This new 'Dr. Basil'
guy was my new therapist. "So, Parker, you don't have a last name?" Dr. Basil said, i hadn't seen his face yet. "Yeah,
no." I said, I waited for him to sit down to continue talking. He finally sat down, and when I saw his face, my heart stopped.
"What the hell." I muttered.
"Im sorry?" He looked up from his notepad and his face went cold.
"What? What? Why? What are you doing back here?" I said, scooting away from him.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," He said.
"No! I didnt want you to tell me. Mom promised me before she died that I would never have to see you again!" I yelled.
"But, Parker, I've changed." He said, standing up. I stood up too.
"You go to rehab for abusing drugs, not your kid." I yelled.
"I am your father! Don't talk to me like that!" he yelled back. That was the last straw. He was definitely not my dad.
"You really think after ten years of abuse and then leaving you can call yourself my dad? No, Dr. Basil. Thats not how it works."
I'm never going to see my dad again.
Or so I thought.