Mandatory Therapy

With a stiff neck, I turn away. I focus on the dumbass ABC's strip that lines the top of the wall. I know we have some special students, but does Mr. Williams really think it's necessary? Then again, here I am talking about psychopaths.

Of course he thinks we're stupid enough not to know the alphabet without having to sing the song.

"It's a mental illness that not only affects the host, but also the people around them. They become victims to the rotten thoughts that plague the psycho’s mind, driving them to do insane things," I force myself to continue.

"I read that being a psychopath is hereditary," Kensey says while raising her hand. Her wide innocent eyes turn to me, and she smiles. Why the hell is everyone smiling?

Maybe because their parent isn't a serial killer? 

"What are the chances that you're a crazy murderer too?" she asks.

The image of walking into my fathers office after hours comes to mind. He was late to dinner, and I was worried he would over work himself along with the other church members. Every Wednesday some of them would gather to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the homeless.

What I walked into was far from that.

"Kensey, that was very insensitive." Mr. Williams clears his throat. Of course he couldn't directly let me get bullied in front of an entire class. What kind of role model would that make him?

"Apologize to Ariella." He nods his head. "Now, please."

She heaves a dramatic sigh and flips her too perfect hair over her shoulder. "Sorry, Ari."

I cringe at the shortening of my name. Dad used to call me that.

No longer wanting to speak, I sit back down. If he expects a longer and more personal definition, then he'll just have to kiss my ass. I already have the idea to march down to the principal's office and demand she change my class because Mr. Williams doesn't seem to understand the major line he's crossing.

'But the slips were random, I had no idea she'd get it.' I can already hear the excuse leaving his slimy mouth.

"Thank you, Ariella." He smiles, and it's a slick, annoying curve of lips. He moves on to his next victim, and maybe I'm being dramatic, but I swear he glances back at me. 

I tune out for the rest of the class, head bent down as I scribble stupid doodles into my notebook.

As soon as the bell rings, I'm shoving everything into my bag in a rush to get out of here.

"Ariella, would you mind waiting? I have something I'd like to discuss with you." Mr. Williams stops me when I stand from my seat. My breath leaves me, and I fall back into the chair, glaring down at my desk.

Great.

When it's just us two in the classroom, he beckons me to his desk. My chest tightens the closer I get to him, and I curl my fingers around the straps of my bag.

He clears his throat, "If I had known what question I gave you, I wouldn't have given it to you at all."

Liar.

I'm so close to rolling my eyes. The bullshit spilling out of his mouth lands at my feet, piling up high.

"It's whatever." I force out, holding in the profanities that want to fall from my lips.

Fucking enforcer.

Lying piece of shit.

It’s crazy how my father turns out to be a psycho, and I developed a love for cuss words.

I shift on my feet when I notice his eyes stuck on my legs.

Pediphilic asshole.

I'm just full of them today.

"Mrs. Rivers also reached out to me today." He turns away from me and picks up a paper from his desk. When he holds it out to me, I take it, reading what was typed on it. "She set up a session for you two to meet after school every friday."

I cringe, eyes not once leaving the paper. Of course the school therapist wants to see me. I'm sure if she had to, she'd send me to a personal therapist. Lord knows I need it.

"It's mandatory, so I'm afraid you don't have a choice."

The paper wrinkles as my grip tightens on it. I remember how the school's board members came together and petitioned against me. Either I talk to the school's shrink or I don't go to school in Bethany. Then that would've meant I'd have to go to school in Redwoods. I didn't think they were serious. I mean it's ridiculous. 

Rich people love controlling those they think are beneath their status, and Bethany happens to be full of them.

I stomp out of the room without a goodbye, shoving the offending summons into my backpack.

A fucking therapist, won't that be fun? 

I push the thought of seeing Mrs. Rivers away and march to the cafeteria. Maybe I can sneak my lunch tray away and sit in the library. The prying eyes are starting to get on my nerves.

My idea burns to embers as I step past the double doors that lead to the cafeteria. Lucas and Henry stand in front of me, hands gripping buckets. I’m taking a step back when they pour the contents over my head. Red covers my vision as wet and sticky liquid drips down my body. A screech escapes me, a chemically, foul taste coating my tongue. I spit on the ground, desperate to get rid of whatever it is. My clothes stick to my skin, the thick liquid seeping through the layers quickly.

Laughter echoes around me, and I quickly wipe my eyes, but it doesn’t make the burning sensation go away. My sight blurs from the impending tears, and I blink rapidly, trying to focus on Lucas and Henry. Their now empty buckets drip with the remnants of red paint.

"You look just like him now." Lucas smirks, a dark mirth swimming behind his brown eyes.

"You might want to wash that out quickly." Henry cackles, and it’s an ugly sound that grates my ears. "I hear this paint stains." 

I glance down at myself, no part of me is left uncovered. The red, gloopy paint drips onto the tile floor, and my vision begins to swim. I'm taken back to the moment when I saw who my father really was.