AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Overwhelmed.
I just needed it to all stop. The noise… the itchy feeling…
I just needed someone, anyone, to look at me and see me—get me—listento me…
But that isn’t what I got. Not from anyone who mattered, counted, or lasted.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I got sent to Canaan Academy, an all-boys residential treatment center run by a bunch of old pastors looking to shove religion down our throats to cure whatever it is ailing us.
Because only through Jesus do you find reform.
At least, that’s what they promised my parents.
Marisol and Charles Sinclair didn’t get what they wanted either.
That was a year ago, and now I’m here.
Rehab.
My last chance or whatever, now that I’m eighteen.
It’s too bad rehab is evenlesswhat I need.
“Skyler, I can’t help you if you don’t give mesomething,” Dr. Maddock says not unkindly from her perch on the edge of her desk, pulling me from my thoughts.
I blink. I didn’t notice her move.
I must’ve checked out again.
Last I remember, she was behind her mahogany desk, hands folded over my open file. Not that she gave it more than a passing glance. She said as much, that she’d rather start fresh.
I didn’t believe her. Still don’t.
No one ever wants to hear my side of the story. They only ever care about what’s in that file, what my parents say, what I’m sure Canaanhad to say about me to cover their tracks.
And then what the doctors noted in the hospital…what my parents assumed too…
My eyes drop to my arms.
The fading marks and doctor’s reports speak for themselves. My entire history condensed into that file speaks for itself. So why talk at all? Why bother?
It doesn’t matter what I have to say. It never did.
A sigh fills the room. It’s a sound I’m quite familiar with. One that’s soft, gentle, but exasperated.
My knee starts to bounce and I have to dig my nails into my palms so as not to start tapping my fingers again. I didn’t miss her gaze on my restless hands when she called me in.
I glance at the clock. That was thirty minutes ago. My time’s almost up.
Twisting my lips together, I meet her gaze, not backing down, even when it feels uncomfortable. I don’t want to miss anything. Eyes say a lot more than any other feature. A lot more than anything spoken.
And yet even then, sometimes I get it wrong…
Wincing at the reminder, I hunch my shoulders, shaking my head.
Adam was a fluke. He knew what he was doing. He knew how to trap me.
For some reason, a pair of dark green eyes flash across my vision, intercepting the memory. In my head, I hear the distant thrash of waves. The faraway roll of thunder.
