Meet My Counselor // chapter four

Hey everyone! In November of last year I started a short story series, and I've realized that I wrote three chapters, and stopped writing the story. I decided I'm going to bring this series back! I'm sorry it's been so long! So, if you want to read the other three chapters again, feel free to.

Here are links to each chapter:

Chapter one- https://miribrooks1.wixsite.com/quoted/post/a-new-reputation-chapter-one

Chapter two- https://miribrooks1.wixsite.com/quoted/post/meet-emily-anderson-chapter-two

Chapter three- https://miribrooks1.wixsite.com/quoted/post/changed-chapter-three

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When my mom decided I needed a counselor after getting kicked out of school, I had a fit. Not a crying fit like a little kid would have, but an ‘I’m going to run away because you’re a terrible mom’ fit.

My mom, of course, knew what my reaction would be, and found a way to ‘bribe’ me into it. She said she would only make me go once a month, and if I wanted to continue to do it after three months, I could. If I didn’t want to continue after three months, I didn’t have to.

I met Miss Annie two weeks after my ice cream ‘date’ with Emily. Her real name was Miss Ferguson, but she wanted me to call her Miss Annie, or just Annie.

I went with Miss Annie. It felt weird to be calling a twenty year-old woman by her first name, so I thought I would make it easier on myself by calling her ‘Miss.’

“How are you today, Julian?” she asked me politely. It was Saturday at 10 o’clock. I was seated in Miss Annie’s very brown office. Brown chairs, tables, pictures, and even a brown desk. Nothing in the room had any color.

“Uhh...good,” I slightly stammered. I was nervous to be there, and I didn’t know what else to say.

“So, this is going to be a difficult topic to start off with, but I believe it’s a good one. I really think diving into what happened in the past could help you for the future. Any future decisions you make could depend on our conversations here, and now.”

No pressure there, I thought.

I nodded, and she continued. “Can you start by explaining what happened to make people bully you? How did you get expelled from your old school, and what made you be admitted to a new school? Why are you here today? How do you want me to help you solve your problems?”

I don’t know, and I don’t want to talk about it. She asked me about a million questions that day, and when the forty or so minutes were finally up, I was relieved. I was tired, and hungry.

As soon as my mom picked me up, she began to ask questions. We drove through the neighborhood, and I gasped as we stopped in the driveway of my house.