Time After Time

By Tennya Amber Kellerstin

After her attempted suicide, via the way of burning down her father's house with her inside, is unsuccessful, 18 year old Coren is sent away for the next 15 months to a mental institution. She is released with the condition she is to see a court appointed psychiatrist for a minimum of six months or until she is deemed fit to no longer be a threat to herself or others.

 

Ashamed of his daughter's behavior and what it could mean to his reputation, Coren's father, who has begrudgingly raised her since the age of seven when her mother suddenly walked out, sends her away to the family's summer home. Far up north in the state where it is at least a 20 minute drive to the nearest town.

 

There, forced into isolation and shame, Coren must face her past that lead her to her current situation.

 

It is a long, painful journey that is filled with blood, death and discovering the true meaning of the love of one's self and the love of friendship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tennya Amber Kellerstin
• Release date: Apr 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201118587

Book preview

Prologue

I didn't remember the drive home. Or the walk up the driveway, into the house. But I must have. I must have driven here, walked here, into this house.

My home?

The questioning words rang loudly, seemingly rattling around my brain. The words were spoken in a tone that was familiar as my own. But for some reason, that I could only gather as insanity, I didn't seem to understand why I was thinking what I was thinking, and then questioning those thoughts.

I must be insane.

That was the only logical reason I could come up with.

My eyes moved across the room that I was standing in. My eyeballs jumped back and forth from a sweeping motion to downright frantically darting about as I tried to look everywhere all at once, in an instant.

My sight flicked across a sofa and the logical part of my brain that was still functioning properly drew the conclusion that I was in the middle of the living room, of the house where I lived.

Lived.

Did I get really live here? Those years that I had lived here, what had I been doing in all that time? Could it be classified as living?

My brain hurt and my focus started to dart quicker then before, so much faster it almost became a blur. I heard a small groan of agony as it escaped past my lips that were tightly pressed together. With both hands I half slapped, half grabbed each side of my forehead, where the pain was starting to become too great to ignore, pushing its way to the front of all the things and thoughts that were demanding my attention.

I told myself I had to focus, I had to figure out where I was, how I had gotten there. What I was doing there. I couldn't keep letting these pain leaking other questions distract me.

I came home.

Yes.

That was correct.

I came home because...

I let go of my head and looked around, my eyes wide. I noticed that my fingers were shaking, that my hand was shaking. I quickly held up a finger to my teeth, gnawing where the nail met the skin. A nervous habit I had had since before I could remember. The strong, stomach churning, rusty taste of blood hit my tongue strongly. Strong enough to snap me back into reality long enough to stop the act.

It seemed that in the course of my entire life my fingers had been torn, bloody, scabby messes. Or at least, I couldn't remember a time when they hadn't been.

"Coren that's a disgusting habit!"

Memories of my mother's scolds came fresh into my consciousness. Just as fresh as the taste of the blood had been. Just as unwelcomed.

I came home because...

They're all dead. My spoken words felt like bombs on a war ridden country side in the stillness and silence of the empty house where I stood. Erin. Amber. Nikki. I thought I might start to cry. My throat began to clench in that tightening, painful way it usually did before the tears came. There was that pain in my throat, behind my eyes, the back of my head, the sides of my head. My entire head started to hurt again. A migraine maybe. Commonly accompanying tears. But this time there were no tears. Only the pain. Mom. I said out loud, tacking on yet another name to the list that never seemed to end. Only grow.

My eyes moved to the wall next to where I was standing. I was looking for the extra large, framed photo of my parents on their wedding day. Where it had hung. It didn't hang there anymore. Not since she left. Not since she said absolutely nothing to me or to him and just left. Leaving a man to take care of a small child who had no idea how to do so. Not to mention having no desire to take care of a daughter he didn't even really want.

How long had that been? Eleven years ago? Wasn't it longer then that? I tried to add up the math in my head but it was impossible, the pain of the oncoming migraine was too great.

Despite whatever the actual number the math calculated out to, it felt longer.

My feet moved in a particle circle, my body trying to rotate accordingly. I went to the wall where the picture was suppose to be. It wasn't there. There was nothing there now. Just a blank wall. There was suppose to be that picture there! It's suppose to be here! My brain roared, filled with at least a dozen years of anger and disrepair. Before I even had time to realize what I was doing, my hand, my fist was coming up and slamming into the wall. So forcefully my entire hand broke the drywall and disappeared from sight.

My single blink broke my anger and dissolved it into into mild confusion.

That picture is suppose to be there. I mumbled, speaking the words again, only this time out loud. I pulled my hand back, out from the wall, dust and fragments crumbling onto the carpet. My fist fell loosely to my side, uncurling. Back into their regular, gnawed finger nailed fingers. I didn't even noticed that the blood that had pooled around the cuticles were now being accompanied by the red spatter that was on my knuckles. I twirled again, this time facing the other side of the living room. Where, on an end table, next to another sofa sat and arranged cluster of silver, shiny, polished photo frames. A few more  stumbling footsteps put me in front of the display. Bending low to see them, I saw, maybe for the first time, blaming it on never paying attention, on being self-centered, was photo upon photo of my father's employees. Holiday parties. Summer cookouts. Team building camp outs. I searched for photos of me. Of her. Or of the family. I couldn't find any. Of course I couldn't find any. There was no family to find.

No family. No home. No house.

A light bulb of thought went on in my brain. And even as my brain was sending signals to my chest and my chest was thrust back into that storm of pain and aching anxiety, I knew that the thought I was having now was correct. I already knew that that light bulb of an idea, was actually a lit match of a solution. It was so simple, why hadn't I thought of it before?

Burn it all down.

I barely noticed when my lungs started to heave for air and then retracted in spastic pains when smoke was taking the place of the air that my lungs needed. And I didn't really care when I could feel wet tears streaming down my face, eyes burning as smoke and flames started to cloud my vision. And even though I did notice the searing hot pain of the flames, I didn't actually care, not even then.

But when there was a BOOM and too many hands began to grab me, tug and pull me, that was when I was suddenly awake, my eyes open, my mind at attention.

No! I hollered. No! I have to-! I wanted to explain why what I was doing had to be done. But no one was listening and my screams of protest were smothered just as my eyes caught the sight of the flames being extinguished.

Chapter One

Fifteen Months Later

My eyes were fixated on the stupid ticking clock on the wall. Its stupid tick tick tick repetitive rhythm, its stupid plain white back round and plain black numbers and black dial. And it was also stupid because its black hands had now just passed the time of 9:01 AM. I was suppose to be here at nine in the morning - sharp. So here I am. So where the fuck is she? I scowled as hard as I could at the clock for just a moment longer and then slumped down in my chair. Not defeated, but definitely angry.

"Nine AM sharp Coren. That doesn't mean nine oh one, or nine oh two or even nine fifty nine!"

Is eight fifty nine okay?

"God dammit Coren! If there was ever a time in your life to be serious? Just one time to stop fucking around and take a look at yourself! At your life, it's this time!"

My eyes drifted up to the clock as the second hand passed the twelve and the minute hand came to a rest on the two.

"I swear, I swear to God – that if you mess this up then that's it. I wash my hands clean of you!"

Honestly I had barely even heard that the last part. My father had threatened to cut me off so many times I didn't even take note anymore. As far as I was concerned he had washed his hands clean of me the moment he sent me away and I became someone else's problem even before I actually was a problem.

I didn't care about the threat. What actually concerned me was the fact that just minutes before five am this morning he woke me up and ordered me to get going. That I had just enough time to make the drive here and don't you dare be late!.

He knew. He knew what he was doing. With the the sleuthing of a film noir PI, the pissy pants of Veruca Salt and the cruelty of the devil himself. With the threat of being just a minute late to my first appointment, and not a moment to lose regarding time he knew I had no choice to not only do as exactly as he said but he knew where I would be. Going from point A to point B. No stops in between, no time before hand to do any of the things I wanted to do and he absolutely didn't want me to do.

Hello.

My eyes ticked to the ticking clock before it went to her face. It was almost five after.

You're late. It came out more deadpanned then mean, which disappointed me. I had wanted to say it with as much venom as possible. I had risked my bladder to get here on time, so why the fuck couldn't she show me the same courtesy?

We were starting off on a great foot.

Oh. She glanced at the expensive looking watch on her wrist and then upward to the clock I had been keeping time on. Just a little bit. She smiled but her lips were thinned out. She was forcing the smile as much as she was forcing the politeness. It seemed she already didn't care for me as much as I already didn't care for her.

Oh yeah. This is going great daddy. Thank you so much for this opportunity, this chance you've given me."

Not too bad though. Another tick from the clock as yet another second passed by. I'm guessing you're Coren.

I pressed my teeth together in annoyance and frustration. It hadn't even been five seconds and I already felt as if I had lost control of the situation. This really shitty, yucky, shit smelling, out of my control, situation.

I looked at her, right in the eye of this woman-

Ugh. My... psychologist .

Looked to be in her early to middle forties, standing over me, propping open a door that, I assumed based on past evidence alone, would automatically lock once it closed. She held it open with one foot and smiling that thinned out smile down at me.

I glared at her, studying her for a moment. Her smile, her eyes, her hair, her whole face, it all looked so...so...superficial.

I hate this. I muttered silently to myself.

I got up and begrudgingly shuffled past her into the room.

She followed behind me and when I paused just inside the room, unsure of where to go next, she lifted an arm and gestured me even further into another room.

I’m Dr. Cynthia Cdicds.

I heard her say behind me as I walked into the room she had gestured to. The room was small with two arm chairs, a couch and a few other random things like bookcases, potted plants, a side table proudly holding up a box of tissues all ready to go for the weepy.

Reaching into my pocket I felt the business card and pulled it out. It was her business card with my chicken scratch handwriting of vague, general directions. It had been stupid. I hadn't needed it as the car my father had loaned me for this vacation was equipped with an updated GPS. I don't know why I thought I would need a secondary set of directions. Like there was a chance of getting stranded or losing my way somewhere along the familiar four hour drive route that I knew so well I could probably do it in my sleep.

When the card had been handed to me several days earlier I initially had held onto it so tightly and for so long that an impression of my thumb and forefinger print had been sweated into existence. Without realizing it I brought an already chewed up middle finger to my teeth and gnawed once, twice on the exposed skin next to the nail. Almost instantly I realized what I was doing and I ripped my hand away. My eyes shut tightly as I wondered to myself why I had just done that act. What thoughts had been in my head to drive me to my nervous, compulsive bad habit? My gaze bore into the dirty fingerprint.  I knew in the moment that it was handed to me, that the nightmare wasn't over. I had thought it was but it wasn't.

I had thought it would have been over when I set the fire. I had thought that death was my escape, my way out of the hell hole of a that was my life.

But I hadn't died. I had been put into an entirely new, unknown kind of hell. It took fifteen months for my head to finally clear. Kind of. And I thought my clear head was enough to finally return to my life. Leaving me with enough sanity to pick up where I left off. I thought that was the end of the nightmare and I stood now at the beginning of the new chapter.

But then my father, my fucking asshole, douche bag father handed me this card. And I stared at it, I registered what it meant. It meant I was still in hell, still in the nightmare.

Coren?

Dr. Cdicds. I spoke up. Completely ignoring her concerned question that was in the form of my name. I thought it might be pronounced like Sticks. I looked up and made eye contact with her for the first time that was longer then a microsecond.

Dr. Cdicds simply kept up her polite smile and answered me with an even politer, but unemotional laugh. I guess I could see how that could be mixed up.

I shrugged, caring less what she had to say or even that she  responded to me and I slid the card back into my front pant's pocket.

***

There was a very distinct smell of teriyaki that hit me as soon as I walked into the house. My seven year old brain bubbled with the anticipation as soon as I realized what that smell meant. That Mom had ordered my favorite from my favorite Japanese take out place.

I let my backpack fall to the floor and practically ran into the kitchen, anxious to get my mouth around that chicken! But there was no mom. No take out containers on the table or any of the counters. Just Dad at the stove, his back to me.

Where's mom? I asked, instantly confused.

My father turned and there was a scowl on his face. At once I realized my mistake. I had spoken without thinking, just forming whatever words popped into my head. It had been a bad habit I had always had and for as long as I had had it my father had tried to break me of it. He had said it was rude, that nice girls think before they speak. And nice girls grow up into nice women and didn't I want to be a nice person when I got older?

As soon as I registered his displeased facial expression I doubled back both literally and figuratively. My mouth clamping down closed to prevent further words from coming and taking a step back. I was a little afraid of him. He was a lot bigger then me, he was even bigger then mom. And when he yelled at her he seemed to transform into some kind of mean giant whose face would turn red and eyes would budge out and he'd seem to grow like I had seen a monster called The Hulk do on an old TV show.

I didn't want to wake up The Hulk inside of my dad so I tried again.

Hi Dad. Um... I faked looked around. Where's Mom? Is she eating with us?

I saw dad's scowl melt away just a little and he sighed a sad sigh. No princess, she won't be joining us.

Okay. I chewed on my bottom lip, thinking of what I could say next to keep the conversation going, keep him distracted enough from becoming The Hulk but keep talking and explaining what was going on. But I couldn't think of anything to say that would work. No further questions about mom's absence or any good news to change the subject about what had happened to me that day, the first day of second grade.

So, with defeat I just went to the table and pulled up a chair.

With a steaming pan in his oven mitted hand dad came over and pushed some food onto an awaiting plate in front of me.

I smelled it, leaning in a little. He had made teriyaki chicken for me, not just ordered it. I looked up and smiled a thank you.

Your mom is gone. He said in a tone that sounded both sad and angry.

When is she coming back? I knew the answer before I had even asked the question.

Dad took a seat in the chair across from me. Look princess I'm going to give it to you straight okay? Like a big girl?

I nodded. That sounded good to me. I recognized the term big girl. When he used it that meant I needed to do three things, be quiet, listen, and do what he said.

Your mom and I have been really unhappy for a long time. I think we've all known that. He looked at me like I was suppose to answer a question so I nodded though I was unsure if that was the correct response or not.

Well, she left. She decided that the best way for us to be happy was if she no longer lived with us anymore.

When am I going to see her?

I don't know.

Is she going to live with us again when she's happy again?

Coren I don't know!

There was a slam as his tightened fists punched down on the table top, accompanied by the clatter of the plate that bounced every so slightly from the vibration of the attack. It was as good enough of a warning as it would ever be that The Hulk would come out if I kept pressing. I didn't need to give it another second of thought before I went deathly quiet.

Your mom was the one who was good at this, not me. He sighed and looked down.

I had no idea what he was talking about, good at what? But I stayed quiet, afraid to ask another question.

You being here all day by yourself just isn't fair to you.

I kind of understood what he was talking about now. When I got home from school mom was here. When I went to bed, mom was here. When I got up for school, mom was here. Dad wasn't. He had work to do at work, a place that wasn't home.

And me having to cut hours to be here for you isn't fair to me. He continued. So I've decided that the best course of action, for both of us is to enroll you in Horins Falls Academy for girls until I can figure something else out.

What did this mean? My knitted eyebrows of confusion must have been enough of a give away for him to continue on, explaining just slightly more then explaining nothing.

It's in California and the school year has already started but it's one of the best in the country and I spoke to their acceptance board and they don't mind having you start a few days late.

I stared down at my plate, I was confused, not really able to one hundred percent understand what this meant. However the most confusing part to me seemed the most significance and bubbled up first in my brain. What about Chadwick? I asked, taking the risk to speak up.

Chadwick lived just down the street from me was my very best friend. Had been my very best friend for longer then I could remember. How could I be best friends with my best friend if I was sent away to California and he was here in Michigan? California was very, very far away.

I looked up at my dad for answers, I felt a tightness in my chest and thought I might start crying. Why was my dad taking everyone away? Mom? Chadwick? Him? He was taking them all away!

But my dad's response to my question was only a blank look on his face. Finally his blank looked started to slowly form into a pre-Hulk face. Boys? He asked angrily? Is that what you really care about? Dad shook his head and laughed but it didn't sound like how a laugh should sound. Seven years old and all you're thinking about is boys. He laughed that not-sounding laugh again. It's a good thing I'm sending you to an all girl's school.

I watched as he ate a few bites in silence. Then he looked at me and saw I hadn't touched my food and said. If you're not going to eat why don't you go upstairs and pack? Your flight leaves tomorrow morning.

But- I tried, feeling that going to cry feeling even worse now.

Coren. Dad sighed. I'm tired. Just let me eat my dinner in peace. All the arrangements have already been made so you don't need to worry about anything. Just go pack.

Seeing no other choice then to follow his instructions I got up from the table and my untouched plate of food and made my way upstairs, head hanging low.

***

I could hear the door to the small room closing. As I turned around, briefly facing Dr. Cdicds I heard a dozen snotty, hate filled things roll through my head of what I could say to her. But I kept my mouth shut, I had to keep my mouth shut. That life long habit of blurting out whatever the hell I wanted to, no matter what it was and whom it happened to hurt hadn't gone away. Hadn't been beaten out of me, even after my fifteen month sentence. But if that place had taught me anything it was that the more submissive I was and the more I played along, the less trouble I caused, actions or words wise, the closer the light at the end of the tunnel was.

Sit where ever you'd like.

I plopped down on the couch positioned behind me while Dr. Cdicds sat in one of the arm chairs in the left corner of the room. I watched as she crossed her right leg over her left, picked up a yellow legal pad from the side table next to her, clicked a pen, set it down and then looked at me. Smiling, So how are you today Coren?

My bladder hurts, bad. I have to pee. Before I could even censor my answer the truth spat out from my lips.

Obviously not expecting that answer Dr. Cdicds leaned back slightly, a bewildered, yet insulted look on her face.

"My father- I spat the word out, gave me just enough time to make the drive up here to be here at nine sharp. I glared, Of course if I had known I'd have nearly five minutes to spare I would have used the rest room just outside."

I swear to God by the look on her face Dr. Cdicds was completely speechless. I didn't know if it was because I was straight up calling her out on her tardiness or because the words bladder and pee were considered bad words in her dictionary. Either way I loved it and ate it up, barely able to keep a cat that ate the canary grin at bay.

Um. Go-go ahead. I can wait. Dr. Cdicds stuttered just slightly.

Cool. I bounced up, let me self out of the room, out the second door, then the third door and raced into the bathroom.

As I sat on the toilet, relieving my aching bladder I took the moment to take a breathe. Bathrooms, no matter what they were used for, or when the last time they had been cleaned, were always a place I could go. To take a moment to myself, whatever that might mean on any given day. There was always at least one bathroom, where ever you went. And they gave a guarantee of at least three minutes or so of privacy.

I should have been using this short alone time I had to figure things out. But instead I spent the entire time consumed with the passion of how much I hated my father. Right along side that fuel of hatred also came the familiar sense of loneliness and longing. I missed my friends. I missed sex. I missed beer and vodka. I missed getting stoned under the bridge in the park at two AM in the middle of the night.

And it was all his fault. My life hadn't been so bad until he ruined it.

Okay that's not true. I admitted in a whisper as I went about whipping myself.

My life had sucked, more then sucked, it beyond sucked, which was why I had planned to end it. But he had taken that away. He had taken away the decision to end my own life away from me which was my choice, not his. And the good things I did have, that I could take refuge in, he had taken those away as well.

So go fuck yourself father. I was nearly blind with anger as I went through the motions of washing my hands. I hated him. I wished he was dead. Dead like mom. I wished I was dead. I wish we were all dead, that way we'd then be some sort of family, a dead one, but all together in our deaths.

Chapter Two

The first year I barely spoke to anyone. I guess I looked intimating or something cause everyone left me alone. My teachers left me alone in class, my fellow students left me alone during meal time and in the halls and even my roommates didn't try and talk to me in our room at nighttime.

I wrote Chadwick every week that first year. I swear. Mostly I just wrote him that I missed him and how much my new school sucked. I got one letter back from him. After that though I didn't hear from him. Christmas break finally came and when I got home all I wanted was two things. To play in the snow and to play in the snow with him. He had missed me too, at least I think he had. But stuff happens. We weren't in kindergarten anymore, we were in real school. School and friends and family were distracting enough. And besides he had other stuff that came before an old friend on the other side of the country that he barely saw anymore.

When the holidays ended and I came back to California one of my first assignments was to write a paper on what we had done on our break. It was then I realized that I couldn't think of a single thing that my dad and I had done together. I didn't know it was possible but I felt even sadder and more alone after that revaluation. In the end I was just barely about to squeak out something about the snow and the difference between the west coast and the mid-west that I had noticed since coming here. I got a good grade on it and I just figured it was because the teacher took pity on me. Awe poor girl with no mother or friends.

I didn't write Chadwick again. I saw him though that summer. Seeing him was the first thing I did when I got home. And he had a birthday present for me too! It was a lame present, a tee shirt that said eight is great to which he explained that it was his mom that had picked the present out. But I didn't care, my heart was squealing with joy that he was still my friend and had thought about me.

The next summer I didn't get a present from him and I only saw him once. The summer after that I saw him in passing at the town water park. Come the next summer I didn't even try calling.

***

Walking back into the waiting room I realized I hadn't even accomplished what I had wanted to get done in the moments to myself. I needed to figure out a way to get my hands on something to drink and something to smoke while I was here. There was booze at the cabin for my father and his friends and girlfriends and business partners he had been bringing up forever. And in the last fiveish years that I had been bringing my own friends up here we had been blasting through the liquor supply despite trying to replenish what we took or strictly supplementing from what we had brought up with us. But there was no weed. At least I was pretty sure there wasn't any. I didn't remember stashing any away the last time I had been here. I had remembered smoking it all though. And even if I had managed to limit myself I was pretty sure year old weed would be crap.

Instead of solving the problem that stood in way of my plan; which was to spend the entire time here drunk or high, or both, all I did was spend my time cussing out my father and wishing for his death.

Dr. Cdicds was still there in her chair. As I passed her she looked up and smiled at me. Better?

Yeah.

Bladder doesn't hurt anymore?

I doubled back, giving her another look. Did she just make a joke? A joke at my expense? A twinge of an actual smile came to my lips and I nodded. Yes. Thank you. I sat down.

So where would you like to get started?

I lifted up my shoulders simultaneously in a shrug. You're the professional. I'm just the fuck up.

She raised an eyebrow at my favorite word.

I'm just here because the courts said so. I corrected myself, saying it as sickly sweet as I could with the biggest, meanest grin on my face.

"You're here because you were only released from the hospital with the condition that you undergo six months of successful therapy. She gave me a look, Successful meaning that it's my say."

She had a bit of an attitude. And I didn't one hundred percent mind it. And I'm sure that you're the only one in this entire state that can help me. That's why I'm here, I gestured to the window, All the way up here. I fixed her with a smug look. If only there had been a closer, bigger city where there were other qualified professionals. I waited a beat. Oh wait, maybe we should have looked around the Ann Arbor area first.

I had thrown out what I felt was a pretty sarcastic and descent jab against my father.

She didn't take the bait. Instead she said, You miss home?

I laughed a humorless laugh and asked in the same breath, What the fuck do you think? I didn't even get a chance to see any of my friends before being forced to move here. I allowed that thought to roll around my mind before a moment before I added, Not that I would have been able to if he had given me a chance to breathe. I stayed put for over a year and they went to college, or work or moved, or just plain moved on with their lives. While I stayed put. Trapped in one spot. I shook my head. Not that any of that matters. Because he didn't give me a chance. He just sent me away as fast as he could.

Dr. Cdicds thought about this for a second and then suggested, Maybe he thought it was a good idea to get you away from Ann Arbor. That is where you were when everything happened.

Nothing happened when I was seven. But that didn't stop him from sending me away then.

Your mother left you and your father when you were seven. She pointed out.

I snapped my fingers and sat up, mock excitement on my face and in my voice. And my mother died the day I tried to kill myself! I sat back, Always the mother. Should of known. Well now that we've got that figured out, I guess I'm all cured. Thanks doc!

Sit down. Dr. Cdicds ordered in a hard, take no bull shit voice the moment I stood up. Nice try. Her voice was still mean but softer once I sat back down. You're here now. Wither it was your choice or not. You are here and I did agree to try and help you. You Coren. Not your father.

I said nothing I didn't even want to look at her.

Why did you try to kill yourself?

Oh just jam it in huh? No foreplay?

Dr. Cdicds frowned but didn't say anything.

The silence was killing me. I don't know. I answered her question because I couldn't take the silence and I couldn't think of anything nasty or sarcastic to say.

Why did you try to burn your house down?

I said nothing, only shrugged, still staying silent.

Why did you try to burn your father's house down? She questioned again, re-phasing the wording of the question.

I swallowed hard but answered truthfully, it wasn't like I was about to revel a big secret. I hate him. I fucking hate his guts.

She nodded in an understanding way. I'm sure he's earned your hate.

I didn't always. I said a little too quickly and then wondered  if I was trying to justify my feelings. And if so, why? I used to just be afraid of him. I gave a little laugh. I used to call him The Hulk. That's what I called him to my friends. I was just a kid, but first thing Chadwick asked me the first summer I came back from California, was, how The Hulk was. I laughed again.

He would get angry.

Yeah he yelled a lot at my mom. Sometimes at me. But mostly her. She should've taken me with her when she left. I tightened my crossed arms around my mid-section, staring daggers into the carpet at my feet as I stomped one leg down in frustration as the next statement came out of my mouth. She shouldn't have left me with him.

***

Loser. I could heard the snickering and knew who it had come from even before I looked up to actually see it. Brooke McGowin and her pack of minions but this time their insults weren't being hurtled at me but a few tables down where a girl I hadn't seen before was sitting alone.

Freak. One of Brooke's minions added and then they went on their way, laughing and talking to each other. Loud enough that this girl could hear every last insult because they weren't bothering to talk quietly. It was all on purpose, part of their power trip.

I studied the new girl for a moment and felt her pain. Up until last year I had been the target of Brooke and her mini-Brookes' cruelty. But this year, for sixth grade, we had been moved the junior high dorms that were just slightly bigger rooms. And now instead of four girls to a tiny room it was now just two girls to a tiny room. This year, and presumably for at least the next two years after that, Brooke and I had been assigned to the same tiny room. At first I was horrified, but then realized it was actually a blessing. Because after you see someone pop her zits and clip her toe nails, it's harder to keep up insults when your exposed to be just as mortal and faulty as the rest of us. So by the end of the first week I had stood up for myself just enough and shot back enough embarrassing and true enough, insults to get Brooke and her posse to leave me alone. Well, for the most part leave me alone.

Gathering my things I stood up and within two steps Brooke and I were in each other's ways. Move. Brooke ordered nastily.

Fuck off and die bitch. I responded as coldly as I could. I had just learned that line from over the summer and was happy at my shot to try it off.

It had the affect I wanted and she was literally taken aback and she stepped out of my way.

Two steps after I passed I heard, You're the bitch. Not from Brooke but from the girl next to her.

Ignoring that retorting comment I made my way over to the table where the new girl was. I am a bitch. I announced. But not a bitch like they are.

The girl's eyes were a wide, innocent brown and when she looked up at me she almost reminded me of a kicked puppy.

I took the moment to sit down. So there's that. I followed up lamely.

Why are you a bitch? She asked me quietly.

I shrugged. Cause it's less hurtful then getting knocked down all the time.

She thought that over for a second then nodded. Maybe I should try that.

I smiled already knowing this girl was way too sweet to be a bitch.

I'm Coren. Coren Crinsen. I reached a hand across the table introducing myself.

Erin Best. Erin reached out and gently shook my hand.

I was their target myself for the longest time! I rolled my eyes.

What happened? Erin asked.

She wears a retainer at night and once I saw her popping the biggest zit I'd ever seen!

Erin cocked her head.

We're roommates this year. I explained.

Cecilia is my roommate. Erin offered up grumpily, nodding with her chin to the girl who had given me the you're the bitch comment.

I turned in my chair to make sure Erin was talking about the person I thought she was. Oh. Brooke's head lackey. I groaned. You should actually take it as a blessing.

Erin's mouth fell open slightly. How? She demanded. She's awful!

The moment she lets one, you'll understand you're the one with ammo now. I smiled cheerfully. Or just wait for her to burp in class or something and ask loudly why it smells like a dog's ass. I added excitedly, Then ask why it smells like that.

Erin's jaw practically hit the table she opened her mouth too wide. You're not saying?

I just grinned and nodded.

You mean-? Erin's face scrunched up as she made a face and said Ew! all while laughing so hard she had to cover up her mouth to stifle the giggles.

I smiled pleased with myself that I was able to make her laugh.

Wow. Was it really possible? Did I just make a friend?

***

Fuck. I'm actually going to cry. I realized with horror. I painfully sucked my breathe back in and forced the emotions away. I had meant it as a funny thing to say. But after recounting the story of how Erin got the idea to spread the rumor the Cecilia licked dogs' asses, instead of laughter there was just pain and the overwhelming need to cry.

Are you and Erin still friends? Dr. Cdicds asked. She was actually smiling in reaction to the story. She didn't think it was gross or that I had overstepped a line. She was honestly smiling.

She's dead. I answered her question without thinking, knowing it was the only way to keep my voice from breaking.

Can't think about it. Don't cry. I reminded myself.

Coren I'm so sorry. May I ask-?

A while ago. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I had just turned fourteen. I swallowed again. She killed herself. Silence hung in the air. First uncomfortable and then as it went on it became almost painful. I had to say something to fill it. So I spoke the truth, my habit coming into play. I seem to have a really bad habit of losing people in the summer time.

Is that what happened with Georgia?

She might as well have full on punched me in the chest by saying that name.

I don't want to talk about that! I angrily gritted between my teeth. "You want to talk about my dead mother or my dickhole father, that's fine. But I am not talking about her."

Alright. I'll make a little deal with you. We won't talk about her. I won't even mention her name until you tell me it's okay.

And in return? I asked slowly, waiting for the catch.

In return you tell me about at least one thing every time we see each other.

Just one? I asked, still skeptical.

Yes. But it has to be my choosing.

Fuck. Alright. Fine. That sounds amicable.

Why don't you tell me about the first time you hurt yourself.

I rolled my eyes angrily. You do just like to just jam it in huh?

Dr. Cdicds gave me a look.

Okay. Alright. Fine.

***

I don't know why but the bathroom on our floor kind of became our spot. That was how I first started associating safety and bathrooms. Bathrooms were a place where one could go for explicitly getting away from the rest of the world. It was kind of an unspoken social no no, to at least give someone a few minutes alone in the bathroom. Erin felt the same way, she must have. I don't think I needed her to verbally confirm it for me. That's how it is with best friends. Things are just known, even if they were never said out loud. Late at night, when everyone was suppose to be asleep and all the adults trusted that we were, we'd sit against the wall near the sinks. Opening up, expressing ourselves, debating, conversing in hushed voices with confident that we'd have the privacy. Our entire friendship was an endless conversation with just intermissions until we picked it up again.

I know I hadn't seen Chadwick in years and he had been my best friend when we were kids so I wasn't sure if I was comparing the two of them properly but Erin was the bestest kind of friend one could have. We both didn't understand the vast majority of the world and preferred to get away from it whenever an opportunity presented itself. And sometimes, which often resulted in dire but humorous outcomes, didn't. I hated my own life and wanted to get away from it for certain reasons and I think that was the first icebreaker that really connected us. Erin's  life back home, away from school, and relationships with her family members was just as messed up, if not more so, then mine. All kinds of new and tragic ways I hadn't experienced myself. And on top of all that, we complimented each other. Her soft spoken nature softened my rough edges. And my bold, brass, fuck it all attitude brought her out of her shell that her life's and family's circumstance had created.

By the time we were thirteen, during the winter of our last year before we'd be in the high school classes we had fallen into an unspoken best friend rhythm, that kind that lasts lifetimes.

That first time I had ever hurt myself really wasn't the first time. More like the pre-curser to the first time. And as much as I thought I was going to hid it from the world and take it to my grave, it was only a few days before I confided in Erin.

The day that happened was Friday night, the last night before winter break. I was jarred awake at one in the morning to the noise of Brooke drunkenly stumbling into just about every piece of furniture before she found her bed. The squeak of the box spring had told me she had collapsed with full drunken, about to black out, force. I knew she had left shortly after lights out. But I didn't know where she had gone, not that she ever told me. Part of me was a little curious what kind of troubles Brooke and girls like her, got into when the rest of us slept. But I could guess well enough the answer. There would be drinking, lots of drinking involved. Which, I had come to learn, meant that there would be lots of snoring. She always snored on the nights she came back so plastered I was surprised she never tripped over her own feet and cracked open her head on the way down. I gave it just a few minutes before the inevitable snoring could be heard. Then, confidant not even a passing train could wake my passed out roommate, I slunk out without any worry of waking her.

Erin was already waiting for me in the bathroom. Cecelia must have passed out quicker. Is that a new fashion you're starting? Erin asked as I slid against the wall to come to sit next to her. She lifted up an arm and lazily gesturing with a finger