Cruel

Ru knew the world was cruel; she learned that the hard way. She thought that she was the only one, but when she met Luke Hemmings and then Calum Hood, everything changed.

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7. 6.

Chapter 6

 

Month 15. Day 19.

 

Monday begins with a one-on-one session with June. I’m already annoyed, and thanks to my giant headache, I’m extremely cranky. June is babbling on about how I need to start opening up and blah, blah, blah. I thankfully, am able to tune her out through most of our hour together.

 

But when she says, “I spoke with your mother,” I perk up and look at her. What the hell did my mother say to her?

 

“She says you disappeared last night; went out with a friend. She said before that you stopped talking to all of your friends.”  I shrug, not wanting to admit to her that I have a new friend. Especially, when I met him in a therapy session. Her ego is big enough.

 

“Do you talk to this friend?” she asks and I shake my head. She studies my face for a few moments before saying, “Do you have any contact with your father?”

 

I shake my head. Sadly, I haven’t spoken to my dad since I disappeared. Mother said he didn’t want to see us anymore, but I have a feeling she told him to stay away and never come back. That’s just who my mother is.

 

“Do you wish you could see and talk to him?” June asks and I nod my head. I miss my dad like crazy, and I hate the fact that my mother won’t talk about him. He sends me money every once in a while, even though legally he doesn’t have to since I’m eighteen, but that envelop in the mail is the only thing that tells me he’s still alive, and that he still cares.

 

“Have you tried to talk to your mother about him?” I give her a look, even though I wish I could strangle her. She knows for a fact that I don’t talk to my mother about anything. “Right, that probably wasn’t the best question to ask you.”

 

I shake my head as my annoyance towards her grows. I can’t stand having to talk to this woman... well, listen to her talk. If my mother wasn’t forcing me to come here, I would’ve stopped coming a long time ago.

 

“Have you talked to anyone at all? Even yourself?” I shake my head again and lean back against the couch, rubbing my temples. My head is killing me, and I’m feeling more and more depressed by the minute. June bringing up my dad is starting to bring me down.

 

“You look upset.” she states, and I roll my eyes, not bothering to nod my head. She studies me for a few minutes and I close my eyes.

 

“If you brought your friend here with you, would you feel comfortable enough to talk?” I sit straight up, pull the notebook from my pocket, and quickly write down what I’m feeling.

 

“No! Now shut the hell up!” I rip the page out, stuff the notebook back into my pocket, hand her the note, and walk out of the room.

 

I hear her call my name, but I’m so done with her, that I keep walking right out of the front doors.

 

                        ***

 

When my dad lived with us, he used to spend his time trying to write and design inspirational paintings to put around our house. He was always into the whole artsy thing; something I’ve always been jealous of.

 

My mother hated his paintings, of course, but I loved them. There were two that always stuck with me, and they still do to this day.

 

“Silence is better than bullshit.” He had painted this one completely black and had written the words in white. It was simple, but the message has always stuck with me.

 

The second one is, “You were given this life because you are strong enough to live it.” This one was painted yellow with black letters.


When I came home after being abducted, I had searched everywhere for the two paintings. But all of his paintings, along with the rest of his stuff, had been removed, almost as if he were never even there.

 

I try to keep those two quotes in mind as I climb into my mother’s car. From the look on her face, she has already talked to June about my note, and she isn’t very happy about it.

 

“I’m not sure who you even are anymore,” is all she says as she puts the car into drive and pulls out of the parking lot.

 

I try not to let her comment affect me, but it does. She had no right to say that; she doesn’t know what I went through a year ago. She knows nothing, but yet she thinks she has the right to say she doesn’t know who I am.

 

For a whole fifteen months, she has done nothing but yell at me and make me feel like shit. In her defense, she thinks that I ran away, but as my mother, you figure she would’ve realized that something happened to me while I was away. But she didn’t, and that’s something I’ve never been able to understand.

 

When we pull up to the house, I quickly jump out, despite my mother saying she wants to talk about what happened. But I don’t want to talk, so I head up to my room. I expect her to follow me, but she doesn’t, and for once in my life, I’m thankful for something my mother has done.

 

After a few minutes of just sitting there, I decide that I want to take a bath. I’m usually not one of those girls who take bubble baths just to relax, but I decide to give it a try.

 

I walk to the bathroom, undress, and start the water. Our water heater has always sucked, so it takes a good five minutes of just running the water for it to even get to a comfortable temperature.

 

When the tub is filled up, I get in, immediately relaxing. The hot water burns my skin a little, but it feels nice. I sink in so that only my chin and up is above water and close my eyes. I can hear my mother in the next room over, probably cleaning and rearranging things in the guest bedroom: something she does when she’s stressed.

 

My mother and I have never really been close, probably because I’m a photocopy of my dad.  I mean, she did divorce him for a reason. There are certains things that I do that drive her insane: leaving my dinner plate in the sink instead of putting it in the dishwasher, wearing my shoes around the house instead of taking them off at the door, and the thing she hates the most, my love for animals. Those are all habits that I picked up from my dad over the years. Why she let my dad go and didn’t send me with him, I have no clue.

 

I sigh, thinking about my dad, and rub my eyes. I can still hear my mother moving things around, so I sink back down into the water and close my eyes.

 

After a year in therapy, I’m actually wondering about my dad.

 
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