Free Take Me With You by Melyssa Winchester

of which I wanted to sit down in front of.
    “So we sit down with them. Then what?”
    “You are to issue a sincere apology to Hannah Michaels and her family and you are expected from that point to attend meetings.”
    “What kind of meetings?”
    There’s no way in hell I’m gonna do what she’s telling me. I’m pretty damn sure even if I did issue a sincere apology for what I did that day in the bathroom, they wouldn’t believe it anyway. I wouldn’t believe it.
    “Counselling meetings, in addition to your sessions with Dr. Thompson. You will be in a support group of sorts, for victims of abuse and bullying.”
    “Is throwing me into that supposed to scare me straight? Come on Mom, you know this is all bullshit. I’m not doing it.”
    “That’s where you’re wrong, Amy. You ARE going to do this and you’re going to be sincere about it. The problems you’ve been causing have finally caught up to you and it’s time that you learn from them. Acting the way you have been is only going to lead to more trouble in the future. It’s time you learn that now before it’s too late and I’m unable to come to your defense.”
    Bullshit. Everything she’s saying is bullshit. She can believe all she wants that she’s coming to my defense, but I know the truth. She’s going through all of this because she’s covering her own ass. If word gets out that I’ve done the shit I’ve done and she didn’t step in, it makes her look like a bad parent. Something she doesn’t want to be.
    Small towns suck. Word spreads faster than a common cold and in the time it takes you to blink, people have learned all of your secrets and formed their own opinions, something my mother wants no part of.
    Mother of the Year she’s not and I’m not gonna help her obtain the title either. Screw her.
    If she wanted to come to my defense she should have done something years ago with my dad instead of ignoring it and letting it continue right under her nose. We’ve never talked about it, but I’m pretty damn sure she knows what he was doing to me, but like with everything else, she kept her rose colored glasses on and ignored it.
    “I’m eighteen, Mom. You can’t make me do shit.”
    “I can if you want to continue living here.”
    Not the first time she’s threatened me with this either. She’s blowing smoke. She won’t kick me out for the same reason she’s attempting to scare me straight. It would ruin her fucking image.
    “Whatever. It’s an empty threat and you know it.”
    I turn, more than ready now to escape into the comfort of my room, where I can lock the door behind me and block her out completely, but before I can make it two steps away from her, she drops the other bombshell and if I thought the school one was bad enough, I was in for a rude awakening.
    “Your father called, it’s time for your monthly visit.”
     
    Eric
     
    Putting the finishing touches on the picture, making sure the shading is perfect, I close the sketch pad and push it across the desk. I’ve been doing the same thing for the last two hours. Picture after picture, so vivid in my mind that I can’t stop until I’ve gotten them down and added color.
    This is another way I’m different. I’m obsessive about my art. What started as these really goofy looking cartoon characters when I was seven has turned into still pictures brought to life. I just put the finishing touches on a butterfly I managed to catch sight of when I got off the bus and before that it was a phoenix.
    My mom says I’ve got a real eye for design but I don’t agree. I just think she’s being a mom. It’s an expected response. The artwork that I do, it could look like total garbage and I’m pretty sure she’d say the same thing to me. It’s her way. I love her for it, but I really can’t trust anything she says that way because of who she is.
    I don’t share this part of me with anyone. She only happened to see it because she came into my room without knocking once