The End is Easier

Five thirty came shorter than I imagined.
I had come home from Ray's earlier this morning. I had stayed because one song turned into two, and then two into three, and it just went on. But it was nice to get out of the house. And Ray had given me several new songs to try and play on Pansy, my guitar.
As soon as I got home I went to my room and tried the first song Ray had given me.
It was Arms by Christina Perry.
I honestly didn't want to play it, but I sucked so I had to get better.
I practiced the song all day. Just repeating it over and over, until I thought it would permanently be stuck to the inside of my head. My mother knocking on my door brought me back to reality.
I set Pansy down, on my bed, and answered the door.
"Get ready, we gotta leave in five minutes."
She smiled at me and closed my door.
I put Pansy away in her case and walked to the bathroom.
I put on a good amount of eyeliner, combed my hair a bit, and tried to cover several of my illegal tattoos with my finger less skeleton gloves.
When I was about sixteen I had gotten some money for my birthday and decided 'fuck it' I want a tattoo. I went out with several friends and got a scorpion on the right side of my neck. I gradually started to get more. HALLOWEEN and Bookwørm on my knuckles, Our Lady of Sorrows on my arm, a Japanese sun on my elbow. My mom hates my tattoos, and every time I get one she makes me get a job. But I can't hold a job so I almost always get fired, and then get a tattoo.
I was wearing a Black Flag t-shirt, a Gorillaz hoodie, and my black skinny jeans.
I stopped and stared at my self in the mirror.
'Your fucking pathetic.'
"Shut the fuck up!"
I screamed at no one.
I went down stairs and trudged out the door. Mom was already in the car waiting for me.
I got in the passengers seat and slammed the car door shut.
"Is there something wrong honey?"
I realised that what I had just done probably upset her.
"Oh no. Sorry."
We moved on. We drove for about five minutes when my mother broke the silence.
"Now Frank, this man is a therapist and a
psychiatrist..."
"Wait, isn't a psychiatrist someone you go see when your crazy and need medication?!"
I was getting angry and finding it hard to keep my cool.
"There's nothing wrong with you. We just want to make sure that that's true."
She stopped the car after her last sentence. We pulled up to tall grey building. It wasn't anything fancy. It looked like any other building in New Jersey.
We walked in together. There was a small receptionist desk in the middle of the lobby.
"Excuse me miss. I have an appointment with Mr. Way."
"Oh yes you must be Linda. He's in room 245. Just take the elevator to the third floor, walk until your first right, and his room is the second on the left."
"Thank you."
We began to walk to the elevator.
"Mom you don't have to come with me. I heard the directions."
"Are you sure? Because I don't mind."
"Mom, ill be fine."
She gave me a hug and left.
I got into the elevator and pressed the shiny 3 on the number pad. The elevator took me up. The silver doors opened revealing floor 3.
I strolled down the hall looking to my left when I came to door 245.
"Calm down."
I whispered to myself.
I regained my composer and knocked on the door.
"Come in!"
Someone called from the inside.
I did as I was told and opened the door.
Inside was a medium sized room, several book shelves, a desk, a couch, and a dark haired man.
The man was sitting at the desk, drawing something. I drank in his image. He had dark raven black hair that fell into his face as he was sketching, he had bright hazel eyes, that were very inviting, he wore a white button down t shirt, a black and white stripped tie, and a plain, black, vest.
There was just this spark about him. This weird, but good at the same time, ora he produced.
He didn't look up at me.
"Um excuse me. But um are you Mr.Way?"
He stopped drawing and put down his pencil.
"Yes. And you must be Franklin. Come have a seat."
He pointed to the ugly grey couch.
I sat down nervously at the end of the couch.
"So Franklin. Tell me about yourself."
He went back to sketching.
"I hate when people call me Franklin, I prefer Frank, I love music, I play guitar, and I like skateboarding."
I noticed that when he was doing an important detail he would poke out his tongue just a bit, out of the side of his mouth.
"Ok Frank."
He put an emphasis on my name.
"What's your favorite type of music?"
"I like mostly punk or hard rock."
He put down his pencil, put his drawing away, and made eye contact with me.
"Do you have a favorite band?"
It took me a minute to think of all the different bands I loved.
"The Misfits, Metallica, Black Flag, Morrisy, Nirvana, White Zombie."
I counted them all of on my fingers.
"And that's just scratching the surface."
He stared at me. The little flecks of green in his eyes seemed to dance.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
He didn't ask anymore questions. He just hummed a bit and wrote something down.
"So um are you gonna, like show me a picture of a blob and ask me what it looks like? Or something to that effect?"
He chuckled.
"No no. That's just what you see in movies and shitty tv shows. Let's start off with something that your mother has asked for us to talk about specifically."
I swallowed hard. I knew what he was talking about.
"Frank? Are you alright?"
I guess I hadn't noticed but I was shaking a bit and my throat was becoming drye.
"Uh can I have some water pleas?"
"Yeah sure."
He got up and walked out the door.
I sat there staring at the floor.
Just thinking. This room seemed weird to me. I couldn't quite pin point what I was feeling, but it was making me claustrophobic.
I got up and paced around the room Mr.Way walked in.
Great now I look insane.
"Frank, what are you doing?"
He handed me the cup of water. I drank it slowly, trying to avoid his question and come up with an excuse.
"Uh I just.. I pace when I get nervous."
He walked over to his desk and started to write something down. Fuck.
"So I know this subject might be hard for you to talk about. But can you tell me about your father?"
I sighed.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pack of cigarettes and my lighter.
"Uh. Do you mind?"
I asked before I lit one.
"No. Go ahead. I know that this is stress full."
I lit a cigarette and took a long drag off of it.
I blew the smoke out of my mouth and put my head in my hands.
"Um he was an alcoholic, he did drugs, and uh.... he left me and my mom."
I stared down at my feet. I hope my mom didn't tell him everything about my father.
I took one last drag of my almost finished cigarette.
"Um ah do you have an ash tray or something?"
He pulled open a drawer in his desk and brought out a round black ash tray.
I stubbed out my bud and lit another one.
"Is that all Frank?"
I didn't respond. Why the hell was he bringing all this up. It was only our first appointment!
He was just bringing back bad memory's.
When I was a toddler and my mother was at work. She would leave me alone with him. She didn't figure out what he used to do to me until I was in middle school. If I could barely tell my own mother, how could I possibly tell some random guy I don't even know.
"Why is this important?"
"Frank we have to talk about everything. Were going to be covering a lot. So just bear with me and answer my questions.
Truthfully."
He gave me a smile and wrote something down again.
"So is there anything else you would like to tell me about your father?"
I started to fidget in my seat.
"Well yes... uh...there is um one other thing."
"Its ok Frank. Go on."
"He um....he used to. He rapped me."
I started to sob. I couldn't stop. I pulled my knees up to my chest and just sat on the couch and rocked back and fourth.
All I could think about was being alone with him. When he would come into my room at night. He would put a hand over my mouth and tell me not to scream. He said that I couldn't tell anyone because they'd never believe me. I still remember his hot booze smelling breath in my ear. Whispering.
'Shhhh. Don't cry.' He would wipe the tears from my face. And if I didn't stop crying he would punish me.
I let out a sharp cry as I thought of what he put me threw. My life's been hell ever sense.
Mr.Way came over and put a hand on my shoulder.
"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!"
I screamed at him. He pulled away and sat back down at his desk.
"Frank you have to calm down. Your gonna have a panic attack or black out."
I stopped crying but I was still whimpering.
I lit yet another cigarette.
I shakily brought it to my lips.
It calmed me down a bit.
We sat there for awhile in silence.
He handed me a box of tissues. I dried my eyes and blew my nose.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
It was my mother.
"Hello Linda. We were just finishing up."
"Oh ok. I didn't mean to interrupt."
"Your fine. Were finished. But can we schedule another appointment?"
She walked over to his desk. They started to talk about my next session.
I just sat there. All these memory's swimming around my head. I couldn't focus.
I couldn't hear anything except this white noise ringing in my ears. My throat felt drie and scratchy. I couldn't stop thinking about my father.
Fuck I could use another cigarette.
"Frank? Frank?"
I looked up and my mother was already at the the door.
I sat up and walked over to the door.
"Goodbye Frank. Ill see you Tuesday."
I didn't even say anything. I hate Mr.Way. fuck him. He doesn't even know all the pain he's putting me through with his fucking 'sessions.'
We walked to the car in silence.
I sat in the passenger seat. Not making eye contact with my mother.
"Frankie. Do you wanna talk?"
I could feel tears fall down my cheeks.
I didn't say anything. We didn't talk the whole ride home. I felt sick to my stomach. Bringing up all those old memory's just stirred something inside me. Its this terrible gnawing feeling at the pit of your stomach and the back of your throat. It hurt to even think about, and know I was going to be feeling like this three times a week.
"Frankie are you sure you don't want to talk?"
we had just come home from counselling.
I had gone into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water.
"The only thing I'm 'sure' about, is that I'm never going back to see that asshole!"
I slammed my glass down on the counter.
"Watch your mouth! I know that your upset. But please don't yell at me."
I sat down on a chair and put my hands over my face.
I could feel tears threatening to fall.
My mother came to my side and wrapped her arms around me.
"Oh Frankie, I'm sorry. He's only trying to help you."
"How is bringing up the past helping me! He's only making it more vivid and worse!"
I shuddered as I thought of all the memory's.
"It was only your first session. You've only just started. Please don't give up yet. I just want to help you."
"Ok. Ok. Ill go Tuesday."
She kissed my for head.
"Its late I think I'm gonna head to bed."
"Ok honey. I love you."
I got up from my seat.
"I love you to."
I walked up to my room.
I stripped down to my boxers and climbed into into bed.

Notes