Wired

“It was cold and foggy. The wind was howling at the top of its lungs. The night was dark. I was alone... it feels unnatural to describe that night out loud sir,” I said to the man that sat across the room.

“Well your mother pays for you to be here to speak with me about your problems and what had happened that night,” he said to me.

“Hmm? What was that? I wasn’t listening.”

“Exactly. You are here to stop drifting off into god knows where. I am here to help with that. Now. Can you please tell me what had happened that night?”

“Why should I tell you anything? You’re just my counselor.”

“Yes, YOUR counselor to help YOU with your problems and-“

“So you think i have problems?”

“No I ju-“

“You think something is wrong with me? Don’t you?”

“I would neve-“

“Well then. You’d be right. There is something strangely wrong with me. And if I were to explain it, it would only be in my own hea-“ I stopped and went back into that little corner of my head where everything was dark and cold. But mainly alone.

“Terry. Terry?” my counselor said to me thinking saying my name would wake me up, “ Terry, your mother is here.”

“Terence William Reinhart! Stop your sleeping! We are going home,” my mother yelled while hitting and punching me. I walked into the waiting room with tears rolling down my face.

“We will hopefully see you next week Mr. Spinfield,” my mother said with the most fake smile you have ever seen.

“Yes. And maybe you will have a better day,” he said looking down at me handing me a lollipop.

“I’m not five,” I said as I took the lollipop. My mother hit me again for “bad behavior.”

“Thank you,” my mother said loudly. As we walked out I handed the lollipop to a kid sitting by the door. He gave me the biggest smile. Meanwhile my mom had her hands around the collar of my shirt and tugged me to the car.

I was speechless that no one said anything to the workers. But I’m used to it. Not like it was new. I opened the car door and sat down in the passengers seat. My mother was very frustrated with me that she turned up the radio and drove.

We got home and my father was sitting on the steps with a flip flop in his hands. I assumed my that my mother told him about everything. I knew what was coming so I just went with it. He held me over his shoulder and whipped me with the orthopedic flip flop that my mother uses for her arthritis in her ankle. I felt no emotion. I felt no pain. It was almost like I was immune to it. I wasn’t surprised.

After the beating they took me into my room. Normally after a beating I used to just sit in my room and think about what had happened and why I chose to do that act, but this time, it was different. There were handcuffs hooked to one side of my bed. I wasn’t fighting them pushing and shoving me. It would’ve only made matters worse. They cuffed me to my bed and I was to sit there. They started to yell at me while I sat there motionless.

“Why would you do such a thing? We raised you better than this!” my father said kicking my shins.

“Why all of a sudden are you acting in such a way? You are so stupid!” my mother said pulling at my ear screaming her heart out directly into it. They kept screaming but I just went to my happy place. Which was my little corner again. In my head I was... happy. But on the outside I was tied up.