Crazy who? — Part. l

I was in love with him. Or at least I thought so. Our relationship was extremely toxic, so much that we'd broke up more than three times. He was jealous, I couldn't talk to any man alone or he got angry and put on a bigger show than Brodway's, but he could talk to other women. And not just talk.

That day I returned early to the apartment we shared and found him, in our bed, having sex with the waitress at the bar where I drank coffee every morning. That damn bitch.

My anger problems are something that I know about and that my family has always tried to remedy, but it is something against what I cannot fight. The first thing I did was to throw everything my hands could reach, insult them and then I left the house. That bastard wouldn't see me cry.

Crying because of rage, I went down to the outdoor parking lot where he had his vehicle parked and, with a traffic signal (a car had had an accident two weeks ago and was still there on the ground) I started to destroy his car. His expensive car.—You wanted sex? I AM SURE THIS IS GONNA FUCK YOU BETTER THAN THAT WHORE!!—I yelled, in the middle of the streed and I continued destroying that fucking car until the police arrived.

They read my rights and handcuffed me, forcing me into the back of the car.



Now, I am waiting on the police station, after telling the cops everything about what happened today and why I was destroying a car as if I was possessed. I know they called my dad and, of course, I know that my dad wants me to start a therapy, so I am quite sure that he had called one to convince me. It is clear, what I rather, therapy or prison? He arrives and as I was suspecting, he offers me to go to therapy as a condition to pay the officers my freedom.—Sure, dad—I say serious and I stand up, walking outside.

I search for a cigarrette on my purse and I start smoking, with my hands shaking.—I want that asshole out of my apartment today— I say to my dad when he comes outside with me. "Come with me, I'll drive you" he says and we both go home.

I wake up the next morning. I don't feel like going to Therapy, but I've made a promise so I go out of the bed (Of my childhood room, I am staying on my parents vila as my dad kicks that asshole out of my apartment) and I go to take a shower. After getting ready, I drive one of my dad's multiple cars, until I find my therapist's office. I park, go out of the car and then I walk into the building. When I am in front of the door I knock. I stare at the girl who opens the door and without saying anything, I walk in and let myself fall into the couch.—So here I am. Can you give me some paper to make my dad happy and then let me go? Thanks.

As every morning, I hear my alarm sound, pounding in my ear. I open my eyes slowly and look at the clock, 7 am. Yup, I always wake up that early. I throw my blanket to the side and get up, walking to the kitchen. There I make a coffee, to prepare myself for the upcoming day. Today I will meet a new client, as I got to know, a young woman who had the choice between prison and theraphy. The police department sent me her file and data, so I could prepare my first session with her.

After I drunk my coffee, had breakfast and got ready, I leave my apartment and get into my car. My theraphy office is located in the center of Seattle, what means, that I have to drive for a while because I live downtowns. Then when I finally arrive, I take the stairs up until I'm in front of the door to my office. I always dreamed about this since I started my psychology studies. I unlock the door and enter.

The first hours pass faster than ever and then suddenly I hear someone knocking. I stand up from my desk and walk towards the door, opening it. In front of my eyes stands a brunette girl, with long waves and camel-colored skin. She passes me and I watch her let herself fall down on the couch, which stands in the middle of the room. This kind of behaivor isn't something new to me, so I close the door and go over to her. —But you know that's not how it works, right?— I ask her while I'm sitting down on one of the chairs in front of her. —What if we introduce each other first? I'm Dr. Winters, but I prefer Luna. Your turn—