Heaven's Delights | Teen Ink

Heaven's Delights

March 13, 2015
By parkerlouise16 BRONZE, Rolla, Missouri
parkerlouise16 BRONZE, Rolla, Missouri
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Maybe there's something you're afraid to say, or somewhere you're afraid to go, or someone you're afraid to love. It's gonna hurt. It's gonna hurt because it matters." -John Greene


I jump up off the pink sofa and sprint toward the door despite Linda’s protests. “Young man, sit down!” she calls out, “This is exactly why you’re in therapy!” I ignore her and continue running out of her plush pink office with those dreadful pea green walls, and out into the busy streets of Kent, North Carolina.
  “Hey! Get back here!” I hear my mother call out. But I can’t deal with her right now so I keep walking.
“Drake Dakota Dimsdale, turn around right now and explain yourself to your mother. This is your fourth therapist this month. This behavior is getting really old really fast. I’m…We’re…just trying to help you.”
I turn around to look at my strained mother and I notice the girl that’s been following me. I tell my mother, “And I’m just trying to tell you: I don’t need therapy.”
“Oh, honey, but you do. You are constantly shutting people out and you don’t listen to reason. With the help of your therapist we can change that.”
“You can’t change a person’s personality,” I look around and dart into the coffee shop entitled Heaven’s Delights.
The smell of fresh bread and coffee fills my nostrils. I spot the girl across the room ordering a coffee. This is it the moment I’ve been waiting for. I’ll finally know who she is. I dash over and ask, “Who are you?”
“I’m Stephanie, do I know you?”
“Yes. You’ve been like…protecting me, right?”
“I’m sorry; I think you’re thinking of someone else.”
“No, I’m not. Why…”
I’m interrupted by my mother, “Drake, sweetie, please come back to therapy. Linda can help you. I know she can.”
I turn to look at my mother, “Go back in the car mom. Just leave me alone.”
I turn back to Stephanie, “Why are you following me?”
“It’s my job.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you.”
“Please.” I beg.
“Fine,” she sighs.
“Thank you.”
She inhales deeply, “I’m your guardian angel.”
 



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