Teenage RebellionCaroline was sentenced to six months of juvenile detention since she was a minor, along with 100 hours of community service and a weekly session of anger management therapy that lasted until the end of the year. The girl, whose name was Ursula, suffered deep cuts along her scalp that would leave scars and a few bald spots. Fortunately, there was no damage to the brain.
“So, Caroline, tell me why you did what you did,” the therapist lifted her eyebrows at her, making her glasses slide down her nose a bit. Her name tag read “Dr. Pearson”.
Pshhh…great. I’m stuck talking to this so-called ‘doctor’. This is a waste of my time. All she’s getting paid to do is sit on her ass, ask me questions, and tell me what I already know. That I’m an insecure person who needs to learn how to appreciate her “assets.”
Caroline shrugged. “I don’t know. Major PMSing?” she chuckled to herself.
Dr. Pearson threw her a stern look. “I don’t think you understand the severity of your actions, Miss Parker.”
“Ha! Yeah, I sure do. That’s why I’m wasting my time here, talking to you,” Caroline exhaled in irritation.
“Yes. Well, you could’ve seriously injured that girl,” Dr. Pearson replied, concern written all over her face. “She was lucky.”
“Yeah, she was. She’s lucky I even dialed 9-1-1. I was contemplating whether or not to just leave her like that.”
“But you didn’t, Miss Parker. Which means that you’re not a bad person,” Dr. Pearson said slowly, pointedly making eye contact.
Caroline matched her gaze, “I never said I was. But I do think she deserved it. All she had to do was mind her own damn business. I didn’t do anything to her.” Her mouth formed a taut, thin line, her knuckles protruding as she clutched onto the edge of the chair.
“No one deserves that, Caroline. I—” Caroline interjected.
“Why on earth did she have to say any of that sh*t to my face?! I don’t even KNOW the girl! Yeah, I’m fat. So what? That has nothing to do with her! It doesn’t affect her. I’m the one who has to deal with the consequences. I’m the one who has to deal with constant bullsh*t from other people. Not her. Me. I didn’t need her two cents!” She sat back in her chair, rubbing her temples roughly as if trying to get rid of a headache.
Dr. Pearson sat silently for awhile, listening to Caroline’s heavy breathing gradually mitigate. When her breath slowed, Dr. Pearson spoke slowly. “Everyone has insecurities, Caroline. Not just you. That girl Ursula. Me. Other people. You’re not alone.”
Caroline snorted in disbelief. “Please. That girl has nothing to be insecure about. I mean, look at her.”
“Caroline, she may or may not have problems with her appearance, but she has other issues that I’m sure she’s dealing with. We’re all human, Caroline. We all go through similar experiences.”
“I’m sure we do,” Caroline retorted sarcastically, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. She checked her watch. 7:00 P.M. Her session was officially done. “Well, Dr. Pearson, I better get going. I guess I’ll see you next Wednesday.” She stood up, grabbed her purse, and threw it over her shoulder.
“It was nice meeting you, Caroline. I’ll see you next week. Remember what I told you today--”
The door slammed behind Caroline, cutting off the words of the therapist. Caroline rushed outside to her silver 1998 Acura, a pounding reverberating inside her head. She yanked the car door open, sliding inside, and shoved the keys into the ignition. Her teeth grinded against each other as she narrowly zipped between automobiles, hopping lanes hastily. Everything was piling up. The doctor’s condemnation. Sixty mph. Ursula’s insolent, but earnest words. Seventy-five mph. That imbecile of a therapist. Ninety mph. Her own self-loathing. She pressed even harder on the accelerator, rage boiling beneath her skin, steam erupting from her nostrils.
Two minutes later, Caroline parked in the driveway in front of her commercial-styled suburban home. Cutting across the cleanly-cut grass, she frantically thrust the silver house key into the lock. Once inside, she invaded the pantry. Grabbing anything that read high-fat, high-cal, arms pulling every which way. Doritos, Oreos, Mini Donettes, Cookie Crisp, anything chocolate. With all the food splayed on top of the kitchen table, she furiously ripped and tore open the packages, wrappers, and cardboard boxes, throwing them roughly aside. Crumbs tumbled downwards as Caroline vacuumed the fatty foods, chomping and munching as utter satisfaction engulfed her. Her taste buds screamed with exuberance; they had been deprived for so long. And for a few moments…she forgot about her obesity. She forgot about the disheartening words. She forgot about the averse looks that were tossed at her. If she wanted to eat junk food, then she could eat junk food. And there was no one there to judge her. It was only her and the sweet, sweet taste of the crunchy Snickers bars that was currently melting on her tongue.