Chapter 170

**Megan**

Sara looks at my phone then at me. I sigh and lay my head back to try to shut the noise out.

The noise stops but then starts up again. 

"You know if you answer it, they'll stop," Sara states. 

"I know, I just don't want to talk to anyone," 

"Well that's not possible now, is it?" She asks. I look towards her. She picks up my phone to hold it out to me. I take the phone from her. “Answer it, tell them where you are so they can stop ringing,” 

“Fine,” I huff before sliding the green circle. “Hey,” 

“Brett wants to know where you are,” Logan states. I hear Brett say something to him, but I can’t make out what it is. “And if you’re ok?” 

“I’m out, and I’m ok,” 

“She’s out and ok,” he repeats back. “Happy now?” he then sighs, “Out where? And who with?” 

“Out and no one,” I look at Sara to see her shaking her head. Logan repeats what I’ve said; I hear a door shut. 

“Are you sure you’re ok?” he asks. I look down at my lap and pick at some imaginary lint. Even though I’m angry at him and I don’t want to talk to anyone for some reason I want him to know where I am. 

“Are you alone?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” 

“I’m fine. I’m just at my therapy session,” 

“Ok, but you don’t want Brett to know?” he asks. 

“No,” 

“Are you sure you’re ok?” he asks.

“I’m not sure, to be honest, I’m not really sure why I’m here,” I state.

“You must have felt like you needed to talk to someone, you can talk to me, but I don’t think you want to.” 

He is so wrong. I want to talk to him, but I’m not sure I can after what I saw in the kitchen and after what I have done. 

“I should go,” I state as I don’t want to lie to him again. 

“Ok, text me when you’ve finished,” 

“I will, cya,” I then end the call. I look at Sara to see she’s tilted her head in thought. 

“Why didn’t you want Brett to know you’re here?” 

“I don’t know,” 

“You looked sad talking to Logan, what is making you upset?” 

“He told me he’s leaving in a couple of months, and it made me realise that I needed to tell him how I’m feeling,” 

“How did you come to that conclusion?” 

“I went to the cemetery to see my mom, and it just made me realise that she’d call me an idiot right now,” 

“I wouldn’t say you’re an idiot. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s only natural of you to want to protect yourself. The problem you have is how you’ve gone about it,” I nod and reach for a tissue to dab at my eyes. “You’re talking past tense, have you changed your mind?” I nod. “Why?” 

“He has a girlfriend,” 

“Oh,”

“And I slept with his best friend,” 

“Oh, that’s a sticky situation,” 

“Yep,” 

“Are you sure he has a girlfriend? It’s just to me he doesn’t seem the type to have many relationships,” 

“Well the way he was acting with her, the others left straightaway in the morning, they didn’t stay for breakfast,” 

“So he hasn’t said that she’s his girlfriend,” 

“He doesn’t have to,” I frown at my own logic. 

“So because he has a girlfriend you slept with his best friend?” 

“No, I’m not sure why I did. We went to see a movie, and when we came back, we watched Netflix. I’m not really sure what happened,” 

“Were you drunk?” I shake my head. “Do you not think you did it to hurt him?” she asks. 

“A part of me thinks so, but it upsets me to know that if he finds out, he will be hurt, which I don’t want, so I’m not really sure,” I ramble.

“Well he’s hurt you in two ways, he’s leaving, and he apparently has a girlfriend, it’s natural to want to hurt him,” 

“But I don’t want to,”

“Now you don’t, but you probably did at the time. Do you regret it?” I shake my head, “But you feel guilty?” I nod. “What have you being doing Megan?” she asks. “You look like crap,” 

“Thanks,”

“Well you do, you’ve lost weight, which I didn’t think was possible, by the look of things you got into a fight recently, and you’re making stupid decisions,” she tells me. 

“I’ve not lost that much weight, I’m not home enough, so I forget to eat, and what decisions?” I ask.

“Brett called me a couple of weeks ago, asking if there was a way he could get you back into therapy, he told me a few things,”  

“Like what?” I ask cautiously. I don’t think I like the fact he’s casually calling my therapist. 

“He said rumours are going around about you at school, he told me what they are,” 

“Why does he keep interfering?”

“He’s worried about you, he’s your dad, and it’s only right for him to worry,” 

“He isn’t my dad,” I snap.

“You seem to be angry with him,” 

“Yeah, I am,”

“Who else are you angry at?” I shake my head at her question as I feel myself become upset. I feel like I’m angry at the wrong people, but I don’t know who to be mad at. “Megan, it’s ok to be angry, if you continue to bottle these emotions up, at some point they’re going to manifest into something a lot worse,” 

“I don’t know how to cope with any of this,” I mutter, “telling people I’m angry at them doesn’t change anything, telling Logan that I love him isn’t going to change anything, it will just open me up to being hurt,” 

“Megan, I’m not saying you have to tell anyone anything, you need to acknowledge your emotions and accept them,” 

“I already have,” 

“I wonder about that,” she states. “There are people in your life who are worried about you, so am I, Brett had asked me about forcing you into therapy,” my eyes widen at that, and I look at her. “That is not something I do, I always think therapy should be a choice, but there are things I’m hearing that makes me question if you’re a danger to yourself,” she then nods towards my wrists. “The self-harm is a concern here,” 

“What are you saying?” I ask. 

“If I believe you’re a danger to yourself or others, I do have the power to put you under a section. I’m not saying that is what’s happening, I’m telling you this because you are showing some signs to be worried about,” she explains.

“So you’re basically saying if I don’t do what you think is right, you’ll lock me up in some facility?” I ask. 

“No, I’m saying for your own safety there need to be some things put in place,” 

“Like what?” I ask.

“I think we should up the sessions to three times a week, and I’ll speak with your psychiatrist to see if they can suggest some different medication,” 

“I won’t have to meet this psychiatrist, will I?” remembering how much I didn’t like them the first time I met them.

“No, I have a psychiatrist I work with that I liaise with, he will look over my notes, and we will discuss what would be best for you,” she explains. 

“I don’t want anything that knocks me out, or makes me a zombie,” I state. 

“I know, and I know this sounds scary, but I’d like not to section you.”

“Me neither, I just,” I don’t finish my sentence because, in all honesty, I don’t know what to say. 

“The more you try to lock away your emotions, the more you’re going to hurt yourself and others,” I look down and wipe my tears from my cheek.

“Won’t meds make me worse?” I ask. 

“Hopefully not. Some can make you emotionless, but you won’t be going on any of them,”

“Ok,” 

“Can I call someone to pick you up?” she asks, “I don’t think you should drive yourself home right now,” I nod and look down at my phone. “Do you want me to call Logan for you?” she asks. 

“He probably won’t come,” 

“If not I’ll call Brett after,” she states. 

“Ok,” I say, and give her my phone. She takes it and gets up to walk out of the room. 

I sit and stare at my hands. How did I get like this? She says I’m a danger to myself, but if I were, I would have done more than what she’s saying. I haven’t tried to hurt myself. I don’t understand what she means. 

People are acting like I’ve done something wrong. I still turn up to school; my grades are always right. All that is different is that I allowed myself not to care. Many girls at school have slept with many more people than I have. I’ve slept with five people, why are people acting like I’ve lost my mind. 

The door opens, and Sara walks back in. She gives me a small smile and hands me my phone back. 

“He’s coming,” 

“Is all this because I slept with a couple of people?” I ask. 

“No, Brett had told me you have started doing drugs and drinking,” 

“I smoked a little weed,” I snap. 

“Megan, when people do things that are out of their character, it’s usually a sign that they need help,” she explains. 

“But I haven’t done anything wrong?” 

“I’m not saying you have, I need to be honest with you; Megan,” she says and sits next to me. “Have you heard of PTSD?” she asks, I nod, “I’m not saying you have it, I need to assess you some more and speak to my colleague. 

“But I thought people from the army got that?” I ask. 

“No, many things can bring it on, stress, trauma and life events,” she states. “It’s treatable,” she adds. I nod and wipe my eyes again. “I’ll discuss it with the psychiatrist, and we will take it from there,” she states and then places her hand on mine. This is the first time she’s ever given me any kind of comfort. “Tell me what you’re thinking,”

“I’m crazy,” I say, “Is this because of Jonathon or Logan?” I ask. 

“You’re not crazy, the traumas you faced with Jonathon are probably a factor, but like I said it’s all about figuring this out. You might not have it. You are showing some signs with the severe depression,” she explains. “We will discuss this more at our next session,” 

“Ok,” is all I say, I’m not sure what else to say. It’s scary to think about, to put a label on myself. People will see me differently, think of me differently. I just hope it doesn’t change Logans perception of me. 

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