Your Pain Is My Comfort

Olivia's POV My mother always used the excuse, "I brought you into this world and I can take you out," the only difference with my mother saying it and other mothers saying it is that mine actually meant it. I mean like, I never asked to be born. If you want to take me out please do it and quickly. The faster I can leave this s**t hole the better. Maybe it's because she never wanted me, which is understandable. I'm a lot to deal with. I have a lot of issues. But to be fair, every single one of those issues were because of her and my father. Honestly, they weren't even my parents. They were just the people who had me. I think I would have done better in the foster care system. And that's saying a lot. People always tell me that I should be thankful that I have parents and that my father stuck around after my mother had me instead of 'going to get the milk'. But in reality, I would have been so f*****g happy if he went to go get the milk. I would have been mentally stable if my mother left me at the doorstep of a fire station. Every time I have these thoughts I hate myself for it. I hate that I blame my mother for what happened. Something terrible happened to her and as a result, she had me and was stuck with my father. Now him on the other hand, I resented him. He was the reason for my trauma, he was the reason why I am the way I am. But he never hit me. He never raised his voice at me. He never touched me. He never did anything. And yet I hate him. I hate him because of what he did to my mother. My mother has hit me, my mother has always raised her voice at me, honestly, I don't even know what her regular voice sounds like, but I don't hate her. I sighed frustratedly as I laid there in my bed. Three months ago I finally moved out of my parents house, and out of the state. A New Yorker in Virginia. Wasn't that big of a difference but there are a lot less people. I was also more happy here. Don't get me wrong, I still had my days where my past haunted me, but for the most part I was fine. I work, go to school, and have enough money to not make me a broke college student. I looked to my right at my clock to see I had about twenty minutes to get to my first class. It takes me twenty-five minutes to get there. I sighed as I got out of bed and got dressed. I'm studying to be a photographer, which at this point I think I should change career paths. Photography just seemed like an easy job and I do like taking pictures, but why the f**k do I have to take a f*****g math class. Which by the way, not the best way to start your day. Within fifteen minutes I was at school and the bell had just rung. I groaned as I walked into my class. The door shut loudly behind me causing everyone to look at me. My teacher, Mrs. Moore, gave me a glare. As a child growing up in a terrible household, I learned to mask my anger and sadness and literally every f*****g feeling with humor. So I just smiled at her and went to go find my seat. I sat down by my friend and she just rolled her eyes at me. "Are you ever on time?" She whispered. I shrugged my shoulders and took out my notebook. '"Why the f**k did any of us sign up for a class this early?" I said back. I'm surprised I haven't dropped this class. Oh wait, I haven't because Mrs. Moore is hot. The rest of the class I was stuck in my own head. Whatever that woman was rambling on about, I knew Pagie would write it down and give it to me later. I felt her tap my shoulder and I looked at her. "You okay? You seem off," I just slightly smiled and nodded my head. I knew she knew I was lying but still. Class ended soon enough and I stretched hard as I laid down on the bench outside the classroom. Paige looked down at me with a look of concern I couldn't help but menallty laugh. Paige and I have been friends for about three months now. Every friend I've ever made only lasted for the school year so I never really put in effort to make friends. Paige seems different though. She acts as if she really cares about me which is a foreign feeling to me. So instead of embracing it, I push her away. I watched as she wrote down something and handed it to me. I looked to see a number. "I already have your number stupid. And this isn't even your number," she rolled her eyes and I laughed. "That's the number of a therapist I've heard of," this time it was my turn to roll my eyes. I stood up and started walking towards the cafeteria. Paige followed and slapped my shoulder. She has a problem with hitting people. "I'm serious. I've heard she's really good at what she does-" "Paige, all therapist are useless. They just steal quotes from books and say it to you. Then make you pay $150 for every damn quote. Thank you but pass," Paige stood in front of me and stopped me. "Look, I know we haven't known each other for very long but I care about you. And clearly you have had something very traumatic happen to you. Now, I hope some day we will get to the point where you can tell me but right now, I can see we're not there. So I am giving you this because I want you to talk to someone," I looked at the red head in front of me, curiously. Why is it always the red heads that are most companionate? I took her hand in mine and squeezed it, giving her a sincere look. "Thank you. But the things I've went through is something I can handle on my own," I watched as defeat settled in her eyes and she nodded her head. We continued to walk to the cafeteria in silence. All in while I shoved the number in my back pocket. ******* I only have two classes for today, thankfully. So about time I got home I was too awake to go back to sleep. I looked around my apartment and bit my bottom lip. I moved in here at the beginning of the year and I have yet to decorate. It's my final year in college and honestly I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with my life. After high school in New York I wanted to move for college but I couldn't. As much as I hated it my mother was right. I wasn't ready to move. I didn't know much about the outside world. I didn't understand bills or taxes. I always felt that when I turned into an adult I would be put in jail for something I didn't do. Like my taxes. And the reason for that would be because I didn't know how to do that s**t. So I stayed in New York for three more years for college. Then once I finished my junior year I couldn't take it anymore so I moved. I reached into my back pocket and felt the little piece of paper. I argued with myself on if I should do it or not. I always assumed no one cared about me so I never talked about my problems, I just kept them to myself. I looked at the paper to see a number and a name. Dr. Morgan. V.M I chuckled seeing as they had a first last name. I groaned as I pulled out my phone and dialed the number. "Hello?" A voice said. All of a sudden I felt like I was making a dentist appointment and started stuttering. "Um h-hi. Is Dr. Morgan available?" The voice on the other end went quiet and I mentally slapped myself in the face. What the hell am I doing? I was about to hang up then the voice came again. "She just got done with a patient. If you are near she can squeeze you in now," this time I went silent. I wasn't expecting to f*****g see her today! "If not, you have to wait to next week," I swallowed the lump in the back of my throat. "Ugh yeah, I'm on my way," "What's your name sweetheart?" I guess I clearly sound like a child. "Olivia, Olivia Miller," "Great, I will see you soon Ms. Olivia," I hung up the phone and I started feeling my nerves slowly creep in. I walked to my bathroom and took three of my anti-anxiety pills. This crap doesn't work for s**t. I left my apartment, locking the door behind me. I typed in the address into Google maps and within 10 minutes I was standing in front of a tall white building. The building just screamed Therapist. V. M was plastered across the top of the building. I took one final breath and walked in. Immediately I was filled with the smell of Vanilla. Not going to lie, I felt something inside of me lighten. How can a place or a smell change your mood? I never understood that. I walked up to the lady behind a desk and told her my name. She told me to ride the elevator to the top floor and so I obeyed. The elevator played calm music as if it was trying to seduce you. And if I'm being honest, it was working. The doors opened and I was shocked. The entire downstairs including the outside of the building and the elevator was covered in white. But this floor was red. As red as a rose. It took me a second to step forward because I was too amazed with my surroundings. "Ms. Olivia?" I turned my head to the simi-familiar voice. There was a smiling woman standing besides me. She held out her hand and I hesitantly shook it. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Violet," I smiled at the woman and my nerves started to slightly slow down. "Nice to meet you," I let go of her hand and she directed me to a room. "Ms. Morgan is waiting for you," I got confused a bit until I realized that she wasn't the therapist. I got a little sad seeing as she seemed welcoming. She nodded her head towards the door and walked away back to her desk. I looked at the door as if my worst nightmare was behind the damn thing and finally opened the door. The room seemed simple yet elegant. Quiet, but loud, welcoming. But also not. For a therapist this woman is confusing. "Have a seat Ms. Miller," my heart jumped a little as the voice came. I looked up to see a woman searching through a draw. I didn't pay much attention to her because I didn't plan on staying. I sat down in the red chair and put my hands between my legs. The sound of heels clicked against the tile floor and soon the woman came into my full view. I felt the lump in the back of my throat come back and my mouth became dry. She sat down in front of me and crossed her legs. Her grey eyes stared deep into mine as if she was just waiting for me to stutter. "I'm Dr. Morgan, and it's a pleasure to meet you,"