Read The Redemption of Callie and Kayden for Free Online Page B

“You know, the
    longer you stay in denial, the longer they’re going to keep you
    here.” He gestures around at the room. “Is that what you want?”

    I stop flicking the rubber band, fold my arms, and lean back
    in the seat with my legs kicked out in front of me. “Maybe.” I know
    I’m being a pain in the ass and I don’t know why. I feel bitter on
    the inside, unworthy to be here. I feel everything and maybe that’s
    the problem. I clench my hands into fists and jab my fingernails
    into my palms, which are tucked to my side so the therapist
    doesn’t see them.

    “I just don’t want to be here,” I mutter. “But it’s fucking hard,
    you know?”

    He leans forward with interest. “What’s hard?”

    I have no idea where I’m going with this. “Life.” I shrug.

    His gray eyebrows dip underneath the frame of his glasses.
    “What’s hard about your life, Kayden?”

    This guy doesn’t get it, which might make it easier. “Feeling
    everything.”

    He looks perplexed as he reclines in his chair and slips off his
    glasses. “Feeling emotions? Or the pain in life?”

    Fuck. Maybe he does get it. “Both I guess.”

    Rain slashes against the window. It’s weird that it’s raining
    instead of snowing and by morning the ground is going to be a
    sloshy mess.

    He cleans the lenses of his glasses with the bottom of his
    shirt and then slips them back on his nose. “Do you ever let
    yourself feel what’s inside you?”

    I consider what he said for a very long time. Sirens shriek
    outside and somewhere in the halls a person is crying. “I’m not
    sure… maybe… not always.”

    “And why is that?” he asks.

    I think back to all the kicks, the punches, the screaming, and
    how eventually I just drowned it all out, shut down, and died
    inside. “Because it’s too much.” It’s a simple answer, but each word
    conveys more meaning than anything I’ve ever said. It’s fucking
    strange to talk about it aloud. The only person I’ve ever said
    anything to was Callie and I sugarcoated it for her, to keep her
    from seeing how ugly and fucked up I am on the inside.

    He removes a pen from the pocket of his jacket and his hand
    swiftly moves across the paper as he scribbles down some notes.
    “And what do you do when it becomes too much?”

    I slide my finger under the rubber band and give it a flick,
    then do it again harder. It breaks again and I shake my head as I
    catch the pieces in my hand. “I think you know what I do, which is
    why I keep breaking these damn rubber bands.”

    He chews on the end of his pen as he evaluates me. “Let’s
    talk about the night you got in a fight.”

    “I already told you about that night a thousand times.”

    “No, you told me what happened that night in your own
    words, but you’ve never explained to me how you felt when you
    were making your decision. And emotions always play a large part
    in the things we do.”

    “I’m not a fan of them,” I admit, slouching back in the chair.

    “I know that,” he responds confidently. “And I’d like to get to
    the bottom of why.”

    “No, you wouldn’t,” I tell him, dragging my nail up the inside
    of my palm to soothe the accelerating beat of my heart. “No one
    wants to hear about that. Trust me.”

    He drops the pen on top of the notebook that’s on his lap.
    “Why would you think that?”

    “Because it’s true.” I stab my nails deeper into my skin until I
    feel the warmth and comfort of blood. “I’m nineteen years old and
    everything that’s done is done. There’s no point in trying to save
    me. Who I am and what I do is always going to be.”

    “I’m not trying to save you,” he promises. “I’m trying to heal
    you.”

    I run my finger along a thin scar on the palm of my hand that
    was put there when my dad cut me with a shard of glass. “What?
    Heal these? I’m pretty fucking sure they’re not going anywhere.”

    He positions his hand over his heart. “I want to heal