Salt

"Only three more minutes!" I thought to myself. I could feel my hands twitching with impatience. I couldn't listen to this teacher anymore. She stood there in front of us, with the same fucking smile she wore every God Damn day, I could never tell what she was thinking. I couldn't even tell if she liked any of us. I bet she secretly hated her job. She was probably thinking horrible things about me even as she smiled and talked. I hate her.

People were moving around me, the class had decided that was enough of this school shit for today. Finally! I packed up and headed for the door.
It was a hot, sweaty day. I could feel the heat pressing on my skin; it was trying to crowd me. I couldn't escape this pressure. Dammit. I decided I was not taking the city bus today. Just the thought of sitting in that heat, staring at those freaks the bus seems to draw to it like flies to horseshit, you know at least one of them has killed somebody before. I could not take their glares on such a shitty day.
I flipped out my phone and dialed my house. Mom answered.

"Lemme talk to Dad." I said

"Why are you not at your session?" My mom demanded, accused, because
it was impossible I was calling from the waiting room, or her office, my mom must be a fucking psychic!

"Mom. I want to speak with Dad." I really was not in the mood for this. "Why are you even answering the phone? Didn't miss crank tell you we needed our 'alone time?' You're the one who arranged this whole situation- I'd think you'd care about it enough to follow some simple fucking rules! Or do you still think I'm the only one that needs to be fixed?" I was screaming by now. I could feel people staring at me. They thought I was crazy, a crazy ranting girl.

Mom had already handed the phone to Dad. I could hear his wimpy voice on the other end. Mom would go off to cry now; she could never handle yelling.

"Dad." I said through my teeth. I could still feel the heat pressing me. "Pick me up. I want to go home."

"Oh, Honey," My dad is never mad. Ever. "could you wait a little while? I just got home, and I'm expecting a call from my boss, he's going to go over our next project deadline-"

"Fuck your project! Dad! Dammit! I want to go home, move your ass and pick me up! I'm too overheated for this!" I slammed my phone shut. He'd come.

Those idiots. They spoil a child rotten, and then they think they can just fix her up later? The world doesn't work that way. Now it's their fault I'm rotting away.