"Write about your emotions"

            It's a simple enough prompt, but then I get to thinking, how can my emotions truly be mine if they don't belong to me? Everything I own, down to the damn shoes on my feet, are from someone else, how can I claim these feelings of anger and remorse and fear, as my own, if they too once belonged to someone else? Of course I don't write that down, it's a stupid prompt anyways, so when Mr. Miller comes to collect my paper, all I have is a whole lot of nothing. "Olivia" he chastises, a frown touching the corner of his lips. "why haven't you written anything?" he asks pulling up a chair.  I can feel all eyes on me as he sits down.

            "It's a stupid prompt." I grumble into my palm, staring at the blank white sheet. "why do you think that?" he asks gently, placing a hand on my chair. "Why should I write about my emotions? It never works." I don't voice the fact that I've done it thousands of times, why should I? Mr. Miller starts to speak but he's interrupted by the bell, filling me with someone else's sense of relief and excitement. I get up and grab for the paper, but Mr. Miller is quicker, he snatches the blank page and returns to his desk, "have a good day Ms. Green" I barely hear him over the steps of everyone else taking, but still i murmur a quick "you too Mr. Miller" before running off. 

            That night at dinner we get a call from the school, I would feel anxiety if I could, but at this point, I'm just numb. When my mother returns to the kitchen, her face is set in a look between anger and disappointment. "you said you'd try." she says in a controlled tone,  her phone clutched in hand. "I did try."  I say pushing my food around my plate. "refusing to do the work isn't TRYING Olive...." she says sitting down again. "I didn't refuse mom." i grumble rolling my eyes, before finally starting to eat my lasagna. "That's not what Mr.Miller said."

           "Who gives a rats ass about Mr.Miller? he's not my fucking therapist, so why should I do his stupid prompts!" I finally burst out, letting out the anger I rarely let out flow. "Because if you don't, maybe we'll need to find another place for you to live." Mom says, crossing her arms against her chest. At this point it's a tango, let's see who falls first. "maybe we will." I hiss getting up and snatching my plate. "I'll talk to your case manager tomorrow then." I know she doesn't mean it but it brings back a feeling that I can't explain, it tightens in my chest and makes my palms sweaty. 

          "F-fine." I stammer, forcing back tears, "call her, see if I care. anywhere is better than here." I finally force out before stomping out of the room, plate and fork in hand.