"We're thinking about putting you in therapy. We don't want things to... spiral down again."

I sigh and stop typing.  "I'm fine," I tell my mom.

"Nova," she says sadly. "You said that last time."

"This isn't last time."

Tension hangs in the air. We're staring at each other. She purses her lips. "Well. Still. I think you should do it. It could be good for you."

I dig my nails into my palms. "I'm not a freak." My voice is low.

"I never said you were, sweetie. I-"

"You didn't have to say it! You thought it! You thought it and that's what matters! You don't love me! You don't love me or you would never have those thoughts about me. You're a pathetic excuse for a mother. Get out of my room!"

Her mouth falls open, shocked and hurt. "Nova-"

"Get out! Get out! Get out get out get out!" I scream, standing.

Tears fall down her face as she leaves, closing the door on her way out.

I collapse back into my desk chair, out of breath. My palms are bleeding. I look at my hands, laying in my lap, palms up. My breath is shaky. I close my eyes.

Later on, I hear my parents arguing, then screaming, then crying.

I just stare at the ceiling, allowing my hatred to guide me to sleep.