73 A Talk (1/2)

I was pretty much depressed for the rest of the evening. What's the point of all this practice, when I couldn't even bat. Don't they understand that I've never challenged real pitchers before? I sighed and continued looking up common pitches thrown at the high school level. I wanted to at least prepare in case I come across something new like I did with Garret and his cut fastball also known as a cutter.

A knock interrupted my note taking. Mr. Atkins stood in the doorway of the room. ”Mind if I come in?”

I shrugged. Noah was still in the shower so there was space for him to stand, but he's a pretty big guy.

He leaned against my desk, and gave me a light smile. ”Studying?”

I shook my head, feeling a little guilty for not working on my homework.

He laughed. ”It looks like you're studying different types of pitches. That's studying even if it isn't homework.” He tilted his head. ”Are you trying to become a pitcher? Or is it for hitting practice?”

”To be a better hitter.” I whispered.

”Ambitious! That's good to hear.” He cleared his throat, turning a little solemn. ”I'm glad that you're starting to talk more. And we're happy that you picked up baseball and get to play with the boys. But you know....” He took a deep breath and I started to feel anxious at what he was trying to say. ”This doesn't solve the root of your problems.”

I tilt my head in confusion.

He squatted so we were eye level. ”You remember how Mr. Duncan said you would see a therapist in addition to your counselor at school? Well we found a nearby psychologist that handles abuse victims. We would like you to start visiting him once a week. And then he would start working with you and your school counselor.”

I didn't know what to say or where to start. And that would probably be my first problem when I see the psychologist. What would we talk about if I don't talk? The second problem would be the school counselor. She never called me into her office so I've never met her. Even if she did, I probably wouldn't go alone since being in a room, alone, with someone that could be like my mother would be a hell no from me. The third problem would be when? When would I go? Between class, practice, homework, shower and sleep, there wasn't any real free time. Except....on the weekends...

I looked at him. Waiting.

”Do you have a question?” He raised an eyebrow, looking like a friendlier version of Zeke.

”When?” I spat out.

”When would you see him?” Mr. Atkins asked and I nodded. ”We're thinking Wednesday nights. One of us will pick you up early from practice and then wait for your session to be over.”