"Calum, stop!" Mitchell's voice yelled over the sounds of other people's screams.

I didn't know what came over me. Maybe it was from all the pressure my father put on me to be great, to be the best. Or maybe it was the alcohol running rampant through my veins. What ever it was, I couldn't seem to bring myself to stop. It was just one punch after another.

"You're going to kill him!"

My eyes shot open as I rolled out of my bed, gasping for air, and hit the floor with a thud. It was the same every time. I'd wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding and wishing the dreams would just stop.

But I deserved them, right? After what I did, I should wake up scared for my own life. I don't remember anything from that night, just the blurry faces and the screams of on-lookers. But just that was enough to make me hate myself more and more with each passing day. I've been deemed a monster and I don't even remember the reason why.

I lay with my back against the hard wood floor of my room as I willed myself to stand. Once I was on my feet, I stumbled across the room and into the hallway finally making my way downstairs. Both my parents were in the kitchen and the second I walked in the air turned heavy.

"Good morning, honey!" My mother smiled as big as she could because she thought it would actually make a difference.

"Morning," I mumbled and took a glance at my father to see him completely ignoring my presence.

It's been like this since that night. My mother thought the best thing to do was to stay positive and make me feel like nothing had changed. But everything is different now. My father on the other hand hasn't said more than five words to me at a time since he picked me up from the police station the morning after. If he thought I was a disappointment before I could only imagine what he thought of me now.

"I made you breakfast." My mother set a plate of blueberry pancakes on the table in front of me. "They're your favorite!"

My stomach churned as I stared down at the food on the plate, the hazy memories from my dream still whirling around in my head. "I'm not hungry."

"Please eat something, Calum-"

"Let him starve himself." I was more surprised that my father had actually spoken than about what he had said.

I stared down at my lap in shame before I stood and left the room, once again making my way upstairs. Was this how it was going to be for the rest of my life? People giving me horrible looks solely based off what they heard and what I could barely piece together.

It's been over a month since the incident and I've tried my hardest to push away the idea that my judge sanctioned therapy sessions would be starting today. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I knew I needed it. I would never be able to move past this on my own and hopefully earn a shorter sentence during my final court hearing. But from the witness statements already documented, I doubt I would be getting anything less than five years.

Ever since that night I've been alone. My parents pulled me from school, my college having no issues with letting me go. It was my final year and I wouldn't be able to walk through graduation with all my friends.

I laughed to myself as I tugged a wrinkled shirt from a pile of clothes on the ground near my dresser and put it on over my head. Who was I kidding, I no longer had any friends. Everyone I was close with at school now treated me like some kind of leper. But I deserved that too, right? So now at the age of 21, I was back living in my parents house, which had never been an option for me in the first place.

If I would have graduated on time and with the degree my father had selected for me, I would be working under him at his company. But that was no longer a part of my future because I didn't know how the judge would rule. Either way I would no longer be able to live my life normally. I would forever be a felon. My entire future had been planned since birth, but now that I've been practically disowned by my father I feel almost free or as free as someone in my circumstances could be.

"Honey, it's time to go," My mother spoke through my bedroom door.

But before my life could change, there was therapy.

My feet carried me down the front steps of my house and toward the old Honda that I've had since I was a teenager. The car keys jingled in my hand as I pushed the right one into the ignition and started the car. The drive to the psychiatric hospital took almost 30 minutes. I drove there in complete silence, wishing I had remembered to bring my ipod along with me.

Air shot in and out of my lungs at a rapid pace as I sat in the full parking lot staring up at the bleak, grey building. It looked like a prison, which is maybe where I belonged, but that wasn't for me to decide. My hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly it almost hurt. I couldn't tell if the need to throw up was from nerves or the fact that I was so hungry.

The walls inside were painted some off white and a muddy green color, matching the depressing exterior perfectly. If these colors were supposed to keep me calm they sure as hell weren't doing a very good job.

"What can I do for you, young man?" The older woman behind the reception desk asked politely once I had made it from my car to the office. I peeled my eye from the floor and glanced around the waiting room, realizing that I was actually the youngest person here.

"Am I in the right place?" I asked as I eyed the 40-something year old man muttering to himself in the far corner.

"What's your name?" The receptionist asked with a light smile.

"Calum." I kept my eyes on the counter separating us. "Hood."

"Well Calum, you are definitely in the right place." She watched me carefully as my eyes drifted toward the man again. He was certainly not helping with my anxiety.

My gaze moved back toward the woman as she spoke again. "We treat all types of patients here. There's no need to worry."

I could only nod as I turned back toward the tiny waiting room in search of an open seat. The woman then told me my name would be called when it was my turn. I took a seat near the exit and debated if I had a chance to escape without being noticed. My eyes kept to the ground until I heard the sound of the door next to me open and close.

I stared up at the girl with wide eyes. She was my age and absolutely gorgeous, but that wasn't why I kept my gaze glued to her as she crossed the room to stand in front of the reception desk. The giant bruise that lined the outside of her left eye and bloomed across her cheek had stolen all my attention.

"Good to see you again, Skyler." The same woman I talked to smiled at her sadly.

"I wouldn't exactly call it a good thing." I strained to hear her soft voice.

"You know the drill," The woman spoke again. "Your name will be called when Doctor Gram is ready for you."

"Thanks." The girl shoved her hands deep into the pockets of the navy blue hoddie she wore.

Skyler took a seat on the opposite wall of me. Her messy blonde hair fell into her face and she quickly swiped it back before using the black hair-tie on her wrist to pull most of it on top of her head in a lopsided bun. At the angle we both sat I could now make out that her bottom lip had been busted open as well. I couldn't tear my eyes away as I picked nervously at the hole in my jeans.

My heart leapt into my throat as she looked up suddenly, like she had felt my curious stare, and our eyes connected instantly. Even then I couldn't look away. All I could think about was that night and how the guy must have looked after I was done with him.

The tips of my fingers pressed firmly against the arms of the chair I sat in, our staring contest seemingly never ending.

"Calum Hood." I tensed momentarily as the sudden noise and finally turned away from the girl and looked over the nurse who had said my name. "The doctor will see you now."

I took one last glance at Skyler to see her continued to stare at me before I made my way over to the woman and followed her through the doorway toward what I hoped would be the beginning of my mental recuperation.