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Hannah was fast asleep, lying contorted on her bed. She always shifted herself into a crumpled mess during the night. Her therapist, Doctor Brown, said it was a symptom of her disturbed mentality. She could hear a loud thumping coming from her door, but she simply incorporated it into her dream instead of waking up.

Finally, her door burst open and her mother trotted in, purse in hand, already dressed to go out for the day. “Get up, Hannah.” She nudged her daughter until she rolled off the far side of the bed. Hannah stood up groggily and swept her long tangled blonde hair out of her face. “Get dressed,” her mother ordered her.

“Where are we going?”

“To Doctor Brown’s,” she answered. “What? No, I told you I wasn’t going back there.”

“Do you know how much I pay for those therapy sessions of yours?” her mother asked angrily.

“Something between nothing and free,” Hannah answered. Her father was the one who paid whatever their insurance did not.

“You’ve got such a smart mouth. I always thought mental people were stupid.”

“I'm not retarded, Mom. I just have trauma to work through. Most of it is your fault.”

“If that were true, you’d have trouble saying it to my face. Now get dressed.” She eyed Hannah up and down. She was wearing a grey pajama top of which only had one button done at the moment. Even if she ever wore

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