Cuts and Scars

(Two part story) You walked through the hallways of your grimy, old high school. You knew what that day was. And you hated that day. It was the day that you had to see the school counselor. Your just recently widowed mother had told you to go at least once, for her sake if not yours. You didn't want to upset your mother, her being in the fragile state she was, so you decided to see the counselor once and never go back. (I don't own you, Hetalia, Canada, or the picture. I own the storyline.)