Fractured

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

She was a pretty woman in her early thirties, it appeared.  Her eyes were a sharp blue, observing and taking everything in in a curious fashion.  To me, that was a hint she was open minded like she should be.  She held a nice polite smile for me when she first saw me and looked me over and with it, I took her in as well and noticed she also had straight light brown hair cascading over her shoulders, her bangs stopping just above her eyebrows.  She looked professional in her nice grey sweater - appropriate for the environment of her patient's depression obviously - and khakis.  She looked quite nice. though to be honest  It was too bad she was about to meet me.   

"Albany?" she called out into the waiting room.  And boy let me tell you guys: damn!  Everyone seemed so dull and maybe depressed.  The beautifully decorated walls helped with nothing but the vivid color of gray and nothing else but some pictures of flowers on the walls too.  Carpet was gray, the atmosphere was gray, everything seemed gray (except the one black woman in the room waiting for her turn with  her therapist).   That is a clue: therapy wont help if they can't even manage to give their patients a proper fucking waiting room. 

Sighing, I stood up and glanced back at where Luke was sitting beside me before.  He gave me a sad smile, knowing this would suck for me. He understood I wasn't the type of person that wanted therapy even if I somehow would qualify as needing to see one.  I don't opening up to strangers and though that was fine and helped some people, that just wasn't for me.  So he was full of sympathy - which just made it all that much more better.

Though I didn't want to be here,  Luke told me before we came to just tell the truth, tell my story, just nothing about trying to get evidence against Clare or the gang.  He said just tell her about me and my past. I knew he didn't say that  though because he thought I actually needed help.  He just thought I should make the best of this since he knew how much I would hate it.  However, his definition of 'make the best' was different from mine.  Because if I were to make the best of this situation, it wouldn't involve cooperating exactly. But since I am an angel, I will at least try to make Luke happy. I didn't say it would last long though. 

I didn't want to tell her anything.  I'm not the type to open up to strangers, as you guys know.  So it was natural to ignore Luke's words the moment she took me back into the little room for our hour long session.

"Albany, my name is Veronica and it will be a pleasure to be working with you," she said as she took a seat in a comfy looking desk chair when she led me into the room.  Her voice was kind, soft and her eyes and smile were also gentle when she sat down and looked up at me. 

Looking around, I noticed her deck was cluttered with papers where it faced the wall in the seemingly tight room. This place was a smaller building located near downtown we noticed when we pulled up. So I wasn't too surprised of the dense space, but I just was hoping to be able to breathe a little; I didn't think that was too much to ask for.  

Where she sat though was out a few feet from her desk and facing the other chair across from hers as I sat down in the best seat in the house - a La-Z-Boy recliner. All the more reason to give in to questions - if your ass is comfortable, your mouth wouldn't have an issue with speaking up.  So overall, unlike the waiting room, it was a little nicer. The walls were actually a soft brown. 

I noticed there was a window to my right on the adjacent wall that showed a great view of the parking lot.  There was a book case in the corner a few feet away from her with board games (or what I would guess are psychological torture techniques to get inside the patient's head).  There was a wooden,, long coffee table between us as well.  But the center of my attention was what took me a while to locate: the clock above my head behind where I was sitting.