𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍.
❛ ALWAYS BE IN
YOUR CONTROL ❜
A hospital trip wasn't how Isabelle Nightly wanted the school dance to end but it doesn't take her long to realise that's the least of her problems.
Oh, and her neighbour w...
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( 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 )
Isabelle and Lydia were sat in the uncomfortable chairs outside the guidance counsellors office, both with a pair of gloves on. Lydia had told Elle what she woke up to and they both agreed to wear gloves (Elle felt like they were living the life of Blair and Serena, except for the insanity and punching mirrors part obviously). Isabelle was also sat outside an office she didn't need to go into out of support.
A cute boy that was sat to the left of Lydia looked over at the strawberry blonde and down to her brightly coloured gloves that stood out from her neutral styled outfit. "Nice gloves."
Lydia looked at him in curiosity, "Thank you?"
The unnamed teenager leaned forward looking at her carefully, also catching sight of the blonde to the right of her. "So, what's your brand of psychosis?"
Lydia scoffed. "Really?"
The teenager shrugged, "We're both here for something, we don't have to be ashamed of it."
Lydia leant forward with a sarcastic smile on her face, "I have an acute phobia of people prying into my personal life; you?" The boy leaned back a bit.
"Compulsively drawn to cute-" he checked her out, "-but narcissistic girls."
Elle frowned, taking out her headphones that had started to give her another excruciating headache. "Who were you talking to?" The blonde asked Lydia, not seeing the boy next to her.
Lydia opened her mouth and pointed to the seat next to her but couldn't answer properly.
Suddenly, Ms. Morrell opened the door, "Are you ready, Lydia?" The strawberry blonde stormed into the office, shutting the door on the imaginary boy and her best friend.
Lydia scowled at the counsellor. "You're not even French, are you?"
Ms. Morrell smiled at the observations from the teen, "French Canadian."
Lydia tilts her head to the side, "Which means you're a Canadian. Who speaks French. And seeing as I'm placing my mental health in your hands, how about you tell me what, as a French teacher, qualifies you to be a guidance counsellor?"
"I have a masters in behavioral psychology and have done over three - hundred hours of field work." Ms. Morrell said blankly.
Lydia leant back, "Hm. C'est va bien."
Ms. Morrell intertwined her fingers, "If you're really fine-" she shrugged, "-what are you doing here?"
Lydia answered for the both of them, "Appeasing our parents, so they don't take away our car keys."
