Setting: 435 Wilshire Boulevard Suite 600, Beverly Hills, CA 90210
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Dr. Lynne Meyer looked like she came straight out of Wisteria Lane, the fictitious street where all of the desperate housewives lived. That was just the vibe Demi was getting from her. She had dark brunette hair that framed her face and breezed a little past her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep brown color and surrounded by crow's feet. She had tight smile lines around the ends of her mouth, and a few wrinkles here and there. She was wearing a lilac colored sweater with a line of pearls around her neck. And she was staring at Demi with just as much intensity as Demi was staring at her.
"Arnold has told me a lot about you. But it'd be nice if you could tell me some things about yourself before our session is over," Lynne said, doing that really annoying thing where she spoke with a smile on her face.
Demi had woken up with the mindset that she wanted to approach therapy with Lynne a little bit differently than she did with Arnold, because she truly was ready for all of these problems in her life to be over, but Lynne wasn't making it very easy. She was a nice woman, but Demi just didn't want to talk to her. She wanted to go back to Arnold.
"What is there to tell?" Demi questioned as she played with her manicured fingertips.
As soon as they stepped off of Kris's private jet, Demi had dragged Trey with her to the nail salon to finally get her nails and feet done. She might've made him get his feet done as well – pedicures were not just for women, especially with the way Trey's feet looked.
"Why do you think Arnold sent you to me?" Lynne asked, placing her hands underneath her chin as she looked at Demi over her square framed glasses rather than through them, another irritating thing that would send Demi right out of the door.
"I have PTSD," Demi replied, not even trying to hide the boredom in her tone. Demi could just hand her $200 for wasting her time and call it good. This was pointless.
"And what does that mean to you?"
Demi almost couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes, but instead she matched the sickly-sweet smile on Lynne's face as she clasped her hands together and placed them over her kneecap.
"I've been traumatized by some traumatic experience...?" Demi trailed off, because if she was being honest, she didn't understand why Arnold had diagnosed her with PTSD. She knew that she wasn't exactly "back to normal" but an entire anxiety disorder because she had a little freak out at a Starbucks?
"Well, Demi, it's a little more than that. What defines this disorder isn't the trauma, but the reaction to the trauma. Arnold diagnosed you because you've had a difficult time recovering from the break in that occurred at your house, am I right?" Lynne explained as carefully as she could, as if she were talking to a seventh grader instead of a twenty-five-year-old. Demi didn't blame her. All of this stuff could get rather confusing and it was better than having to ask for an explanation again.
