The Smirking Jerk (Blake's POV)

Chapter 28

It was neat little place. It looked like a house from the outside really.

My mother talked with the receptionist and we waited, sitting on grey couches, for my time with the doctor.

I was trying as much as I could not to stress. There were no reasons to stress. The doctor was there to help me. It felt like I was going to pass a test, but I really needed to stop feeling like that. There was no failing here.

Just, well, helping, hopefully.

After a few minutes of waiting, a young guy walked out of one of the rooms.

He headed straight for us, extending his hand. "Hi, Blake? Mrs Eaton?"

"Oh, yes, yes," my mother answered, getting up on her feet to shake the doctor's hand.

"I'm Doctor Henry Boseman, but you can just call me Henry," he said with a smile.

"Hi," I answered, shaking his hand too.

"You can come with me Blake," he said, motioning to the room he had just walked out of.

I nodded. "Alright."

My mother smiled at me, her hand pressed against my back. I smiled back and then followed the doctor.

"So, the last time you visited us, you met with my father," he said as we walked into the room. He closed the door behind me. "I'm going to be talking with you today. It's because I'm the psychiatrist in the family," he kinda joked, "Basically, what I want us to do today is just have a bit of a talk so I can get an idea of what I think is best for you, if counselling should be enough or if we might look into medication to also help you. That's alright with you?"

I nodded again. "Yes, that's fine."

"If there's ever any subjects that makes you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell me right away. I'm here to help you, never to make you feel bad or uncomfortable."

"Thank you," I said. He seemed kind of relax and easy going, even while saying these more technical things. I felt a little less uneasy.

"You're welcome," still with a smile, he replied. "Now, come on, you can sit down wherever," he motioned to the couch and recliners in the room. The room was big and well lighted, with plants everywhere. It felt like somewhere it would be easy to breathe, somehow. "I usually record these sessions. Since you're still a minor, I got consent from your parents, but I'll also need yours. Just to reassure you, I'll be the only one listening to the recordings, and if I think meeting a therapist in the future is the best course of action, I might give them the recording, but once again, only if you agree to it. I have recordings because it's easier than taking notes really, and that way we can have an actual conversation."

"Yeah, that's okay, I don't mind," I replied, sitting on the couch.

He sat in one of the recliners in front, and clicked on a little device, his recorder, probably. "Thank you. So, how are you doing Blake?"

"I'm okay. Good today really."

"What did you do today?"

I told him in loose details about my day. He listened, asking a couple of questions here in there, what position do I played, when was my next game, little things really.

At one point, we were just talking. I asked him about his career choice, if it had anything to do with his own father studying in psychology, and then we sort of talked about the difference between psychologist and therapist and psychiatrists.

"Your mother on the phone told us that you're the one who asked to meet with a therapist again," he asked, when the conversation had sort of gotten off track.