A sweet girl who sees the good in everyone.
A grumpy guy who just wants everyone to fuck off.
A chocolate milk accident that's brings them together.
Secrets.
Lies.
A dark past.
What could possibly go wrong? Or right?
Maybe a love story.
Or s...
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Don't get me wrong, Christmas is my holiday.
Decorating the entire house with lights and the tall tree that me and Gio got on clearance awhile back covered in colorful lights.
Going out to buy cookies and red and green frosting. Making snow angels in the snow. Gifting presents. (I'm a great gift giver by the way.)
But for some odd reason, Christmas doesn't feel like Christmas.
Especially not as I walk inside a tall grey building, seeing nothing Christmas related at all.
Enzo wouldn't let me walk which I didn't want to do anyway. I'm to scared to walk alone. I think my reasons for why are pretty valid.
Maybe it doesn't feel like Christmas because I've been having nightmares. So many of them of the same thing over and over again.
Maybe it's because I don't feel like being jolly and cheery when he still haunts my dreams.
And that's exactly why I'm seeing a therapist.
I really like Miranda. She's very nice and her office smells like Cinnamon Toast Crunch which is my second favorite cereal after peanut butter toast crunch.
I wouldn't say I'm always just waiting for the days I see her which are usually only on week days two times a week. It's not that I don't want help. It's just that I don't think I need it.
I still get nightmares, yeah. I still think about it to. Sometimes I cry. Before bed. In the shower. Whenever someone touches that very spot on my arm he touched me at...
Okay maybe I do need help sort of kind of.
I skip the rest of the way to the building, opening the door and stepping inside. It's cold outside but as soon as I step on the soft dark carpet, I'm immediately hit with warmth.
I know my way around already since I've been here a few times. I wave to the front desk lady who smiles kindly and waves back. "Hi, Thea."
I smile. "Hi...Zeera." I feel bad. I almost forgot her name! In my defense, I'm not all to good with names.
I make my way to the stairs after realizing the elevator is occupied. Taking them two at a time to the top.
I pass a few doors until I get to the right one with a small silver sign with letters spelling out 'Miranda Wellington.' on it.
I open the door right away. Should I have knocked? Maybe I should have knocked. She could be talking to herself for all I know and want some privacy.
Lord knows I need privacy when I'm talking to myself. The thought of someone walking in on me talking to myself like a crazy person makes me shiver.
Not that crazy people always talk to themselves. I don't discriminate.
But Miranda isn't talking to herself. She's sitting behind her desk, typing away on her computer, her glasses at the tip of her nose.
