Deep Roots

9 ⭐ Dr. Condescending

9 ⭐ Dr. Condescending

Thursday, December 30.

I shut the door of Beck's truck as softly as I could while still latching it fully and turned to the clinic. The drive had been basically silent and I had refused Beck's offer to walk in with me and only started to regret it as he reversed out of the parking lot and it was too late.

I sniffed with whatever determination I could scrape together and marched through the door before I could convince myself otherwise. The receptionist didn't look up from her computer as I approached.

 "Name?" She asked with a bored tone.

 "Annabelle Skye. I'm here for my appointment with Dr. Cain."

 She entered something into the computer before turning and picking up the phone, "Dr. Cain, your one o'clock is here to see you... Okay I'll send her in." She turned to me as she set the phone back in its place, "He is ready. You can go ahead."

I blinked rapidly, waiting for her to say something else. When she didn't, I voiced my hesitation with a short, "um…"

 She sighed and pointed off to my right, "Turn left after you go past the desk and it's the last door in the hallway, room thirteen. "

 "Oh...thanks," I said, giving her a curt smile. I shuffled around the desk in the direction she had pointed and found myself in the middle of a long hallway. Its length was emphasized by the bare walls and lack of much ornamentation. I slowly began to make my way to the left, stopping once I had reached room thirteen.

I stalled realizing how weird this whole situation is.

I'm going to a therapist, that Beck used to see, to tell all my secrets, which are the secrets I don't want Beck to know, and Beck seems to be fine with it as long as I eventually tell them to him, except that I will hopefully never have to do that…

Shaking my head and gripping the small amount of determination that hadn't managed to slip away completely, I brought my closed fist up in level with my head and knocked.

I couldn't help but hope no one answered.

 "Come in."

 Holding back the whine that rose in my throat, I opened the door and walked inside.

It appeared to be just how you would expect a therapist's office to look. A long Freudian couch sat across from a small armchair and a desk stood behind that. Small potted plants graced the corners of the room and a  window with stiff black curtains covered a modest portion of one beige wall. The other walls each had a different purpose. One featured a painting with no recognizable subject and under it sat a table with a stack of paper cups and a jug of water. The wall closest to the desk held several framed certificates and nothing else.

 "Hello." 

 I followed the accented voice to where a man stood beside the desk, smirking. He stuck a hand out and I accepted it after a moment, almost gaping at how it nearly encompassed mine.

 "Dr. Ares Cain. Pleased to meet you."

 I looked up and met his hazel eyes.

 "Annabelle Skye," I managed eventually, unable to tear my eyes away from his. He looked like the exact opposite of the kind of person I'd feel comfortable spilling all of my secrets to. 

Dark, brooding...the type of guy that looks like he might need the therapy more than you. And unfortunately, handsome, so devastatingly handsome. Like...if Ian Somerhalder and Tyler Hoechlin had a child.