Therapy (Sanja x Haunted)

Kacey Greene never expected to end up in the waiting room of a therapist’s office. In grade school, she had a classmate that left early every Tuesday to visit one and everyone in the class took the opportunity to poke even more fun at them. The class consensus determined that only psychos talked to doctors about problems, or people without friends. Admittedly, Kacey was lacking in the friendship department. She had moved several times as a child only to find that every town had the same problems, the same generic Main Street, and the same groups of friends. It was rare for her to even bother forming a relationship when she knew some time next year they’d just be separated. She just pressed ahead in life assuming that once adulthood arrived, things would get easier.

Now an art college drop-out working hourly at a local coffee shop, Kacey spent the majority of her time reading or painting. While her family disapproved, she made enough to scrape by and support herself, but it wasn’t as if she was adding to her savings. She lived in her own bubble, avoiding people as often as possible. They made her nervous, they even triggered her first anxiety attack; crowds were a problem for the twenty two year-old. Several friends from childhood on her Facebook profile constantly uploaded photos of parties and trips into the city, and Kacey lived a vicarious life through them.

Fed up with the fear and embarrassment, she’d figured therapy with a stranger was a more desirable approach than attempting to discuss her issues with her family. Even if blood was thicker than water, gossip was a disease with no cure. So she waited. Seated in an over-stuffed chair in a room that was clearly decorated with a theme of “calm.” The walls were painted a shade of cream and pastel accents brightened the area, a secretary seated at a well-sized desk with papers stacked in an organized fashion.

Kacey hardly considered herself fashionable. Paint eventually ruined everything she owned, so the majority of her clothing was purchased out of season or at thrift shops. She never looked homeless, but a stylish cocktail dress was certainly out of the question. She fancied casual looks, and for her first session the girl did her best to throw an outfit together that wasn’t covered in paint. Dark brown hair was tied messily into a bun, a few strands escaping to drape at her neck. Glancing at the clock in the waiting room signaled that there were three minutes until her session was meant to begin. The secretary was paged, and moments later spoke.

“Doctor Davis is ready for you.”

Her anxiety grew. The girl lingered for a minute before awkwardly standing and approaching his door. It was solid mahogany, sturdy and lacking a window for the sake of privacy. Timidly, her hand extended for the knob and turned, permitting her entrance into his private office.

James Davis

Doctor of Psychology. Master of Science of Counseling. Master of Science in Education. Licensed and Practicing.

He had an ego, it was evident when she entered the room. It was small, cozy, and yet it had a feel of claustrophobia to it. The feeling that everything was compacted and angled inwards towards the patient who came to sit before him. That was what she faced when she stepped inside his private office. She should have known by the solid wood door that it was going to be like that. Everything about this man was ostentatious, as if he had stepped out of an arrogant time period and into the modern world with the assurances in bold letters above his head.

I am smarter than you. I know better than you. That is why you are here.

As she came inside he gave a cursory glance upwards from his work station at the desk, making a minor tap onto the laptop to clear the screen and then reached into a nearby drawer to pull free her file, closing it with a resounding echo. Silence filled the room as he made the small gesture for her to have a seat, peering over his glasses at the material before him that she had filled out earlier before coming to the appointment. He leaned back in his chair, giving her a view of an aristocratic satan, his features all angles and hard stern lines. No, no softness to this counselor. His black hair was kept cruelly short, his long sleeve shirt and dress pants accented by the small vest he wore over a slim midsection. The long supple fingers holding her file spoke of a man who had never done hard labor, the hands of an artist.

He made a small hmm, his voice finally speaking in those cultured arrogant tones and yet there was something authoritative about it, something palpable...even if he did not have some winning personality of a politician he had a voice which resonated almost hypnotically in the small room. Those eyes flicked over her, taking her in, absorbing her in one quick cursory glance and then dismissing her...like he had already tabulated, sorted, and filed her away into a box. He knew her in that one glance and perhaps that was frightening, he did not seem to necessarily care one way or the other.

After all he was being paid well.

"So...Kacey, yes? How can I help you today?"

Kacey was immediately regretting her decision to seek professional help. The only thing she knew about psychologists were the standard tropes she’d seen in movies; she expected a leather chaise lounge, countless bookcases full of material, and maybe even an office plant to create a welcoming atmosphere. His desk dominated the room, and as he motioned for her to enter and seat herself, she obeyed without making a sound.

Fingers clutched nervously at her cheap purse once seated, the proximity between them allowing for both parties to observe with ease. In the time it took for him to judge her, her own opinions formed. By his suit alone she could tell their lifestyles hardly crossed. The parties he threw were likely accompanied by catered hors d'oeuvres and a four string quartet. Her jealousy was brief. After all, she was paying him. He depended on crazies like herself to keep his lifestyle! Mentally, the girl winced. Calling herself crazy likely wouldn’t help with the whole process.

Her attention snapped back into focus at the sound of a drawer locking shut, the metal unforgiving in the small room. Kacey knew everything she’d written in her paperwork, yet she peered at the file as if he might have already added his own assumptions or diagnosis. The questions were rather generic, asking what brought her there and how interruptive her problems were in daily life. She’d checked both of the “No” boxes once questioned about thoughts of suicide or self-harm. His brief glance before returning back to his papers forced her anxious fingers to grip even tighter. She hated the knowledge that someone was mentally picking her apart, like a butcher’s diagram of a cow.

Even with a casual tone, his voice seemed to have spooked her. Nodding to affirm her name, her lips parted to speak.

“Well, I, uhm...” She stammered, clearly not thinking ahead of time as to how she’d begin to explain herself. “I have a problem with people. Er, well, more like groups of people.” Kacey had never shared her issues with anyone; the words felt foreign in her mouth. “My lungs tighten up, I get dizzy. I don’t know where my mind goes, I’m just…” The girl looked away, her eyes settling upon a window. “Frightened.”

Despite the fact that this was Doctor Davis’ job, Kacey felt like he’d burst out laughing from her admittance of fear. After all, she herself hadn’t met anyone else that literally avoided parties because they caused uncontrollable anxiety.

Laughter was not something he routinely shared with a patient. He would never be so derogatory as to openly give condescension to someone who had come to him and asked for his services. Such a thing would be appalling to him, not because he did not feel those emotions but because he was a professional. A professional who cared about his business, cared about his reputation, and always did a damned fine job of providing the service that was being required of him.

He looked at her as she spoke, leaning back slowly in his chair as he placed the file down upon the table and he steepled his fingers as she shared that brief uncertainty and then he made a slow musing noise. What could be really said with such an opening, she had not given him much to work with and that was part of the problem wasn't it. He could tell she was already growing anxious with him, could see that she was withdrawing even though she was paying him for his time and effort to be there for her. That was the nature of being a human being, even if she did not understand what it meant.

Fear of the Unknown.

His voice held a mild calm to it as he began to speak, having waited for a brief moment to see if she would say anything else. There was almost a mild exasperation to the undertone of his voice, a definite....come on you have to give me more, vibe. Yet he made no references to it as that cultured voice addressed her problem.

"You're not an unintelligent girl, you obviously score well on your testing and have done your research I am sure. You know the symptoms are psychosomatic, you know that the obvious recourse would have been to go to your general practitioner to have him prescribe anti-anxiety medication. Yet you came here, now someone else in my position might have asked you why....in the hopes of learning something "special" about you."

He gave a wry smirk. "We both know why though, because you know deep down that what you fear is change. You fear the variables of life, the unknowns, the dangers lurking in the corner. You want to overcome that, to face that fear, and conquer it...yes? You want to learn how to be brave."

Kacey wasn’t comfortable. Who would be? Seated in an awkwardly small room with an awkwardly large desk and an awkwardly forward practitioner. Well, perhaps he wasn’t the awkward one. No, he wasn’t--his client was. Of course she had Googled her fears. Anyone could form a basic grasp of Psychology, but that wasn’t why she’d decided to spend a rather juicy lump of her income to sit here. While he was bent on proving she wasn’t a special snowflake, Kacey couldn’t help but feel slightly belittled. Sure, there were thousands of others just like her, perhaps even worse off. But how would any of his sweeping generalizations make a point?

The concept of courage arose, which forced her to ponder once more. Her brows furrowed, fingers still clutching at her purse while peering at her lap. Adding bravery or confidence to her daily repertoire of emotions would be very likely to improve her outlook on life in general as well as dealing with uncertain social situations.

Her dark eyes lifted, looking towards the man that likely knew far more about what he was speaking of than she did. “Sure,” followed by a shrug. That was it? His grand speech earned nothing more than a sloppy gesture and a single word? Clearly, Kacey wasn’t one for socializing. Perhaps another reason for approaching a professional as opposed to awkwardly stumbling through talks with her parents.

“I just want to be able to run errands at any hour I need to. I’m tired of planning my life around other people.” To iterate the severity of her issues, she rummaged through her purse for a few moments before producing a small sketch book. The cover was worn and the corners curled. She flipped to one of the first few pages, a crease in the spine evident. Leaning forward, her arm stretched out, offering him the small book. Scribbled in her cursive was an extensive schedule of each of her neighbor’s work hours. When they left, when they came home; it was all there.

“There’s more on the next page…” Her tone was full of shame as she waited patiently for him to flip over the first sheet. The grocery store, her local movie theater, even a book store she frequented all had their heavy traffic hours for each day noted as if she’d watched from the parking lot. “I just wish I didn’t need all that information to go outside.” The humiliation of it all forced a surge of sensitivity, fingertips quickly swiping at her eyes to whisk away any tears that might have begun forming.

Well, that was something at least wasn't it. She might be a bit messed up in the head but at least she was organized. It was something this gentleman could expect. Reaching out he took the journal from her, not paying particular mind to the near tearful state she was in. That was the true problem of humanity, they coddled people. She could go on Facebook if she wanted affirmation for her problems, he would not provide any of it here....and that is truly why nobody ever became better. Nobody ever healed.

They were always looking for a fix. Whether it was someone just agreeing with them in a comment section, or clicking a like button, or giving a stupid cat meme on a text. People were never really looking for help, they were looking for reinforcement. His sharp eyes looked from her emotional state and ignored it, instead flipping through her little book and studying what she had done. His lips pressed together as he considered the situation and then he finally asked the hard question, the one that really mattered as he tossed her book onto the table as if it was a piece of trash.

It made a solid thunk on the hard wood.

"Why do you fucking care, Kacey?" His voice was brutish, to the point, a jab at the psyche as he watched her and he leaned forward to place his hands on his desk, standing to move around it and to lean back against it. It gave a good view of his body, a slim outline like that of a hunting cat. Perhaps the analogy was more appropriate than either really gave credence, for when he leaned back against that wood he might have very well been perching over the kill.

"Well? Go on? Why do you avoid them? Do you think they look down on you? Do you think they'll hurt you? What is it you fear will fucking happen...or is it that you fear when you do meet them that nothing will happen at all....? And you'll still just be as lonely?"

Kacey was hardly seeking attention or coddles as her eyes grew moist. While her issues had remained a secret until today, an oppressive weight of embarrassment blanketed over her conscience. She lived hEr daily life in fear, a fear she had no means of understanding or coping with. The closest thing to a relationship she had was a casual chat with faceless strangers during a game, or perhaps a small comment on an online article.

The drop of her sketchbook sent a dull thud through the air. Her muscles tightened, shoulders hunching as he seemed unimpressed or disinterested with her example. As if the way he treated her personal possessions wasn’t rude enough, he stood and began to question her in a crass manner. His words were shocking; eyes growing wide and lips parting blankly while staring in disbelief. The girl might have been shaken, but her emotions were still present.

“H-hey,” the girl started awkwardly, straightening in her chair while attempting to adopt a firm tone. “I may not be the fanciest person you’ve dealt with, but I’m pretty sure I’m not paying you to curse at me...” Confrontations were a living nightmare. Despite her distaste, she still couldn’t carry a tone to properly fit an argument. She managed a frown, expressing her distaste for his approach before continuing.

“I moved a lot as a child, and I just sort of got used to not bothering to meet anyone or spend time with them. I guess somewhere along the line I just started getting more and more uncomfortable. Now I’m the weird person with no real career, no goals, and no ambition at all to go find any. Who would want to go out on a date with someone like myself when a stone’s throw away there’s some other girl that has their whole life together?”

Sure, every now and then a cashier would ask how she was and they’d earn a generic positive response. Kacey was content, her basic needs were met, but she wasn’t happy.

An eyebrow rose at her choice of words and he leaned back in his chair. He did not feel particularly reprimanded, instead he merely considered her for a long moment before making a small motion with his hand. His cultured voice was quiet and contemplative as he spoke.

"You may not like the cussing, but it got something for all it's intensity."

He steepled his fingers once more, the kind of positioning of only an arrogant man, the intelligent eyes peering over the tips of his fingers as he continued speaking. "Go out on a date. You weren't concerned with judgment, say perhaps of a boss. You did not care whether or not the woman down the street disliked your clothes. When it came down to it you began to hammer home the fact that you aren't worthy of a man's...," he paused before raising an eyebrow, curious as to whether or not she might be more broad in her likes than that before shrugging.

"Of a human's love. You also mentioned how you measure yourself....lack of drive, lack of career, that you are weird...where did you come by all of these judgments about your life? That love required you to have a job? That your wants and needs make you an outcast?"

He leaned in and met her gaze. "Well?"

Despite the Doctor’s general lack of tact, Kacey couldn’t deny the validity of his statements. She just walked around assuming everyone else in the world had their lives put together much more than her own. She could pay her own bills, which was at least better than some. His method had bristled her slightly, but he was at least getting something out of her.

“I describe myself that way based upon my comparisons to others, especially my cousins in the family. We’re all roughly the same age, and when one of them goes on for hours about how many perks they have, or how great of a loft they can afford, the bar just gets raised. Then...” She paused, as if experiencing the exchange all over again.

“Then I start to talk. I can see it in their faces. I’m not stupid, even if I don’t have an expensive degree. They always just nod blankly and frown. Then before I can embarrass myself too much, I end up shifting the conversation to anywhere else.” Her eyes were settled heavily upon the floor, fingers hooked together. “And I know I’m just supposed to have this ‘sense of pride for what I do,’ or some bullshit. But I do care what they think even when I don’t get along with most of them.”

The girl leaned back in her own chair, elbows perched at the arm rests before turning to look at him with exasperation. “I feel like I’m trying to make an angry animal love me even though all it’s done is bite. I should just walk away and move on, but I can’t.” Her tears had left her, despite the subject. It was odd discussing all of this, but at least he was being honest.

He watched her with that clinical detachment that she was growing accustomed to, as if he just did not seem to have any bone in this fight, and that was perhaps very true. This was all about her, her needs, her wants, and her dreams...and the truth was he had no inclination one way or the other for her. He merely accepted her struggles as something that was on her shoulders, and yet...because of what he had chosen to do, he was there to help her. He made a small motion at the end of her statements and tapped the table just slightly.

"You're a product of our lives and who can really blame you? You've been told your entire life there is some measure of what it means to be human...because people need there to be one. They require one, they require it because it makes them feel so good to accomplished something in life. Though it's always cute how the measure is something that they wanted to do in the first place...isn't it?"

He glanced up towards the degrees behind him, continuing his thoughts. "I wanted those, so I have them. Does that make me more valuable than you are? It might represent a sign post, saying something like - this guy has knowledge, but...did it increase my worth? How can you even define the worth of a human being when it's all...illusionary. There's no scale for us to step on, no sheet to compare, merely...perspective."

He pressed his lips together as he leaned back, his eyes narrowing. "You've brought up love a few times, even made it personal...an angry animal that's done nothing but bite? Did you have someone particular in mind?"

Despite his icy tones and general lack of thrill over the topic she brought up, Kacey had to admit that there was something strangely calming about finally being able to just speak openly about her problems. She hardly knew anyone well enough to speak so openly to without being interpreted as annoying or whiny. She’d learned to internalize the vast majority of her emotions, but when they finally chose to bubble out she’d be glued to her couch for several days binging on depressing documentaries or emotional tear-jerkers.

His question earned a vague shrug. “I don’t think so. No one’s been ruder than anyone else, or at least not intentionally. Obviously I have the most exposure to my parents and they’re always the ones that push the hardest. I mean, if I were them, I guess I would too.” She paused to look down at her hands, the lack of paint on her fingers an odd sight for her. “It’s not like I’d recommend this method of living to anyone. The silence gets to you after a while.” She flexed her hands, allowing a few knuckles to pop dully.

Eventually both palms made their way to her knees, pressing softly at her leggings while the toes of her boots dug gently into the carpeting of his office. It wasn’t often that she ventured into new locations, but her comfort was beginning to grow despite the rigidity of the Doctor.

“So,” Kacey paused, glancing about the small office before timidly asking her own question. “Is this what we do the whole time? I just go on about whatever… and you talk back until my time is up?” In honesty, she’d expected some sort of dramatic hypnotizing from a thin man with an intricate mustache. Not exactly realistic, but it made for an interesting picture at least. If this was all that her classmate from grade school did, her class’ full commitment to the label of crazy was hardly warranted.

He gave a slow smile as he heard the mild tone but knew the question was a bit more pointed than that. She wanted to know his end goal, and she could not quite believe that he had nothing in store for her other than this conversation. He nodded slightly as he fully leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he spoke, his voice holding a measured cadence to it.

"What else is there...you are already asking all the best questions, even if you do not know it. We know ourselves better than anyone, all I am trying to do is guide you to the right answers. You keep asking if you have any value, you keep wondering if you have ever measured up...you keep thinking that you are unworthy. Underneath all of that though is the real question...."

He pressed his lips together before speaking, his eyes narrowed. "Why are you asking? Is there something more? Is there something better than all these guidelines you've been holding up before you? So yes, we'll just sit and talk, perhaps eventually branch into some assignments and reading material."

An eyebrow raised teasingly as he spoke. "Everybody has to do homework at some point."

As deeper questions of her mind’s general intent on focusing on such matters came to surface, Kacey was honestly baffled. Why did she worry about what everyone else thought? The concept alone required deep thought. The answer would likely require an appropriately lengthy discussion or debate. The whole process seemed rather scholarly at this point, forcing her to abandon any preconceived notions of immediate resolution.

“Wait, you assign me stuff to do on my own?” Homework? Having to pursue her well-being outside of their sessions just took more time away from painting, or reading, or… Well, there wasn’t much else to take away from. The realization left her slightly embarrassed. “So I’ll get to talk to myself like a crazy? Seems a bit counter-productive to avoiding attention.”

It took her all of three seconds before she regretted the joke, fingers clutching at the armrests of her chair. “As long as I can still make it to work I’ll do what I can.” Kacey hoped he wouldn’t recommend some odd three week retreat with nature that she couldn’t afford. As much as his sessions cost, she was horrified of further fees the he’d encourage her to take in the name of her “well-being.” After all, she’d taken a nice hit out of her art supplies fund for this and would have to start getting creative with materials this month.

He gave a slight nod of his head, giving a small smile as he heard her exasperation at the very idea of having to actually do a little bit of work. He ignored the joke, letting it pass by, most times humor was something that was necessary for a person to just alleviate the stress they were feeling. It was a common reaction and one he was used to, and more than that it was a healthy reaction. He leaned forward, finally picking his pen up and pulling a pad of paper out of his desk in order to make a few notes down upon it.

"I tell you what, Kacey, what I am going to do is have you do some reading. Now this isn't the feel good stuff, this isn't the kind of thing that has you talking in a mirror telling yourself how great you are."

His eyes were sharp, almost hard as he murmured.

"I don't do that self-reinforcement crap."

He made a few final notes and then passed them over towards her. "I want you to pick up this book, it's by Eckhart Tolle. I think some of it is going to be particularly relevant for you. Each day you are going to do a few things for me. I want you to listen carefully even though I've wrote them down." He raised his hand and raised one finger at a time. "One, you are going to spend an hour on this book. You may have read it, you may have finished it, but I do not care...you are going to consider it, study it, actually think about it. Anyone can read, I want you to think."

He met her eyes, continuing.

"Two, you are going to do so out in public. Go to the mall, sit on a bench, think. Don't talk to people, don't even speak, don't even shop...you are there to watch. Watch the people, watch where they go and what they do, make it a game if you will. Think about what they are doing.....and Three, at 4:15 daily you are to call my cell phone, the number is listed. You will probably never be answered, but leave a message telling me how you're day is going." He pressed his lips together as he slid the paper across and tapped it.

"Any questions?"

Kacey perked at the use of her name. Honey brown eyes observed as he began to jot down instructions, honestly curious as to what exactly he’d be “prescribing” for her overall health. She took his list, glancing over it as he spoke of the required reading materials and mentioned her necessary daily tasks. Ugh, even his handwriting was sophisticated. Legible, yet practiced enough to come off as “I didn’t have enough time to write slowly.”

Upon his request to focus, her gaze returned. She nodded silently as he listed his first two requirements, only to look befuddled at his request to call and leave a message. She got to talk to a machine? How was that any saner than what she was already doing? Her thumbs gently rubbed along the sheet of paper. She sketched constantly, the sensation soothed her. Offering her a chance to clarify any instructions that might have been unclear, a brief pause was offered before speaking.

“So I just leave messages saying what I’m thinking that day?” The notion seemed odd. Kacey was slowly beginning to realize that this was a lot more self-involved than she’d previously understood it to be. She’d assumed that there would have been someone literally next to her the entire time, yet it was becoming clear that the driving force would have to come from within. How horrifying.

She folded his instructions and slipped them into her sketch book, the safest place she could think of before placing it back within the depth of her large purse. The well-worn strap was wrapped about her hand as if a motion to easily stand and leave, assuming that with her assigned work he was done speaking with her. She remained seated, despite her assumption. For some reason, Kacey hoped to avoid looking too presumptuous.

“And I guess I start tonight?”

Taking a moment to let her compose herself he gave a small nod of his head to her. His eyes were solemn as he stood up and walked around the desk, that aristocratic frame seeming completely at ease in the moment. He had done what others had not and that was what made him so incredibly different than the counselors that others went to speak with. He had not accepted her excuses, her ability to defend herself, her projections and misleading statements. Instead he had cut through all of the crap and frankly told her that she was completely wrong.

That perspective was what mattered. That values were not quantifiable except by the one doing the valuing. That she had power.

It was something that others might have done with some self-affirmation, with a little bolstering, with a measure of commiseration. Not this man though, this man had quietly and deftly poked holes in all of her thought processes and then told her to fill them with something else. Most people would not have paid for his level of arrogance and he offered his hand to her, his voice quiet.

"Yes, just what you are thinking. Introduce yourself, give me the time you're calling, and a little snippet...whether I answer or not. It's simple, you should have no problem doing it...right?" Yet he knew that she would, of course she would...that was the real power of the assignment. It required initiative, the young girl had realized that and he could see it in her eyes. That something so simple could remain so...frightening. A kid could do what he asked of them, why couldn't she.

His eyes met hers and he spoke directly. "It was a pleasure, I am sure I will be hearing from you."

After observing his rise and offered hand, Kacey took the gesture for what it was worth: a polite method of ushering her out of his office. The gentlemanly offer was a foreign one and it showed as her fingers timidly rest against his palm and aided in her own effort to stand. Her eyes darted away swiftly once her ability to simply follow his instructions was brought into question, an awkward pause lingering as she grabbed at her purse and slung it over her shoulder.

“Of course…” She didn’t sound so sure, though.

The rest was a blur and before she knew it she stood outside his office door just as she heard the sound of it closing right behind her. For a moment, Kacey stood still in bewilderment. She felt worse than before. Not only had every excuse for her problems been tossed to the wind, but now she also had some semblance of a schedule that would have to be followed. Before she could leave the secretary stopped her and informed her of the Doctor’s recommendation: one visit a week. The girl’s heart stopped. A week?! She could feel her already dwindling reserves of paint beginning to dry.

Reluctantly, she agreed. Maybe if they banged through her issues fast (Oh I’m so funny.), she’d be business-oriented and just as forward as he was with strangers within a month or two. Deciding to ignore the irony of a returned self-help book, Kacey purchased a used version. The previous idiot had hi-lighted nearly the entire thing. Maybe they were more messed up than she was.

And so her daily routine began. An early morning shift at work, out by two in the afternoon, generally followed by a nap of some sort, then she was off to the dreaded mall. The first day was the worst. There were young children screaming, obnoxious teenagers trying to impress each other, and worst of all the pushy sales men and women that she had to avoid making eye contact with. Every day she had to share a bench with a stranger; some were noisier than others. But once she’d pulled out her book and began to read, the mall seemed less unbearable. Astoundingly, Kacey also managed to call on time more often than not. Sometimes ten or fifteen minutes late, but she managed.

“Hi Doctor, it’s Kacey.” She always introduced herself the same, sometimes she’d even ask how he was feeling, despite the fact that she was talking to his voicemail. At the beginning of the week, her messages mostly pertained to complaints about whatever atrocity she’d weathered through at the mall. Though as the days passed, her familiarity speaking with a response-less listener began to show through. “I’d never noticed that there are different types of cloudy days, and there’s such a thing as walking traffic!”

Inevitably, the Doctor himself began to frequently appear in her thoughts. How many people were calling him? How much dirt did he actually have? He was aloof to the point of being impossible to not wonder how he spent his free time. Sure, he likely took pleasures in hobbies far out of her price range, but what sorts in particular? Did the man care for a partner? Whatever soul mate he’d find would have to be just as steely-eyed and firm. The thought made her shiver. Her sketches began to stray from her usual style and took a darker twist. When she drew expressions they came out much more angular and the shading she used was closer to noire. What had begun as a simple study of anatomy slowly transformed into a strange desire to replicate Doctor Davis’ aggressive stare.

It took her countless attempts, and she cursed her own lack of forethought to actually study him. Sure, she could draw eyes, but she wanted his eyes. Nearly every free moment she had was spent attempting to replicate that confidence-shaking stare. Even up to the day of their second session Kacey was working. She’d checked in with the receptionist, who glanced over her like she was crazy.

She was dressed far worse than the last time. An over-sized hoodie hung loosely about her shoulders and ended at her thighs, the large sleeves bunched around her elbows. Tattered jeans kept her decent, a worn pair of converse at her feet. The entire outfit was splattered and smeared with paint, coal, and somehow bleach. Did she paint with that too? Having found a seat, her work continued. Several pencils were stuffed into a messy bun, and at intervals she’d exchange one for another to adjust between varying levels of graphite. Her fingers shimmered with lead, every inch used for smudging in an attempt to get a pair that looked just right.