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vyttor
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Mar 27, 2011
It was a posh lobby, but not in the clean modern way of the buildings Robert had been seeing more and more in his job - and to which he had been having a hard time getting used. This one felt a bit more... "classic", the colours less bright, the paintings on the wall slightly more faded, the ceiling lower. The pair of leather armchairs on the corner almost gave it a cozy feeling. The security desk was unavoidable from the entrance. The guard on duty didn't look up as he caught Robert's ID, "Where you going today?"
Robert didn't consciously register giving him the name of the doctor - his mind had been thrashing around for the whole cab ride and wouldn't stop now. As the man took his time jotting useless stuff into a little notebook, Robert tried to trace back what had brought him here, hopeful that it might calm his nerves. Some might say that one year after graduation wasn't enough time, but he saw how his peers had adjusted much faster to the job. Sports Marketing had seemed the perfect fit for him, and everyone at the agency had been very excited to welcome the former varsity athlete. But... he hadn't been doing as well in the corporate world, missing something from his days as a competitive surfer. And yet he couldn't quite place what it was that was lowering his motivation, scattering his focus. Could a therapist help? He wasn't even sure.
"Here Mr. Cavallero", the man behind the counter returned the ID and looked up at the young man with a smile that didn't hide some jealousy. The man had seen better days, but now over 50 with a bald head, wrinkled skin, and a couple of layers of extra pounds pushing against the uniform, he felt rather than saw the contrast to the still attractive visitor. Robert was just shy of 1.80m and clearly fit. The smart blue blazer was well filled by broad shoulders, even if his chest more on the slim side. The open top button of the red shirt let out a small tuft of black hair, the same dense hair that fully covered his head with no signs of receding, flowing down to his neck as if carefully layered by an expert cake decorator. His face was clean shaven though, displaying a strong square jaw. Robert himself was quite proud of how he looked, and even had taken very good care of his skin during all those days at the sea, though now he felt his tan had waned too much. Not that any of that mattered now, of course. This was a professional setting and he was here for therapy.
Robert grabbed the document back quickly and headed to the elevator. "Thank you," he said intuitively, over his shoulder as he was already walking away. He had to get into the office quickly before he changed his mind about even being there. With each step he took, the doubts grew in his head, along with all the thoughts of turning around and not looking back. He forced himself through it with a bit of a blackout until he found himself in front of a heavy wooden door with the doctor's name on it. He knocked strong and slow and waited.
Robert didn't consciously register giving him the name of the doctor - his mind had been thrashing around for the whole cab ride and wouldn't stop now. As the man took his time jotting useless stuff into a little notebook, Robert tried to trace back what had brought him here, hopeful that it might calm his nerves. Some might say that one year after graduation wasn't enough time, but he saw how his peers had adjusted much faster to the job. Sports Marketing had seemed the perfect fit for him, and everyone at the agency had been very excited to welcome the former varsity athlete. But... he hadn't been doing as well in the corporate world, missing something from his days as a competitive surfer. And yet he couldn't quite place what it was that was lowering his motivation, scattering his focus. Could a therapist help? He wasn't even sure.
"Here Mr. Cavallero", the man behind the counter returned the ID and looked up at the young man with a smile that didn't hide some jealousy. The man had seen better days, but now over 50 with a bald head, wrinkled skin, and a couple of layers of extra pounds pushing against the uniform, he felt rather than saw the contrast to the still attractive visitor. Robert was just shy of 1.80m and clearly fit. The smart blue blazer was well filled by broad shoulders, even if his chest more on the slim side. The open top button of the red shirt let out a small tuft of black hair, the same dense hair that fully covered his head with no signs of receding, flowing down to his neck as if carefully layered by an expert cake decorator. His face was clean shaven though, displaying a strong square jaw. Robert himself was quite proud of how he looked, and even had taken very good care of his skin during all those days at the sea, though now he felt his tan had waned too much. Not that any of that mattered now, of course. This was a professional setting and he was here for therapy.
Robert grabbed the document back quickly and headed to the elevator. "Thank you," he said intuitively, over his shoulder as he was already walking away. He had to get into the office quickly before he changed his mind about even being there. With each step he took, the doubts grew in his head, along with all the thoughts of turning around and not looking back. He forced himself through it with a bit of a blackout until he found himself in front of a heavy wooden door with the doctor's name on it. He knocked strong and slow and waited.