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on_thecouch Why are you here?
Jun. 14th, 2008 11:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sweetsalomeAuthor's note: This is to be posted in on_thecouch, when I finally get Sal's invite to the community. Heh.
The building was old, and even in the California sun it stood rather dark and deserted. She picked the building because it looked lonely, and she picked the shrink in the building because he looked like he needed something to do.
The name on the frosted window of the door door read in lettering that had seen better times: Ric Bowser, Family therapy. The hours of operation under it were in the same faded paint, except it looked like someone at one time tried to change it, but gave up. So the only indication that someone was in was a sign on the door knob that said: "The doctor is IN" and the other, "The doctor is OUT." At the time of her arrival, the sign read "IN."
on_thecouch, when I finally get Sal's invite to the community. Heh.The building was old, and even in the California sun it stood rather dark and deserted. She picked the building because it looked lonely, and she picked the shrink in the building because he looked like he needed something to do.
The name on the frosted window of the door door read in lettering that had seen better times: Ric Bowser, Family therapy. The hours of operation under it were in the same faded paint, except it looked like someone at one time tried to change it, but gave up. So the only indication that someone was in was a sign on the door knob that said: "The doctor is IN" and the other, "The doctor is OUT." At the time of her arrival, the sign read "IN."
It looked more like Sam Spade's office, not an office for a therapist. Maybe she expected people, white walls, or a sound of nature CD playing. She didn't find any of that. The waiting room was empty, silent, the only noise was shuffling papers from another room. Maybe some coughing and moving through the yellowed, paper thin walls. An empty desk sat in one corner, while a few benches and chairs pressed up against the walls for waiting patients.
Except they were empty, and looked rather dusty, as if they hadn't been occupied for some time. Old back dated issues of Time, The New Yorker, and National Geographic, littered the coffee table the most recent being from nineteen eighty, a good eleven years before she was born.
She stood there for a long time, wondering what she was suppose to do. It didn't help that she felt like an idiot by just being there, now to stand around and wait seemed to add insult to injury. She was just about to walk out, when the door in front of her opened and out stepped the doctor.
He was a tall man, with slightly mused salt and pepper hair, and soft brown eyes that seemed to be either constantly sad or contemplative. His nose was hawkish, thin and straight, a testament to his Italian heritage, she supposed. She couldn't read him and for some reason that made her feel a bit more secure. Still, the silence between them was awkward, with the tall, sloping man looked at the blond in his office and then at the door. With a raised eyebrow he pointed to the door. "Auditions are down the hall."
There was more silence as she turned her head to look at the door, then slowly back toward him. "I'm not here for an audition." She finally spoke, and then glanced at the floor, too much eye contact and he could read her mind. That she was sure of.
When some more silence passed between them, the man cleared his throat softly and finally asked, "Why are you here?"
That was the million dollar question. Why was she here? In her mind there was nothing wrong with her. For years she had been raised a certain way, to believe certain things. They seemed perfectly normal to her, they just had to be a secret. In her urge to trust someone, to share everything about her to someone, she had let the secret slip, and that's why she was here. Because maybe things growing up weren't okay, weren't normal, no matter how hard she wanted them to be.
Maybe her father was a bad man, and maybe he made her bad too because of what he did. Or, maybe if she didn't go, they would lock her up, just like her crazy mother.
"I think I need help." She finally answered the lingering question with a shrug, eyes still down cast. The doctor didn't speak but stepped aside and motioned to the room he had just stepped from. "Please, take a seat. Tell me everything."
(679)
Except they were empty, and looked rather dusty, as if they hadn't been occupied for some time. Old back dated issues of Time, The New Yorker, and National Geographic, littered the coffee table the most recent being from nineteen eighty, a good eleven years before she was born.
She stood there for a long time, wondering what she was suppose to do. It didn't help that she felt like an idiot by just being there, now to stand around and wait seemed to add insult to injury. She was just about to walk out, when the door in front of her opened and out stepped the doctor.
He was a tall man, with slightly mused salt and pepper hair, and soft brown eyes that seemed to be either constantly sad or contemplative. His nose was hawkish, thin and straight, a testament to his Italian heritage, she supposed. She couldn't read him and for some reason that made her feel a bit more secure. Still, the silence between them was awkward, with the tall, sloping man looked at the blond in his office and then at the door. With a raised eyebrow he pointed to the door. "Auditions are down the hall."
There was more silence as she turned her head to look at the door, then slowly back toward him. "I'm not here for an audition." She finally spoke, and then glanced at the floor, too much eye contact and he could read her mind. That she was sure of.
When some more silence passed between them, the man cleared his throat softly and finally asked, "Why are you here?"
That was the million dollar question. Why was she here? In her mind there was nothing wrong with her. For years she had been raised a certain way, to believe certain things. They seemed perfectly normal to her, they just had to be a secret. In her urge to trust someone, to share everything about her to someone, she had let the secret slip, and that's why she was here. Because maybe things growing up weren't okay, weren't normal, no matter how hard she wanted them to be.
Maybe her father was a bad man, and maybe he made her bad too because of what he did. Or, maybe if she didn't go, they would lock her up, just like her crazy mother.
"I think I need help." She finally answered the lingering question with a shrug, eyes still down cast. The doctor didn't speak but stepped aside and motioned to the room he had just stepped from. "Please, take a seat. Tell me everything."
(679)
