Once Upon A Bet

/25/ Am I broken?

Dedicated to OneBloodyWriter, thanks for all the amazing suport so far

I didn't know what I was doing here.

I keep glancing at the clock, my leg madly bouncing as minutes stretched and the only sound in the pin-dropping silence was the tik-tak from the seconds passing. All while feeling the gaze of the woman in the cushioned armchair before me, ready to write in that little notebook folded in her lap.

Doctor Meryl Darwood.

The therapist.

She told me to just call her Meryl as if that would erase all the awkwardness drowning the room.

Again, why did I summited to this torture?

I shifted on the sofa, really uncomfortable the more moments it lasted, fiddling with my hair, eying the pictures on the walls, books in the shelves... And she was still doing nothing but to sit there, looking calm as ever.

I didn't know what I was expecting; but certainly when I accepted this first therapy session I thought I would be facing, I don't know, a bit more talking. I knew I would have hated it and maybe used it as an excuse not to come ever again, but now I wasn't sure if I rather this anguishing long silence.

At some point the anticipation was too much and I forced words to come out. "How long do these things usually last?"

The middle aged woman in front of me smiled softly, adjusting her spectacles from the tip of her nose. "You've paid for an hour session."

I hummed, my leg bouncing madly without me even noticing. "And how long has passed?"

"Ten minutes."

My eyes widened. Ten minutes?! And they'd felt like years. How was I supposed to survive the next fifty?

"Look, Novella." Meryl leaned forward, seeking for my gaze with her kind one, spreading a calming vibe that somehow made this all feel a little less awkward... or it would have under a different a kind of pressure. "There's no reason for this to be a tense hour. You've paid for me to help you with something, right? Wanna talk about that?"

My heart picked up at the final inquiring. "I-I'm sorry, I've never done this before and I'm... not good at sharing personal stuff."

"That's okay." she grinned a little, understanding. "Silence speaks for itself too."

So she could still read me just by sitting here before her. I casted my gaze down, taking in a shaky breath. "I'm not sure about this..."

"Why not?" she asked carefully, but I pursed my lips, unable to give her a proper answer and hating how confused and lost I was about everything.

I came here... Wasn't it enough? It took me a lot of hesitation, a lot of struggling with myself to achieve every step: getting out of bed, into the cab, take the lift... it felt like and odyssey and I felt even more ridiculous on top of sick.

I shifted on the cushions, still uncomfortable no matter what and I had to blink the stinging in my eyes. What the hell am I doing here?

"Let's start with something easy, yes?" I nodded faintly, fighting back the constant squeezing in my chest. I was not going to have another anxiety attack in here. "Alright." I heard her opening the notebook and clicking the pen. "I can tell this session isn't something you're feeling very inclined to take. So, why are you here?"

Why was I here? Where to begin? Two days ago I hit a breaking point in that roof. I stay up there for over an hour after Dalia left me, somehow controlling the panic attack, and stood on the verge, looking down, watching my life passing before my eyes; balancing everything, considering everything...