the moral of the story

chapter thirty: therapy with florence and dr. walker

i think i'm starting to regret thinking that the idea of therapy wasn't a good one.

it seemed like a decent thought at the time. i mean, the time was really not that long ago, but that's not the point. things with oliver were good, nobody knew about us, and i was just in a good mood when i asked my mom. but after everything that's just happened, i can't see myself opening up to a stranger on a couch anytime soon.

that's what i told mom this morning. she still made me go. since the session's already paid for and all.

and now the lady sitting across from me—she told me to call her dr. walker—is staring at me like she knows all my secrets. her sun-blonde hair is tied back in a tight bun, and she wears thick-times black glasses that i probably would've wanted in middle school. hugging her petite body is a grey work dress that i'm sure some lawyer has worn in the courtroom at some point. her legs are crossed, and her arms are folded in her lap with a pen and a piece of paper.

i twiddle my thumbs in my lap, not wanting to be the one to say something first. i mean, what the hell am i gonna say? hey there doctor, i'm here because my boyfriend dumped me a year ago and the repercussions of that have ruined my ability to make and maintain relationships. fix me. god, why did i think this was a good idea again?

turns out, dr. walker is the first one to speak. "is this your first time in therapy, florence?"

"uh, yeah." i laugh uncomfortably. "is it that obvious?"

dr. walker only chuckles, glancing down at her lap and sighs. "your mom told me in her email, but i wanted to hear from you. why are you in therapy?"

i start to pick at my fingernails in my lap. "um, i guess i just have a lot of unresolved issues."

"i see. and was it your decision to come to therapy, or are you here against your will?"

i flinch at dr. walker's bluntness, but it somehow eases me. i like that she's not treating me like a child, or really sugar-coating anything. she must have a few teenage patients to understand that a lot of times, we do things we don't wanna do simply because our parents make us. i think back to that conversation i had with my mom a few months ago, where she told me i had to do something. and i guess that was sorta the best thing ever, because that was how i met diana. and oliver.

oliver. i close my eyes and wince.

"it was my decision." i answer honestly.

dr. walker nods, writing something down on her notepad. "why was that? what was the driving force that got you into that seat?"

i freeze. i don't even know where to start with that question. in order to answer that, i'm pretty sure i would have to go through and pick apart every little thing that happened to me over the past year and a half. from james, to hallie, to my mom, my dad, my sister. to oliver, to diana, and why they made me realize i deserve to get better. the question is so little, so harmless and seemingly easy to answer. but  my tongue dries up and i have trouble finding the answer.

"it's...it's a really long story. like, a really long story." i respond, continuing to pick at my fingernails.

"well we've got an hour," dr. walker gestures to the clock hanging on the wall adjacent to me, "why don't you start from the beginning?"

"um." i mumble, glancing down at my fingers and twirling my thumbs round and round.

a sense of uneasiness overcomes me at the idea of talking about all of it. i'm not sure i ever have. i mean, oliver and diana sorta already knew the whole story from james and all them, but i don't i've ever really talked about it all that much with them. but i know i need to do this. if not for myself, then for roman. because if he gets the deal with netflix, and if i chicken out before i can say anything, he won't be pleased with me for ruining his chances at becoming a great director.