17 Made Mistakes

⋆20༄ The session.

Hello! Enjoy the chapter. Love you all xxx

——————————

Will's POV

Tick-tock. Tick-tock — is all I've been hearing for the last couple of minutes. Honestly, whoever invented the clock, must've been a sociopath that gleaned some great pleasure from driving people crazy, because that's what the perpetual ticking is doing to me right now — driving me insane.

With my leg restlessly bouncing and my teeth fiercely latching on the inside of my cheek due to the growing irritation, I start to consider letting up and heading back home, but as I'm about to get up, the door opens, and a familiar voice says my name. "William, please, come in."

Exhaling in relief of not having to listen to the sound of the clock anymore, I abandon the chair and unhurriedly make my way into the office that I've just been called into.

My hand lands on the handle as I close the door behind me, feeling more confident than ever before.

"Please, take a seat." Her clear voice resounds in the quiet room; the room that I've gotten to know way too well in the past.

I bend my knees and slowly ease myself onto a leather, chocolate-coloured, Chesterfield sofa, which creaks under the weight of my body as I rest down. My sight immediately wanders to a golden, name plate seated on an antique, hand-carved desk — Dr. Nicole Abbot. B. A. (Hons.), Ph. D. written on it in an Arial font.

"I must say, I was outright surprised when you called to schedule this meeting," she breaks the silence, probably because it makes her uncomfortable. "Positively surprised, of course." Her mouth quirks at the corners whilst she rests her derriere against the swanky desk.

"Good." I lie down, extend my legs on the sofa and bring my arms behind my head, which I then turn to Nicole. "This place needs some redecorating." I purposely tease with my frivolous talk.

"Last time I checked you liked it." Her voice remains professional and calm, her fingers grip into the edges of the glossy desk that she's resting against.

"Is that what you told my father when you wore this skirt?" I give her nude tights a once-over.

Being the therapist she is, she takes no notice of my insolent remark, which nevertheless rapidly wipes her sweet smile away. "I knew it'd only be a matter of time before you want to talk about it—"

"On the contrary." My carefree tone expunges the sound of her voice. My eyes slide to the ceiling whilst I cross my legs. "I'm not here to rant about your hook up with my old man."

"What would you like to talk about then?" Quietly, she clears her throat, trying her best to sound unbothered. There is an edge to her voice that unfortunately betrays her — she's staggered that I don't want to harangue dwelling on the past.

"A girl." I examine the smoothed to perfection, white ceiling.

"You want to talk about a girl?" she repeats, intrigued, yet slightly surprised.

"I mean, if it's a problem—"

"No, of course it's not," she rushes her words, certainly not wanting to disappoint me once again. She then pushes herself off the desk, grabs a chair, and drags it across the room so she can sit closer to my extended on the sofa body. "What seems to be the problem then?" She folds her hands atop her knees. "Is the girl making you feel down?"

"No," I chuckle, turning my head to the side. Nicole's scrutinizing eyes meet mine. "She's not so bad actually."

"Then why do you want to talk about her?"