⌁ Thunder ⌁ Lana Del Rey Fanfiction

chapter twenty-five: plans

February 28th

The ding of the elevator causes my head to shoot straight up from the ground. My eyes dart towards the small waiting room, complete with massive windows that let me see the large drop of the building.

I steadily walk in direction to the desk, where a secretary is answering a call. She glances to me and gives a small smile before finishing up on the phone.

"Welcome!" She stands up from her chair and extends her hand over the ledge of the desk. "Alejandra, for 11 o'clock, right?" She asks, a bit too cheery for my liking. I shake her hand briefly and nod my head once.

I don't need to be in this place.

"Right this way." She walks around the desk and starts towards a door at the end of the waiting room.

I start following.

She knocks on the door three times before a heavy voice half-yells, "Come in." This only serves to intimidate me, but i'd rather die than admit that.

The secretary swings the door open and waves for me to head in. As I do so, bringing one foot in after the other, the wave of regret washes over me almost immediately.

I keep my gaze down until I feel that I'm present in the room enough. The door clicks close behind me which only leads me to know that there's no turning back.

"Hi, Alejandra." The voice I hadn't put a face to calls out from a few feet away. I finally look up with a grin. "I'm Dr. Harrison." He introduces himself with a loose formality before standing up to shake my hand.

"Hello." I manage to mumble as I pull my hand back. He gives a reassuring smile, knowing well that I'm uncomfortable, but it doesn't seem to help at how much I think being here is pointless.

"Just take a seat there," He nudges his head slightly and points to a leather seat adjacent to another. "And we can get started in a moment."

I take a seat and sit stiff, awkwardly. I clasp my fingers and palms together as Dr. Harrison shuffles a few papers on his desk. The wait feels long, almost as if it's on purpose.

Thought it wasn't, and I was just paranoid, nervous, and afraid of talking.

When he finally takes a seat at the other chair, with a pen and pad in hand over a few files, he glances to me and lets his attention stay. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm...alright," I dryly answer. This isn't enough of an answer, and I know it.

"You might be a bit nervous, but that's completely normal." He grins. "Is this your first time seeking therapy?"

I wince at his last word. The first time it'd been brought up was just a few weeks back by my father.

I think back to a few days before, when I nervously made the call to the clinic after surfing the internet, looking for the right place. They managed to squeeze me in sooner than I thought, much to my dismay.

A place not in Lake Placid, or Plattsburgh. A few towns over just to make sure my secrets would never make it out to see the light of day. Funny. Being cautious even when looking for therapy.

"mhm." I hum, keeping my eyes trained on a specific patch of the wooden coffee table out in front of me.

Tracing these little paths of lines, that mark how old the tree that it all came from was, and noticing the water rings of coffee cups and mugs that have tragically faded out the surface of the wood stain.