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CHAPTER TEN
"Long time no see," Vicky's soft-toned voice echoes through the office. I'm tired, and the last thing I want to do is talk to her right now—or ever. I'm not even sure why I keep coming here.
All I know is that I don't want to be here whenever I am. I nod at her statement, giving her a small "yes, I'm aware" smile. She writes something down with one hand while fiddling with a ring on the other. I try to get a closer look to see if it's a wedding ring of some sort, but I doubt it.
Simply because there are no pendants or designs—just a silver ring covering half of one of her small hand tattoos. She looks up at me, and her hair falls back into place. She changed it. She would usually have it in a ponytail or high bun, but today it's down and straightened.
She dresses the same, though. She has on a beige button-down shirt with the first two buttons undone—which I'm not sure is even appropriate, but whatever. Paired with that, she wears navy blue suit pants.
Cute.
"You missed your session last week."
"Are you telling me or asking me?"
"Cory." Her voice is stern and somewhat... intimidating? The look on her face tells me she's fed up.
"I'm trying, Cory. I really am. But the attitude you walk in with makes it very hard. It's like you don't want to get better. Is that it? Do you just want to be stuck in the same place for the rest of your life? If so, do you. But don't let your mom waste her money to let you be here if you won't do the work." She ends her sentence with a sigh and a shake of her head.
A deep breath leaves my lips—not wanting to talk, per usual. She's right; my mom has been wasting her money. I don't want things to end how they usually do, but I don't like talking about my feelings. They never help—just make me sad.
But I'm sure I can at least try before giving up again.
She has a defeated look on her face when, yet again, I don't say anything. I want to; I just don't like sharing. "What do you wanna know?"
Her gaze meets mine, and she tries to hide it, but a small smile plays on her face. "Let's talk about what it was like growing up for you."
I raise my left eyebrow. "Why? Aren't we supposed to be talking about my depression?" She clicks her pen on her thigh as she prepares to speak.
"Yes, we are. But there are so many factors in depression. Home life has a lot to do with many cases. So let's just start there. It doesn't have to be anything too deep—just talk."
