"HOW NICE OF YOU TO JOIN ME, NATALIA.."
"IT'S ACTUALLY NATASHA, BUT, CLOSE ENOUGH.."
"WHATEVER DUMBASS.."
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loss
noun
plural noun: losses
1. the fact or process of losing something or someone.
"Losing someone you love, it doesn't ever go a...
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"SHOW HIM AROUND DOWNTOWN.."
---¤☆¤---
Gods, how long was this going to take? Twirling the phone cord with her finger, she chews on her bottom lip, listening to the ringing of the other end. Would she pick up? Was this even the right phone number? Drumming her nails against the side of her desk, she debates slamming her head against her vanity. This was so boring. Letting out a loud sigh, there was a loud click of the phone being picked up, making her perk up at the sound. She picked up! Finally!
"Um, Dr Gibson?" She questions, praying that it was her.
"Ah, Natasha! Hi, how are you feeling?"
"Much better than our last session. I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to be so rude, I just had to get out of there." She explains, "It was like the air was choking me."
"That's fine, I understand. From what you're saying, it sounds like you had a panic attack?"
"Oh, yeah. But, um...So I'm going on a trip on Saturday with my Dad." She tries to change the subject. "We're going to go back to where my parents met."
There's a long pause, going to open her mouth to speak, there's suddenly a loud crash in the background. It sounded like a cartoonish shattering of glass. Furrowing her brows at the sound, she bites her tongue, was everything okay? Was she okay? Should she speak up?
No. What if it was nothing? What if it was just something on the TV? That's happened before with Tori. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she just lets Dr Gibson make the first move. She'd tell her to ignore the odd background if needed, right?
"Oh, sorry about that, my cat's claw got stuck on the curtain and freaked out. Everything is fine, don't worry. But, that sounds wonderful! Where is that? When are you going?"
"Um, can we talk about this on Thursday? Like in-person?" She squeaks out, "Is that okay? Or should I call back another time?"
"That sounds great! I'll have you come around my office and we'll talk about this."
"Do you mean your personal office? You mean not your one in school?" She questions, unsure if she was getting things right.
"Yes, my personal office. It's not too far away from the school. So it's 333 E 149th Street, Bronx, New York 10451. Did you get that?"
Scrambling for a pen and paper, she spots a sharpie, but could't find a single piece of paper. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck knuckles! How the fuck does she not have ANY paper in her desk? She was supposed to have paper somewhere! It was a fucking desk for gods sake! Opening her drawers, she scrambles to find even a scrap of paper. Nothing! How the fuck does that happen?
Grunting at the lack of paper, she grits her teeth, letting out another loud grunt. Frustratedly rolling up her sleeve, she quickly scribbled down the address on the back of her hand. The stance of the sharpie making her cringe. '333 E 149th Street, Bronx, New York 10451', okay then. That didn't sound too far away.
