Sin & Savior

CHAPTER 1, PART 2

As Scarlett walked, she rehearsed what she would say to Maria. The bustling hallway faded into a blur within her senses and quickly shot back into focus when she found herself face-to-face with a familiar, and unwanted, leer from Seraphina Grey: both her greatest academic and athletic rival. She'd tried the best she could to steal both scholastic achievement and athletic leadership from her over the last three years; still, she'd only managed to make co-captain of the NCAA Women's Division I Basketball Championship team their school highlighted and had ousted everyone except Scarlett in the race for Valedictorian of their graduating class. As such, the bitterness of their rivalry never "neared" fever-pitch; it existed there.

"I do not have the time for your bullshit tonight, Seraphina," Scarlett professed, seething and spitting through her teeth as she stomped aside—resolute to weave her way through the bustling crowd and cross the quad toward the counseling center, where she'd scheduled to meet Maria, a therapist who didn't belong to the staff of the University. Unfortunately, she hadn't expected what happened next. Seraphina gripped her wrist hard and spun her 180 degrees to meet her gaze.

"Stay the FUCK out of my business, Red! My relationship is not YOURS to commentate on, you fucking loser," she spat, venom on her teeth and tongue. "If you weren't so fucking miserable, maybe you'd have some business of your own to mind, but since NOBODY likes you, I suggest you do what all of us wish you would already and drop the fuck dead." Her eyes filled with a rage she couldn't physically comprehend as she pulled back her fist and readied it to swing. "Bitch, I oughtta..." she screamed before slamming her fists at her sides and breathing in deep as the doctor had warned her to whenever she was about to do something she would regret later. "You know what? You're not even worth it," she said before turning and barreling her long-legged steps towards the central outlet of the campus, happier than she had ever been in her entire life to be headed off to meet with a therapist.

Since childhood, she'd always been told by her mother that therapists were the scum of the earth. Vile, problematic creatures with the sole career motive in life of telling people what's wrong with them, the world, and not ever with the motive of providing solutions or the truth. Dr. Manley, however, the only "father figure" she'd ever had in her life, had quite an alternative stance: that talk therapy, based on Freudian principles, while often reliant on the patients providing solutions for themselves by venting the basins of their inner consciousness and outletting onto a patient, listening ear, was entirely different than analytical therapy. Based on Jungian principles, he would posit this mode of therapy far more practical and useful for a more visceral thinker like Scarlett, with solutions-oriented therapy methods and a hard focus on coping techniques that required both the active conscious and subconscious mind to work together in unison in order to solve problems—a means of healing that was methodical and proven enough for Scarlett to get herself behind.

The fact that she was so resentful toward her mother for the way she'd been raised made her decision to meet with Maria today easy, as did her unfortunate run-in with the bane of her existence. Seraphina Grey had been a thorn in her side for the entirety of her collegiate experience, ruining not only the institution of learning itself for her with her presence but the burning hope she'd had toward finally being able to build a social life outside of the stifling discomfort of her hovering, over-protective mother's home. If she'd laid her out in that hallway, she'd have put her entire future at risk for one momentary satisfaction. Knowing Seraphina, that's precisely what she'd wanted her to do. Instead, she cast a wide, unbothered smile across her face, brilliantly disguising the inner turmoil she experienced at hearing her words, and stormed her way towards Maria's office. Fifteen minutes later, she'd arrive: sweaty, sullen, unsure, and grasping at her elbow with her left hand as she entered the lobby of the counseling center.

"Hi! How can I help you today?" The receptionist chimed with an unfamiliar tone at Scarlett, a tone she wasn't used to hearing. For some reason, no matter how successful she became, how kind she strove to be, or how personable her demeanor was, she couldn't make an honest friend to save her life. Everyone was either out to use her, then dispose of her when they found themselves tired of her presence, or they would behave as if her existence itself were an inconvenience. One former friend of hers told her that she was "uncomfortable to be around," but never expressed why, and the thought itself directed every self-loathing, demeaning, depressive thought she'd had for the last fifteen years. She approached Maria's office now in a sincere hope that she could be the guiding light that would help or allow her to find friendship before her entire college experience found itself at an end. No parties, no bonfires, no sleepovers, no sorority acceptance...just basketball.

"Hi, yes, my name is Scarlett Rosewood, and I'm here to see Maria Nash," she said with near-bated breaths, hoping the walls wouldn't come crashing down in some uncertain, unexpected way—a canceled appointment, a double-booking, or an entire disinterest in even fielding her presence. All at once, her anxiety and depression began creeping in, worsening with every deep breath she'd tried to take in order to calm herself down. As the therapist clacked at her keyboard and rattled off times, dates, and names under her breath, the paranoia that silhouetted her soul like an aimless wraith intent to devour—the receptionist finally piped up and spoke."Ah. Scarlett Rosewood?" she said, looking up and meeting her eyes with a piqued curiosity spread across her face.

"Yes," she said, hoping the only thing that would go wrong was the unencumbered attack on her psyche battering her to silence without relief.

"Mrs. Nash is waiting for you in her office. Give me just one moment, and I'll go grab her, okay?" she said with a well-meaning smile.

"Okay," Scarlett responded, despondent, and with darkened eyes, patiently waiting out what she hoped would be the first step toward turning her experience from an altogether negative one into a positive.

Ten minutes later, the receptionist would arrive with an incredibly attractive young woman in tow: light brown skin, green hazel eyes, long torso-length black hair, with a slender frame, and the curvaceous jaw any local neighborhood supermodel would lie, steal, or kill for."Hi!" she said, extending her arm to greet her with a happy handshake. "I'm Dr. Nash. Dr. Manley has told me so much about you. All good things, as I'm certain you know," she exclaimed, the smile spread from her chin to cheek welcoming and genuine. Scarlett uneasily outstretched her hand to meet her own and gave a firm but weakened handshake in reply."It's a pleasure meeting you," she said, with both fear and hopefulness dancing over her tongue."Follow me," Mrs. Nash said before turning and clacking her ivory 3-inch heeled shoes across the hardwood floor satisfyingly, guiding her the full length of a labyrinth of tunneled hallways and into her office. "Right this way," she said, guiding Scarlett towards the door of her office and shimmying the key into the bronze-handled L-shaped lock until it clicked loudly. As she opened the door, Scarlett stepped into the frame not expecting what she would see next. This office was far less sanitary and sterile than she'd imagined. Wall-to-wall white paint was her initial assumption, but this therapist was clearly not your average doctor, and this was clearly not your average office. Navy blue and vanilla cream two-toned paint, and mahogany wainscoting separating the two colors adorned her office, along with large charts of data analytics, graphs, matrices, and an incredibly stocked library laden across the wall. She strode lithely across the office floor until finding her footing near a couch in the corner of the office and patting the seat beside her. Her eyes worked their way upward to meet Scarlett's uneven gaze, and she lifted a pen and notebook before asking the question that Scarlett found herself unable to answer for the entirety of her natural life until this moment: that dried her mouth to even hear it."...Now...how can I help you?"