Blood For Blood - A Kellic Fanfiction

Six. The Bomb

Author's Note: Wattpad wouldn't let me name this chapter "the bomb dot com v2.0", so I just named it "The Bomb". Also want to say sorry for taking ages to update this story. I'll try to be quicker next time. Enjoy :)

And I'm hoping there's some way I can follow,

I know somehow there's something new.

The next afternoon, I'm walking down the street to get to know San Diego better. I've chosen a nice place. The sun is shining, people are out and about, and all the shops are open. I turn right down an alleyway, passing a stray dog, and come out of the alleyway to find myself facing a large building. Attached to the front of the building are big bold letters that spell:

Alton's Psychological Centre

I look in through the window. There's a white counter to the left with a bored looking young woman behind it, filing her nails. On the other side of the room, there are a few blue seats with a magazine-covered coffee table in front. In the background is a corridor but I can't see where it leads from here. On the wall behind the woman at the counter is a sign that says "Book an appointment with your therapist today". 

I think to myself. Do I need therapy? It's probably a terrible idea...what if they find out I'm a vampire? What am I supposed to tell them, that I'm a murderer who just so happens to have red eyes and sharp fangs and pale skin and vampirism? Would they accept that? Of course not. But I do think about Katelynne a lot...and they're not nice thoughts. Maybe if I worded it very carefully...

I sigh and step inside. My issue isn't very extreme, but I suppose therapy could help.

The woman behind the counter stops filing her nails when I come over and looks up at me.

"Hi," she says with a Tennessee accent. "How can I help?"

"I'd like to book an appointment, please," I reply.

"Sure thing," she says, pressing some keys on the computer in front of her. "Do you want it today? We're not busy."

Nor am I. "Yeah, okay."

"Do you have a preference for which therapist you'd like to see?"

"No."

This is getting a bit tedious.

"What time d'ya want your appointment?"

"I don't care. Anytime."

I'm not the most patient of people.

"Would ya like it now?"

"Sure."

"Can I take your name, Sir?"

Is this a good idea? What if she recognises my name? I wasn't a well-known criminal, but news gets around...what if she won't let me have an appointment? No - she won't know my name. Probably. Either way, it's worth a try.

"Kellin Bostwick," I say cautiously.

I silently pray that she doesn't know my name.

She presses a few more keys, clicks a couple of things and then looks up at me.

"Alright, Mr Bostwick," she says, forcing a smile. "Your appointment is with Dr. Fuentes in ten minutes. If you'd like to take a seat..."

Thank God! She gestures to the blue seats on the other side of the room. Relieved, I go and take a seat.

When I'm sitting down, I pick up a random magazine from the coffee table, which happens to be Juice Magazine. Juice Magazine is one of those crappy magazines for men that only contain pictures of half naked women. I've got ten minutes, so I might as well look in the magazine. I flip through the pages, expecting to be "aroused" by the pictures I see. I peer up and see the woman behind the counter giving me a cheeky and slightly surprised look. I awkwardly look back down at the magazine. To my surprise, I don't feel a thing when I see any of the photos of models. I guess I should, because aren't men my age supposed to be turned on when they look at this kind of thing? But I'm just not. I feel bad for the models, in a way. This isn't who they really are. They've been made to look "perfect", but "perfect" isn't their true selves. I chuckle to myself. I'm such a weird man.