The Calling | The House of Voices #1

Eight - Sessions

Sessions

“Let’s start with the basics, okay?”

I looked away from the antique bookcase that I’d been staring at from the time I had taken a seat on the large, cushiony sofa in Dr. Michelson’s office. I had been admiring the young doctor’s taste in literature. Austin, Grisham, King, London, Proust, the Bard, Wordsworth, Wilde, Lehane... It was a very vast collection. I was tempted to get on his good side just so that I could peruse through his collection.

The minute he spoke, however, I dispelled that thought. I wasn’t going to play nice just because I wanted to get into some guy’s bookcase – no matter how appealing the novels on his shelf were.

“Basics?” I repeated, pulling my legs onto the sofa and adjusting them so that I sat crossed legged. “What do you mean?”

He azure eyes twinkled as he pulled a legal pad from a drawer in his desk and sat down in the stuffed armchair opposite me. Pulling a pen out from his shirt pocket, he tapped at the top of the page.

“Let’s start with your personal information, shall we?” he suggested with a smile. “What’s your full name?”

I felt my eyebrows rise on my forehead.

“You’re kidding, right?” I asked incredulously.

“Nope. I’m not.” He lifted his left leg to balance upon his right knee, his face completely serious.

As I might have mentioned, Dr. Darren was an extremely good-looking man. Sure he was a little short – around five-eight, if I had to guess – but those azure blue eyes, that lean yet muscular build, dimpled smile, and shiny, dark brown hair more than made up for that. It took a lot of mental strength for me to regain focus, tear my eyes away from him and think of a response.

“Isn’t it on my file?” I asked, indicating the slim file lying on the table beside him with a nod of my head.

The shadow of a smile played on his lips. “Just tell me.”

Rolling my eyes, I conceded. “Fine. It’s October Leigh Grimmes.”

Nodding, Dr. Michelson scribbled what I assumed was my name on his notepad. His face didn’t show any signs of surprise or intrigue. This was old news to him. I knew he’d read my file.

“When were you born?”

“Wha—?”

“Just answer the question.”

“December thirty-first.”

“Parent’s names?”

“Oh, for crying out loud. Did you lose my file or something?”

He chuckled; a loud, happy sound. “No, I didn’t. I just want to get the information from you.”

“Don’t worry. My parents didn’t lie on the forms. Everything in there’s the truth.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head this time. “I know that, October. It’s just a little exercise I practice with all my patients.”

“Well, it’s a complete waste of time. Aren’t we supposed to be discussing my childhood?” I asked, irritably, raising my eyebrows, challenging him. “Or even the accident.”

“We’ll get to that in a minute.” Damn. I’d reminded him. “Just humor me, okay?”

“Fine, Dr. Michelson. Have it your way.”

“Darren, please.” He corrected. “Dr. Michelson is my father.”

I rolled my eyes, feeling more and more irritated with each passing second. I wasn’t buying this whole Nice-Doctor act. Something was up. “Fine. Darren it is.”