Shadow Of A Tomboy

Chapter 22 - Therapy

I am Constantly tired of having the thoughts of killing myself or killing those around me. Both of those seem to be the only two choices. Everything else is just killing time.

***

Therapy. Fucking Therapy.

That's where I was sat waiting. For a goddamn fucking therapist to ask me shitty little questions in order for me to kill myself in my head a million times and not give the littlest of fucks.

The building was old and so was the lady at the reception. A mid-40 year old woman who looked as if she'd been hit by a hobo truck. From what she was wearing, I could tell she was a nut case and probably needed more therapy than I actually did.

"Valerie Vandevier!" She shouted from behind the desk, whilst sighing and taking a sip from an old coffee mug.

Both Mom and Andy got up whilst I folded my arms and looked down.

"I'm not going" I told them, angrily.

"Stop acting like a child and come on!" Mom shouted, as those around us, also waiting looked at us.

"I'll only go in if Andy stay's here" I said, glaring at Andy who sighed and took a seat.

"Fine, let's go" I followed Mom into the small corridor with different sorts of wards. But this seemed much better than the previous sort of therapists I had been to before.

Opening the door, Mom stepped into the modernized room with me just behind. It was a spacious room with two chocolate coloured Couches facing each other and a coffee table in the middle, at the window side of the room there was a large desk with a comfortable looking leather office chair. At the far end there was a drawer with food on top of it and a TV at the opposite the Couches. The walls were white with the touches of canvases which spelt out the word 'Life' under each letter there was a sentence. It was almost an acrostic poem. 'Live it fairly evenly'

There she stood. The devil.

She was a young looking, middle eastern Asian woman with a dark skin tone. She was average height and wore green jeans, a Burgundy blouse and a black blazer. Most people would mistake her for a collage student to be honest. She had a young looking face, jet black hair loosely let down and dark piercing eyes. Her lips were small and pale compared to the rest of her face. She smiled showing two dimples in a weird position; above the ends of her lips.

I didn't want to punch her like I did when I met some other therapists. There was something different about her.

"Hello, My name's Nida!" She welcomed us. However, she spoke with a British accent and smiled whilst holding her hand out towards Mom who had gone in first.

"Caroline Vandeveir, Nice to meet you—Nida?" Mom greeted her and shook her hand carefully.

"Nice to meet you Mrs Vandevier—This I'm betting is your daughter Valerie, Right?" Nida asked looking at me as I rolled my eyes, trying not to look at hers.

"Yes, Come on Valerie...Introduce yourself" Mom told me.

"Why should I? She already knows my name" I replied angrily, Folding my arms and looking at the art which hung softly on the wall.

"Valerie Vancy Vanessa Valentina Vandevier, Wow tongue twister much?" The therapist said as she chuckled. In all the time I've ever had people saying my full name not one of them has ever laughed but wow.

"Yeah, I bet she was drunk when she named me" I sighed folding my arms, as she burst out laughing causing mom to scowl at her.

"Okay, first of all Valerie, Do you want your mother here or not?" The Therapist asked me.