The dinging of the timer snaps my mind back into the bitter reality that is sitting in front of me. You, my therapist, are sitting. Your nylon clad legs crossed; your witch like fingers delicately pressed to your lips. I take notice to the vertical chip in the bright red paint on your index finger. "Mrs. Creaton," you speak with cliché numbness; the way I assume you talk to all of your clients. "That's all the time we have for today. I think we are getting somewhere."
Liar I think to myself. So long as your getting payed, you'll say the same old bullshit till we are all gray and the ice caps finish melting.
"Mrs. Creaton?" You repeat. I look over at you and my gaze intensifies, "Yes. Thank you. Have a nice week." I stand up and walk out. I pull out a pack of cigarettes from my back pocket, light one, and head to meet my other Doctor; rum and coke.
YOU ARE READING
Grace
Teen Fiction"The world is dark," she said her words with the tender hearted numbness that only she could explain "It's cold, and it's dark, and there's no good way out of it." Grace was born under unusual circumstances. Her father passed away when she was 12, a...
