1 | Almost Happy ▷ Sam Wilson | ✓

16 - TEEN ANGST

"YOUR MOM SAID THAT YOUR OTHER PSYCHOLOGIST HAD TO TAKE A LEAVE OF ABSENCE?"

Nicky smiled at the teenage girl sitting in front of him, wondering if she, like all the other teenagers he had seen before, was going to send him on a very interesting adventure. Or, maybe, she would be the first teenager who just needed some guidance of the more garden-variety.

It was Wednesday and he was finding it much easier to revert back to his regular routine of only having to care for himself, not needing to make the trek to Harlem at the same time every day, though he gladly would if Sam needed the help.

Though he had been preparing himself for this particular session—or, rather, consultation—as the woman on the phone had seemed very distraught and desperate for her daughter to see someone again.

"Yeah..." the girl sighed, and she gave him a smile and shrugged her shoulders, though he had caught the slight lilt in her voice and the strain, "There had been a lot going on before winter break and he was going through stuff and I went on vacation and I kept trying to schedule an appointment, but stuff kept coming up, and now he's just sick and I don't know if he's okay or anything so..."

Nicky frowned apologetically, tilting his head. "I'm really sorry. Are you upset that he's not seeing  you anymore or that he's hurt...?"

"Both," she said, frowning almost defensively, "He was the only therapist I liked, and he wasn't even a therapist, he was a psychologist, and I kept trying to see other therapists, but they didn't work out."

Nicky nodded, his hand furiously scribbling over his notepad, his eyes never leaving her face, only glancing down once, making sure she knew he was listening.

By the time the session was finished—a whole forty five minutes over, and he was so glad that this was scheduled at the end of the day, on an already slow day—he had come to the conclusion that, coupled with the test he had her do before she actually came into the session, this girl was definitely severely depressed and while her anxiety had lessened, as she had told him, it was still rather rampant. But she was interesting girl who tended to run off on various tangents—a point he wanted to focus on later—and so she stayed.

"You're one of my only regulars," he said, writing her an appointment for the next week, "A lot of my patients have scattered appointments and schedules."

She frowned. "Then how do they get any help?"

He shrugged, walking her towards the waiting room where her mother was. "Some people have multiple therapists, other people just need someone to talk to, others aren't always readily available. It's all different and it's all valid."

She nodded. "Oh. Well, uh, thank you. I'll see you next week."

He smiled and waved towards her mother who waved as well, the two walking out of the building, though he did catch the way the daughter pulled away from her mother who tried to place a hand on her shoulder.

Making his way back to his office, ready to gather his things and head back home to get finished on his patient files.

Her talking had wore him out, actually, she had been laughing one minute, then crying the next, then back to laughing, upset and angry, then elated and joyful, it was a rollercoaster that left him weak and disoriented once he stepped off, and he felt the sudden craving for a slushie and overpriced hot dogs.

Grabbing his phone from its perch on his desk, he raised his eyebrow at a few missed calls, confused by the phone number until he realized why it was familiar, but not in his contact; it was Reed's phone number.

Reed never called his regular phone.

Sliding the notification and pressing the phone against his ear, he gathered his papers and threw them in his satchel, heading out of the building, feeling the growing sensation that something wasn't quite right.