TheRapist
Chapter 1: Let Your Emotions Free
"Please honey, you need to do this," my mom begged for the umpteenth time since we had gotten in the car.
"Mom," I whine softly.
"Sweetie, I know it's hard but this man is supposed to help you. He'll get you through the rough times," she says softly.
"Yeah and so would've dad if he'd been here," I retort knowing I hit a soft spot. She sighs before turning back to the road and pushing on the gas as the red traffic light turns into green. I looked down at the pamphlet resting on my lap. St. John's Therapy was apparently supposed to 'rejuvenate your mind' and 'clean your brain.' But I absolutely refused to go there. I'm not some crazy person that needs to go see a therapist. The word sends a shiver down my back. Just thinking of sitting in a confined room with a mug of slowly colding coffee and some lunatic who thinks they can help me makes me jolt in distaste. Well they can't help. Nobody can...except for my dad.
My beloved dad, I miss you, I thought silently as a tear escaped from the side of my face. I pulled the overhead mirror down to look at my appearance. A girl with half of her face scarred sat there, her cheeks pale and hollow with lonesome tears leaking from the corner. My hair, soft and brown is a tangled mess, hurriedly stuffed into a pony tail. I can just see the hair band itching to break free and release my wild mess of chocolate curls. I faintly trace the scars that cover half of my face wincing as I feel the indents. I quickly wipe my tears as we pull into the parking lot of St. Johns Therapy. The building is old styled made with red bricks that after many years looks like a pinkish color. The doors are brightly standing amongst the faded red, a bright white color. The building is really just plain and old. Only surrounded by trees and Bud's Party Store, it gives me the shivers. My mom unbuckles her seat belt, the loud snapping noise seemingly loud, attentive, and ominous in the quietness of the day. Only a few cars, four specifically, are sitting in the parking lot.
We both wait quietly in the car, neither of us making a move to get out. The silence dragged on for a few minutes before my mother spoke up.
"Darling-" she began.
"I know you don't wanna go but for my sake please go. This man is one of the top rated therapists in the country. He can help you with your nightmares and other fears sweetheart," she says in a matronly voice.
"But mom-" I go to protest but seeing the desperate look on my mother's young face, I sink back into the seat overwhelmed as the emotions hit me.
"Alright," was all I said before I stumbled out of the car following my mom up the stairs of the old building. As we entered, I was hit by a cold draft. I shivered slightly rubbing my arms, feeling the goosebumps that had arisen. On the side of the hallway there was an entry way with glass walls that said 'OFFICE' on it. We both walked inside of it. Inside, there were two desks both cluttered with all kinds of things from coffee mugs to snow globes. Along with that there were dozens of piles of papers all overflowing from the desk. A few lie scattered on the ground. The back wall was covered entirely by a bookshelf filled with books and more papers. There was a loud, ringing fax machine on to the left of the office where there were a couple of more doors. My mom rang the little bell that was placed on the front desk. We heard a bunch of shuffling before one of the doors were yanked open and a huge lady in green appeared.
"Hello, how can I help you," she asked cheerily. How can she be cheery at a time like this? This office, heck this building is so creepy. The lighting dim, the perfectly polished tiled floors yet the messy, overflowing desks. Most of all the absence of people was what creeped me out the most. I shuffled slightly closer to my mother as she smiled politely before handing over the paperwork.
