•Sequel to RUN•
𝘛𝘩𝘦
𝘑𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺
𝘞𝘢𝘴
𝘍𝘢𝘳
𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮
𝘉𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳
𝘈𝘯𝘥
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺
𝘞𝘦𝘳𝘦
𝘍𝘢𝘳
𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮
𝘉𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨...
𝘿𝙊𝙉𝙀
[𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑫]
Join Sydney and her friends as they continue to battle their way out of d...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter Twelve. ****************
"So," Dr. Ross said, flipping over the notepad resting on her lap, "You're here because, and I quote, you 'were in an apocalypse, got out, had a breakdown in a park, and now you're here.'"
"Yep." I muttered.
That was what I'd said.
It pretty much summed everything up, right?
She glanced down at the page, tapping her pen once, then twice, before looking back up at me. There was no judgment in her expression. No smile either.
"It's... Very vague." She said, her tone neutral.
I shrugged, picking at the skin around my fingers as the black leather couch beneath me squeaked every time I shifted.
"You also left the section about treatment goals blank on the intake form." She added.
I didn't respond.
She didn't rush to fill the silence.
What was I supposed to say? I'd almost walked out when I saw the stupid question on the stupid tablet before she even came to get me.
What are you hoping to get out of therapy?
I couldn't believe I was here.
When I'd called the survivor hotline, not the number on her business card, they'd scheduled the appointment without asking who I wanted to see. I'd hoped, irrationally, that it wouldn't be the state-appointed Dr. Naomi Ross.
Of course it was though.
She looked exactly as I remembered. Tall. Blonde. And still, very pregnant-five months at least-though she carried it with composed professionalism I had to applaud her for.
This was the same woman though that I'd seen Brad hugging like they were old friends.
Or maybe more...
Figures. My luck had always been impeccable. Especially as of late.
"Sometimes," She said after a moment, her voice measured, "Leaving that section blank means someone isn't sure what they need yet," She paused, "Sometimes it means they don't expect much to change."
Her eyes lifted to mine then. Not probing. Not sharp. Just present.
"Or sometimes," She said, evenly, "It means they don't feel safe enough to answer honestly."
I stiffened.
"We don't have to define goals today," She continued, already writing something on the notepad without looking, the way she had been doing every so often, "For now, I just need to understand what brought you here, Miss Tadella-"
"It's Sydney." I corrected.
"Sydney," She repeated, smoothly, "Would you like to elaborate on what brought you in today, specifically?"
