Phoenix ✔️

Chapter 22: Predictions

Each step down the hall causes my heart rate to accelerate even more. "Thump, thump, thump," it goes, and against the quiet hall, it sounds like someone is pounding a hammer against a metal wall. Amongst the pin drop silence, I can feel Elena's worry boiling within the depths of her.

I gulp a little bit, as we sit in the waiting room, and Elena checks in. Somehow, I know that I'm not going to be perfectly fine after talking with my psychologist. You don't just waltz out of a traumatic marriage like that and act like everything is like Emerald City.

As much as I wish that would happen, that's never the case in situations like these. All I can hope is that it's not as serious as I would imagine. I hope that we can get this over with soon, so that I know what I have to face and to conquer.

Eventually, Elena comes back to me, and hands me a magazine. "They should be ready soon. Read something in the meantime. You won't get bored, I promise," she assures, and opens her magazine. I shrug, and open mine as well.

As I'm waiting, I read about different couples, recipes, and even see some really good fashion ideas as well. It's all enough to keep me busy for a good 10 minutes. Not long after I finish reading the magazine, the door opens, and a woman walks out with a clipboard.

"Nicole Wilson?" she says, and I get up.

"I'll be out here, Nicole. Come find me afterwards," she says, and I nod.

"Yeah, of course," I say, and I walk inside to go see my psychologist.

"Right this way," the woman says, and she leads me outside a cozy looking room.

"This is your psychologist. I think you'll really like her. But anyways, have a great day, miss," she concludes, and hurries off to deal with the next client.

"You too," I tell her, and then I turn to face the door. Slowly, I raise my knuckle to it, and knock on it lightly.

"It's open!" a female voice calls.  Without another ounce of hesitation, I open the door, and let myself in to the room. When I enter, immediately I feel relaxed and comforting. There are soft chairs across from each other, with both looking very squishy and relaxing. The room is barely lit, with a few candles giving the minimal source of light for the setting to remain a constant soothing one. The scent of warm vanilla is wafting throughout the air, which makes it warm and cozy, the perfect setting for someone to let everything out.

A woman, with tight, shoulder length curls, walks up to me. "Hi, Nicole. I'm Dr. Musin, and I'll be your psychologist. Take a seat," she says, in a calm, laid back voice. I obey her instructions, and sit down in the cushiony chair across from her.

She takes a seat across from me, and places her hands in her lap. "Are you Scandinavian, Nicole?" she asks, and I look at her in an interesting way.

"My dad has some Norwegian in him. How could you tell?"

She smiles at me. "My husband's Swedish, and you look kind of like him. Tall, blonde, blue eyes. Of course, not all Scandinavian people are like that, but you definitely look a little bit like him," she says, as she grabs a pen.

I chuckle a little bit. "Yeah, my dad lived in Norway for a little bit. He does say that 90% of the people there have blonde hair and are blue eyed. But I'm not predominantly Norwegian. I'm half Venezuelan," I say, as she rearranges a few things around her office.

"Oh, that's very cool! I have Venezuelan friends. I'm half Korean and half Kazakh, but I lean a lot more towards my Korean side," she says, and I smile.

"Well, that's amazing! But, I have a question. Are you ever going to tell anyone what I tell you in this room?" I ask, and she smiles.

"Everything you say will never leave this room. I never tell anyone the stories my clients tell me. I promise you, all your secrets are safe with me." She opens her notepad.