Wildest Dreams [ON HOLD]

❝ you're in my head again ❞

You're haunting me;

You're in my head again.
you pull my strings,
I'm just a puppet.
And you keep control,
Of my mind and my soul.

"Every High Has A Comedown" -Anarbor

It only took me five minutes to decide that second to court rooms, there was nothing in the world that I hated more than therapy offices.

Everything in the small room was some shade of light gray or white. There were accents of brown, which was probably supposed to make the place look warm, but it looked too perfect to me.

Nik had always said people who spent that much time on making sure their cushions matched their flowers did it to hide something.

I shook my head. I wouldn't think about Nik. He was the reason I was here in the first place.

I shivered as the door opened and a brush of cold air swept in. A semi-familiar man with brown hair entered.

The shrink.

Devon Sanders.

The name itself sounded uptight and snobby. The kind of stuck up asshole who would charge a hundred and eighty dollars an hour for him to listen to some dumb teenager to sit and whine about their meaningless life.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Valentine," he said. "Why don't you come with me to my office?"

I stood up and followed him back, passing the all too perky secretary who had asked me way too many times if she could 'get me something' in ten minutes. We passed two rooms before he stopped at an open door, gesturing for me to walk in.

He came in after me, and pulled off his jacket before settling in the big chair behind the wide oak desk. He gestured for me to take a seat in the plush chair across from him, then pulled a thin file from one of his drawers.

No doubt it contained everything about me.

Casting one last longing glance at the door, I sunk into the cushioned seat.

"Let's start with introductions," he suggested. "I'm Devon Sanders."

"You know who I am. There's a whole folder on my sitting in front of you." I was acting like a brat, but maybe if I was difficult he would give up and mom would stop funneling money into scams like this.

Unfortunately he didn't seem perturbed by my snappy response. "Can I call you Lucia, Miss Valentine? Or would you prefer Cia or Luce?" he asked, glancing down at the file.

I winced at the last nickname, thankful his second of distraction had caused him to miss it. For a moment I considered staying silent, but I didn't want him calling me Luce. "Just Lucia."

"What would you like to talk about, Lucia?" he asked.

I gave him an incredulous look. "You're the one with the PhD. Aren't you supposed to tell me how to fix my fuck up or prescribe some pills?"

"I'm not a fairy godmother, nor a drug dealer," he replied drily. "I'm here to listen."

I scoffed. "So my mom's paying three bucks a minute for services a rock could give me."

"Yes, your parents are paying me," he said. "But you can make those minutes count and find a way to move on, or let it all go to waste."

"I don't need to move on, I'm fine," I retorted.

"Why don't you like the name Luce? Your mother used to call you it." Both his tone and the look in his eyes told me that he knew exactly why I didn't like the nickname Luce, but he was asking to prove a point.