The Penpal (LGB(T)Q+) (FTM)

Chapter 1

Emily

•February 11th, 2018•

"So, how do you feel today." The therapist folded her right leg over the left and clicked her pen.

Although the chair was turned completely away from the therapist because Emily always had an issue looking at people and talking about her feelings, she could still feel the gleam from behind the relaxing chair.

"I feel somewhat betrayed." Emily started. Her whole life was always something she had planned out ahead of her, but now that the divorce was finalized and her best friend of 10 years was with her now ex-husband, she felt more than betrayed, if there was even such a word. Her therapist didn't have to say anything, Emily knew she was waiting for the next bit of drama from her fucked up life. "Like why would two people who claimed to love me so much just stab my in the back like this."

"You've been through a lot." Her therapist gave an automated response, "maybe try getting back out there and meeting new people."

It wasn't just that simple. These days nobody good went to the clubs or the bars, if you wanted good friends you'd have to stalk them down and weed them out, and but then, it's not even worth the energy, they will think you're insane anyways. "It's not that simple." She slightly whispers, but even though she feels like she's talking to a wall 90% of the time, her therapist hears that, jots it down in her notebook and continues to wait for the next thing to come from her.

Maybe it was a way for the therapist to have a two-way thought process, but just to let you figure it out instead. She probably felt the same way. It wasn't that easy to make friends in this big city, indeed. But not as hard as the emotional turmoil she'd deal with if she went through this alone. Her therapist had a way of silently begging a differ.

"I would love to meet new people. I'm just not sociable enough. Plus when I'm trying so hard, I think people just find it creepy." She smiled to herself. Yeah, a 29 year old woman looking for friends this late in the game. Everyone already found their cliques and their muse. Emily on the other hand had not.

"I think you should try the Penpal app." Her therapist advised.

"The Penpal? Isn't that when you write letters back and forth? How can it be on an app?" Emily's brain couldn't function in this new generation of tech. How the hell can you call something a "pen"pal when in fact it's a "computer"pal.

"Our time is up for the day, but I definitely think you should try it out." She stands up and shakes Emily's hand. "Same time next week." She smiled at Emily empathetically.

Emily smiled back the same and walked out of the office. She clutched her bag to her side as she passed a group of people waiting to get in to the office.

The outside world was beautiful, being in there for an hour felt like she was apart of something different for a while. Los Angeles was the place of partying. Bars lined the streets and taxis took the drunks from one bar to another. It was only early afternoon, maybe 4, so only a few bars were filled.

Emily caught a taxi to her new apartment. When opening the door, she knocked over a few boxes in the meantime because they were stacked up too close to it. She sighed and picked them up. It was 5pm now, bars starting to fill and the music starting to pump through the streets below her apartment complex. She lived there alone, one room, one bath, built for one. She opened the fridge and pulled out the leftovers from the night before. Heating them in the microwave, she pulled up her laptop on the ottoman and made her way back into the kitchen.

This place was much different than what she was used to, her designer kitchen and beautiful home bought by her beautiful husband, ex husband. They married right out of high school, apparently one woman for almost 10 years wasn't good enough for him. She shook her head as she pulled the leftovers out of the microwave, burning her finger.