Kept

The Meeting

I tugged at the edge of my sleeves, trying to cover up my newly wrapped bandages.

I was glad he was out of town. Glad he wasn't a local. Although he'd probably know me. I was all over the news.

I hoped he didn't make me into some hero when I walked in the room.

It was a small building. A brick 3 story complex. It looked welcoming enough.

I gathered my courage and walked to the entrance, eager to leave the biting chill of the oncoming winter behind.

As soon as my feet crossed through the doorway, I was greeted with a warm comfort and the smell of coffee being brewed.

The walls were tan and the furniture was brown. The desks and floors were polished oak. Flowers in pots lined the windowpanes.

It was nice. Homely. A woman sat at a desk in front. She was young and pretty. She seemed sweet.

Her eyes were big and brown, and she wore glasses. Her skin was spotted with freckles. Her brown hair was pulled back into a wavy ponytail.

She smiled when I walked in. A kind smile. The smile I used to have.

"Hi! Welcome to Marvow Offices, ma'm. Do you have an appointment?" Her voice was cherry and happy, but not so much that it was annoying.

I liked her.

"Um, yes. Amanda Brew."
She nodded and typed the keys on her computer, pausing as she searched for my name.

"Ah, yes," she said after a few seconds. "If you'll just go straight up the steps, you'll find him. He's ready for you now."

Figures. The place didn't look all that busy, I thought as I marched up the stairs as the woman had instructed.

Like she said, I found a wooden door with an opaque window that read his name in black letters across the glass.

I knocked hesistantly. I still wasn't so sure about this. Maybe the lack of people in his office meant that he wasn't very good at his job.

Or maybe there weren't many people in this town as screwed up in the head as me.

"Come in," called a muffled voice on the other side. He didn't even answer the door? I jiggled the knob and opened the door, and found a wide, sunlit place inside.

It was very beautiful.
It looked somewhat like a loft with its low roof and stretching length, but with nice, earthy tones like the wood panel floor and brick walls seceded by long windows that let the sun's rays pour in naturally, the polished oak that was designed like downstairs, a single desk at the head of the room.

There were chairs, antique rocking chairs made of wicker, and the rest of the decor were potted plants and trees here and there and a rug or two.

It was warm and smooth, and carried the aroma of the earth after a light rain.

Leaning against the desk with his arms across his chest was a man, thin and tall, wearing a brown patchy overcoat and a white button up tucked into these stereotypical brown professor pants and a pair of black converse that didn't quite fit into the equation.

He was young and handsome, and had shoulder length bronze hair that curled in strands at the end. He had it tucked behind both ears.

The bags under his eyes made it seem like he hadn't slept in days, but he seemed perfectly and strangely awake.

His skin was naturally tan and his jaw was square and defined. He looked up at me with light eyes that had no distinguishable color and smiled kindly.

He was so young.... Maybe in his 20's. "Hi. Amanda Brew?"

"I prefer to be called Mandy."
He nods his understanding and puts out a nimble hand to shake.

"Thomas Marvow. You can call me Thomas." I shake his offered hand politely and take a seat in one of the strangely comfortable wicker chairs.

"You're younger than I thought you'd be," I say nervously. He chuckles and says, "Most people say that. I'm 25."

I take in a shocked breath. He must be some kind of prodigy. "We're not here to talk about me, though, are we?"

I shake my head and my curled ebony locks follow suit. "So what brings you here?" I'm not sure what to say.

Worried friends? Suicide attempt? Or should I just cut to the chase, save us time?

"I was kidnapped and tortured for 3 weeks so that they psycho who took me wouldn't blow up my campus. I slit my wrist in the tub and my friends took me to the hospital. When I woke up, they told me to see you."

It was a release, a strange comfort to reveal this in this way. Pressure free, without a microphone stuffed in my face or the expressions of those who pity me surrounding my every corner.

There was a brief period of silence in the room, and Marvow just looked at me. He didn't look at me like the others did though.

He gazed at me with understanding written on his face. Understanding, not pity, not judgement. It was now that I saw the color of his eyes.

"Why did you really come here?" His tone was inquisitive. I was almost insulted, but I realized he was right. That wasn't the real reason I was here.

"I..I want to go back to the old me." He shook his head and chuckled.

"Wrong again." I clenched my jaw. I was getting angry. What kind of a shrink was he anyway?

"What do you mean?"

"You don't believe in therapy, Mandy. You don't believe in the process. I could tell when you walked into the room."

I stared at him, taken back by what he was saying.

"You tell yourself you don't need me to get better. So, if you don't believe, why are you here? An athiest doesn't walk to the gates of Heaven, knock, and ask for God. And why would they?"

I can't speak. I'm too mad. Who did he think he was, telling me why I was here? Now I know why he had no customers downstairs.

He'd pissed them all off.

"This session is over," I commanded coldly through my teeth. I stormed out, leaving a not very stunned Dr. Marvow behind, and quickly descended the stairs.

I flung myself out of the doors and I found myself walking to my car. And with all my angry thoughts, there was one that found itself an outsider in the stur, like the MnM's in the trail mix.

His eyes are a nice, cornflower blue.