Thread: Therapy (Sanja x Haunted)

After observing his rise and offered hand, Kacey took the gesture for what it was worth a polite method of ushering her out of his office. The gentlemanly offer was a foreign one and it showed as her fingers timidly rest against his palm and aided in her own effort to stand. Her eyes darted away swiftly once her ability to simply follow his instructions was brought into question, an awkward pause lingering as she grabbed at her purse and slung it over her shoulder. Of course She didnt sound so sure, though. The rest was a blur and before she knew it she stood outside his office door just as she heard the sound of it closing right behind her. For a moment, Kacey stood still in bewilderment. She felt worse than before. Not only had every excuse for her problems been tossed to the wind, but now she also had some semblance of a schedule that would have to be followed. Before she could leave the secretary stopped her and informed her of the Doctors recommendation one visit a week. The girls heart stopped. A week ?! She could feel her already dwindling reserves of paint beginning to dry. Reluctantly, she agreed. Maybe if they banged through her issues fast Oh Im so funny., shed be business-oriented and just as forward as he was with strangers within a month or two. Deciding to ignore the irony of a returned self-help book, Kacey purchased a used version. The previous idiot had hi-lighted nearly the entire thing. Maybe they were more messed up than she was. And so her daily routine began. An early morning shift at work, out by two in the afternoon, generally followed by a nap of some sort, then she was off to the dreaded mall. The first day was the worst. There were young children screaming, obnoxious teenagers trying to impress each other, and worst of all the pushy sales men and women that she had to avoid making eye contact with. Every day she had to share a bench with a stranger some were noisier than others. But once shed pulled out her book and began to read, the mall seemed less unbearable. Astoundingly, Kacey also managed to call on time more often than not. Sometimes ten or fifteen minutes late, but she managed. Hi Doctor, its Kacey. She always introduced herself the same, sometimes shed even ask how he was feeling, despite the fact that she was talking to his voicemail. At the beginning of the week, her messages mostly pertained to complaints about whatever atrocity shed weathered through at the mall. Though as the days passed, her familiarity speaking with a response-less listener began to show through. Id never noticed that there are different types of cloudy days, and theres such a thing as walking traffic! Inevitably, the Doctor himself began to frequently appear in her thoughts. How many people were calling him? How much dirt did he actually have? He was aloof to the point of being impossible to not wonder how he spent his free time. Sure, he likely took pleasures in hobbies far out of her price range, but what sorts in particular? Did the man care for a partner? Whatever soul mate hed find would have to be just as steely-eyed and firm. The thought made her shiver. Her sketches began to stray from her usual style and took a darker twist. When she drew expressions they came out much more angular and the shading she used was closer to noire. What had begun as a simple study of anatomy slowly transformed into a strange desire to replicate Doctor Davis aggressive stare. It took her countless attempts, and she cursed her own lack of forethought to actually study him. Sure, she could draw eyes, but she wanted his eyes. Nearly every free moment she had was spent attempting to replicate that confidence-shaking stare. Even up to the day of their second session Kacey was working. Shed checked in with the receptionist, who glanced over her like she was crazy. She was dressed far worse than the last time. An over-sized hoodie hung loosely about her shoulders and ended at her thighs, the large sleeves bunched around her elbows. Tattered jeans kept her decent, a worn pair of converse at her feet. The entire outfit was splattered and smeared with paint, coal, and somehow bleach. Did she paint with that too? Having found a seat, her work continued. Several pencils were stuffed into a messy bun, and at intervals shed exchange one for another to adjust between varying levels of graphite. Her fingers shimmered with lead, every inch used for smudging in an attempt to get a pair that looked just right .