"What, mom? Please realise that it's actually 7 in the morning. Some of us were getting the sleep we need, you know." A loud groan accidentally escaped from the tip of my tongue and all eyes were aimed directly at me.
"Today is your first day with Dr. Christopher. Please do not be late." Good lord, who was she kidding? Ah, my mind was being made up for me, again. With her knowledge of my grief upon Benedict's death, 6 months ago, what more can you expect from an over-concerned mom? It has always been like this. She decides on one thing, without giving a thought on my opinions, and there I go again, following her orders. It's not that I don't mind. It's just no use of speaking up my mind because we all know she has always been the Queen of the castle, literally.
"Mom, our therapy session starts at 8:30!" I yelled back.
"I know, sweetie, but I'll be leaving for work soon, and I can give you a lift. 20 minutes to change, tops. And we can great breakfast at Jerry's too!" She replied with her oh-so polite voice. I love my mum, but someday she is going to realise that a 17 year old is capable of taking care of herself. I collected all my energy and slid the bathroom door open. Taking off all my clothes that clung onto my body in uncomfortable ways, I twisted the faucet to my shower and let the water rush out. The hot water burnt my skin and left red peeling marks but that didn't matter. I needed a good pick-me-up urgency awakening. I squirted out several drops of apple shampoo onto my palms and massaged them in my roots. Who wouldn't want a good first impression? After washing out the residue from the soap and toweling up my body, I stepped outside of the bathroom and picked out a pair of denim shorts and a black crop top from my closet. That was all (including blow-drying my hair) I managed to do with the little time mom gave. "Don't forget your keys!" I heard dad yell from downstairs.
"Okay, honey, good luck with your first session. Don't be afraid to open up since that's what we signed you up for."
"Okay, mom. You've told me that like 5 times in the car."
"Call me when you're done, and I'll come pick you up." I ignored the over-protective-mom remark and made my way towards the entrance. The building was covered with a fresh coat of paint and it smelled of doctor equipment. The sliding door made a loud squeaking noise. I flashed a commercial smile at the receptionist and asked for directions to Dr. Christopher's office. Then a sudden rush of anxiety filled me. What will he look like? How old is he? Is he one of those big-moustache old guys? Mom didn't fill me in about any of these information. The thought was not making me feel any better. I shook that thought away and came to halt when I realised I hadn't been listening to the receptionist.
"Um, sorry. But can you repeat that again?" I could almost feel my ears turn crimson red. She let out a slight giggle and kindly did so, "Yeah, sure. Take the lift or stairs to level 2, whichever one you prefer, and make a quick turn to your left. It's at the far end." I blushed once again and said my thanks. I followed her instructions and took a deep breath as I twisted the doorknob. Ew, greasy. I blinked several times at the bright lights that shone directly to my eyes. I braced my coward-self for what stood before me. I opened my eyes and laid my gaze at a man sitting in a movable chair.
Oh God.
sorry I just had to redo it.
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