Depression? Define feeling depressed.
“Fuck this,” I said, just marking no to everything on the list.
I came here to be diagnosed, I didn't need to tell them my mental issues. It was their job to give me the psych eval, not make me do all the work. I'd never been diagnosed with anything, so that helped. This would be a first.
I handed over the paperwork and sat back down to wait. The television in the waiting room kept playing the same medical information over and over again. Why even have a television for your clients if you're not going to let us watch something good while we wait?
I sighed and flipped open a magazine – some entertainment rag – and saw a photo spread from a new movie with Brad Pitt. A war movie, of course. And as I stared at the photos of the beautiful holiday celebrities decked out in military garb, I cursed to myself about how much they got wrong. Except, of course, there was some unknown actor in the back, behind Pitt, and I couldn't stop staring at him.
He reminded me of Mason.
In that moment, as I looked at the man's face, the air was sucked straight out of my lungs and all I could do was stare. The actors in the photos weren't even SEALs – they were in typical Army uniforms. But still, I felt my pulse quicken as panic set in while I stared down at the man who looked like my best friend.
“Drew Hunter?” The receptionist called my name, pulling me from the abyss of my own mind.
I shook my head and cleared my throat. “Yes?”
“Dr. Emerson is ready to see you now,” she said. “Come on back.”
She opened the door for me and ushered me into a room with soft lighting and an even softer couch. There were throw pillows, so I situated myself between those awkwardly, not wanting to mess anything up. A box of tissues sat on a table beside the couch.
“She'll be right in,” the receptionist said. “Just make yourself at home and get comfortable while you wait.”
Get comfortable. At a shrink's office. Hardly possible. Even at one set up as cozy and comfortable as this was. Yeah, sure, I was supposed to come in and open up and explore my feelings and shit, but that was hard to do when you'd been taught and conditioned to push your feelings away for your entire life.
There was a soft knock at the door, and a moment later, it opened. I stood up to greet my therapist, and when I did, our eyes met and my jaw hit the floor.
“It's you,” I said, feeling ashamed that I never got her first name. “It's – it's you.”
She seemed as shocked as I did, as she held onto the door for dear life. Almost like she wanted to leave again. I couldn't blame her. The instinct to bolt straight out the door and never looking back was running through me.
“Y - you're a doctor?” was all I could think to say. “My doctor?”
In my head, I was trying to recall everything we'd talked about the night before. I ran through as much as I could remember, trying to figure out if I'd said anything too revealing or personal. Never once had it ever entered my mind that this hot piece of ass from last night was doctor material so I wasn't overly careful with my words. But then again, it wasn't like we did much talking anyway.
“Yes, I am actually,” she said. “And you must be Drew – Drew Hunter, I see.”
She looked down at my file, reading it to herself. But her eyes lingered on the pages a little longer than necessary and I got the impression she was just trying to avoid looking into my eyes. Flashes of what we'd done last night scrolled through my mind and I had to admit, I felt myself growing a little warmer and getting a little stiff in the pants.
“It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Hunter,” she said, reaching out to shake my hand, her eyes still not quite meeting my own. I watched her hand trembling, even as she tried to smile and play it off. “I'm Dr. Emerson.”
“Please, call me Drew,” I said. “I mean, after what we did last night and – ”
“Drew it is then!” she said with a little too much enthusiasm before taking a seat across from me.
She crossed her legs, and yes, I noticed her sexy legs in her pencil skirt – legs that I'd had my face buried between not all that long ago. She was dressed professionally today, her hair pulled back and even had some glasses on her face. But it was her. It was the girl from last night. Neither her clothes, her hair, or her glasses could hide that fact from me.
And she was my fucking therapist. I didn't know if I was lucky or cursed.
Amelia
Drew. His name was Drew. I had to admit, he looked very much like a Drew too. As I met his gaze, my eyes fell on his lips – lips that were so thick, so luscious, so soft, and oh so delicious. I licked my lips as I remembered kissing those lips last night – only hours ago, actually.
No, stop it, Amelia, I told myself. You can't do this. Pretend like nothing happened. That's the best course of action. Act like it never happened. Just carry on and do your job.
“So this is your first time in therapy, Drew?”
“Yeah,” he said with a sly smile. “I guess there's a first time for everything, huh, Dr. Emerson?”