Distorted

He stood with me in front of the new office, one hand on my shoulder, another wrapped securely around my waist. I smiled thinly at his action, because I knew he didn’t trust me not to run. He knew me too well.

I turned into his shoulder and sighed. “I can’t do this. Can I just tell my mom I went and got the first session over with?”

Christian turned his head, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “If you don’t go, I’ll tell you mom that you didn’t.”

Lifting my head, I looked at him. “That’s not fair.”

“Then why are you here?” he asked, frowning at me. His voice had taken on an almost authoritative tone, which surprised me. “If you didn’t even want to come in the first place, why did you tell your mother you would go?”

“Because I knew she wanted this for me, even if she says they won’t find anything wrong. I know there’s something. The dreams―”

“Dreams?” Christian asked, raising his eyebrow. “You told me it was just one.”

I froze, realizing that I just slipped up. I shook my head. “There’s been more than one, for awhile now, and I don’t know why. I don’t understand them; all I know is that I―”

Before I could say anything else, the entrance door opened behind us and a woman stepped out. She had medium brown hair that was tied back away from her face, revealing a pair of bright eyes.

“Kendall Scott?” she asked softly.

I nodded.

“I’m Doctor Alder, would you like to come in, or we could conduct our session right here in the sunlight?”

I frowned, thinking she was angry, but when she smiled, I relaxed.

“Is this your boyfriend?” She smirked at Christian.

Without a word, he leaned over and brushed his lips against mine. “I’ll be waiting when you’re done,” he said.

I laughed at him and followed the woman inside. The waiting area wasn’t too big, just four chairs along the wall, and her office was just next to one of the chairs. She let me go in first, and I took a seat on the couch, looking around.

Plaques and pictures hung on mahogany-colored walls. The room looked like the ones I’d seen on TV, but nothing about it made me feel that comfortable.

“Is this your first time seeing someone?" Dr. Alder asked, sitting beside me. She was holding a manila folder, probably my file from―

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

“Yes, I see that,” she said as she read the file. “Why did you stop your sessions with Dr. Monroe?”

“He didn’t think I needed to see him anymore.”

“So you were cured?”

“No.”

She frowned and continued to read. “It just says he thought you’d do better with someone else. We don’t have to talk about your issues today; we can just talk about anything. Is that okay?”

“What’s your first name?” I blurted out.

“Dallas,” she said.

“That’s pretty,” I said while I handed her something. “John, I mean, Dr. Monroe gave this to me. He told me to call him if I needed to.”

She stared at the small paper and frowned. “I guess you don’t need it now, right?”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling like I did. Quickly, I snatched the paper back and grabbed my phone, punching the number in. I waited, with Dr. Alder beside me, who said nothing.

On the second ring someone answered, and I was about to say that I was sorry if I freaked him out that day, that I didn’t mean to. But I didn’t get the chance, because when the person spoke, I nearly dropped the phone.

“John Monroe is not available to take this call. I’m Detective Hudson. I’m afraid that whoever this is I have some unfortunate news for you.”