It's a freezing cold Sunday morning in New York, and about the same temperature in Charles' heart, just slightly more windy. He tightened the scarf around his neck and walked faster to the office, double checking the address written on a piece of paper.
Charles had liked the city the first time he moved, large glittering signs, and an actual summer where the sun is out, but this quickly grew old as every winter passes, bitter cold, just like almost everyone he met, he had known the infamy of the people of New York but had never thought that it could be worse than London, at least there you'll get people calling 999 when they see you getting mauled by a bear.
His phone rang just the time he was about to cross the street, he bit off the edges of his gloves and fished out his phone from his coat pocket, Raven, it says on the screen, and he almost let out a groan as he swiped to answer,
"Yes, what is it?"
"Do you know someone called Erik?"
Enigmatic as always, "Which Eric? I know a lot of Erics in my life Raven, it's quite a common name."
"Yes, but one with a k? Erik Lehnsherr."
He thought for a while, as knowing being a writer, though solitude is guaranteed, relations are required, but he could not seem to remember the name in his head, "No, I don't think so, why?"
"Well, he called me and asked for you that's why, he said he is a psychiatrist of some kind and that you had asked for a therapy session? I mean I know you're gloomy and things, but isn't that in the essential bundle for being a writer?"
He finally remembers, no wonder the guy's name didn't ring any bells, he had signed up for an online therapy for depression for the book he is currently writing, wanting to see how a therapy would play out, in the name of research, "Oh, yeah, I mean, it wasn't for me, I'm not depressed or anything, but it's for the book? You know I have to do these things sometimes, what did he say?"
"Well he said that I should inform you with it, and if you still want to go his office is open for you from four to six."
"Well just call him back and say I'll be there today, and you can tell me the address, anyways I'm at the new office, are you upstairs?"
"No, enjoying the sun in Bali." Raven said with a slight tone of annoyance and hung up without goodbye.
Charles quickly put his phone back in his pocket and went straight to the receptionist, "Grasshopper Publishing?"
The receptionist answered without looking up from her computer, "Left elevator, floor 12."
"Thank you."
As the elevator dings at the 12th floor the door opens he was greeted by Raven's sour face,
"What did I do?" He asked, clueless.
"Not your job." She replied sharply, and dragged Charles by the hem of his coat to her office,
"Deadline was a week ago Charles, where is my new chapter?" She settled on her luxurious James Bond Villainesque chair and shuffles through a stack of paper, "Cause I don't see anywhere on this that says 13 aside from the pages, wanna tell me why?" She looked at him disapprovingly, funny how roles have reversed and now he is the recipient of this stare.
"It's a bad lu―"
"I swear if you finish that sentence I will burn your face off."
"I'm still writing it, I'm sorry, this is why I needed the therapy session thing, do you prefer to have a half arsed poorly researched chapter on how therapy goes or a well written one if you wait just another week or two?"
"The first one."
Charles let out a whine, and one stomp away from being a bratty five year old, "Raven, you know I can't do that, what if some therapist reads my book and get disappointed from the depiction? I have no idea how it works, and I have no idea what they are like, I mean from what I have heard they are sympathetic holy angels that listens to all of our problems, and I'm pretty sure that's not accurate."
"You're confusing therapists with priests―"
"Priests are the last thing I would think of as angelic." This was met with a lovely kiss from the stapler, Charles fell backwards, completely gone from Raven's line of sight.
"Jesus Fucking Christ Raven!" He yelled from the carpet, not making an effort to part with the floor.
"Come on, don't be dramatic." Raven said, completely unconcerned.
"My forehead has been stapled, stop being sarcastic and help me." Charles fought with the stapler on his head, trying to find the most painless way to get it off.
For the first time Raven finally peeked over her desk, seeing Charles not moving she finally got up to see her doing, "Oh God, I'm sorry, I didn't know that the stapler hate you too." She said as she tried to get the stapler off her brother's forehead, but still unable to suppress her laugh.
"Just, you crossed the line Raven," Charles took his hand to check on the wound, "Oh, I'm bleeding," he said absently.
"Just, hold still," Raven tried to slip out the perfectly stapled piece of metal from Charles' forehead.
"Ouch." In reflex Charles tried to move away from Raven's touch.
The door creaked open slowly, "What is going on here?" Alex asked as he walked in, face more puzzled than ever, he was used to their antics but it never cease to amaze him what these two are up to.
"Chapter 13." Raven said simply, as if that explains everything.
"Ah." Alex nodded, and placed a file on Raven's desk, "I have the contract from Barnes and Noble and I'm just gonna put it on your desk."
"Right, thanks, and make sure that Frost woman sign her side of the contract too." Raven said, still struggling with the stapler, Charles completely motionless on the floor.
Alex nodded slowly, observing the scene in front of him, "You, uh…, need help with that?" He gestured to Charles.
Raven sighed loudly and sat in defeat, "I think so, it's really in there, like, both sides," she moved aside to let Alex have his try.
Alex moved closer to Charles and passed him a polite smile and a nod,
"Hi Alex." Charles greeted him back with a slight nod as Alex positioned himself to pull the red stapler off his head.
"Hi Charles."
"Nasty weather today." Charles murmured.
Alex nodded, "It looks like it's only gonna get worse from now."
"Yes, looks like it, a man can never have a break."
"You do nothing but breaks, you haven't written anything in the past week." Raven said, now looking over the file that Alex had brought in.
"Raven," Charles said very slowly.
"Hmm?"
"Do you und―FUCKING CHRIST."
Alex sat next to Charles, who is now face down rolling on the carpet holding his forehead, with the red stapler in his hand,
"Sorry I had to, at least it's off your head." He shrugged, then stood and placed the stapler on Raven's desk.
"Is it off?" Raven asked, not looking up from her files.
"Yep, I'll see you later for Emma Frost, and just tell me what you want for lunch in an hour or so." Alex said as he stepped out from Raven's office.
"Thanks Alex." Charles yelled, voice muffled by the carpet.
To this Raven rolled her eyes and threw a ball of crumpled paper to her brother, "Get up and get home, finish your chapter, the hole puncher's next."
Charles sat up and threw back the ball of paper to Raven's direction, it hits her square on the face, and seeing Raven's widening eyes and reddening face Charles quickly ran for the door and straight for the elevator, furiously punching the button,
"I swear if I don't hear of that chapter, you better not come to my office." She said, waving away the hole puncher as a form of threat.
The elevator door opened and Charles spent not another second before he jumped into it, as the door closes he notices the guy in the elevator with him was staring at his forehead, but said nothing, which made him glad, what would he say to explain, "Oh yeah, my sister threw a stapler on my head because she wanted the 13th chapter.", a crappy anecdote and would be guaranteed to give you a nasty side stare.
Despite of the cold, Charles walked home, since it takes no more than half an hour and he has plenty of time before he has to visit the thera―
Fuck me.
He contemplated calling Raven but goes with his better judgment, his instinct of survival, and texted her to give him the address of the therapist, not failing to mention that he would need it to finish chapter 13.
Once he reached home he flips on his kettle and made himself a cup of tea, nothing like a cup of tea in a freezing Sunday afternoon, his fingers are still numb from the cold, gingerly opening his laptop and awkwardly typing with half frozen hands.
He stared at the opened document, no words seems to come to him, but he forced himself to at least write a couple of pages just to get things started and warmed up, how does therapy works? Do you just pop in and tell your life story? Surely that can't be easy, or do you make small talks? But why would you want to make small talk when you are paying the other person by the minutes?
And how does therapists act? Are they easy to talk to? He heard a lot of praise about them, but he also had watched Hannibal just last week, not that that depicts the whole species of therapists of course, but he could not help but taking into account that cannibal therapists probably exists somewhere in the world.
Before he could write any more words, he dozed off uncomfortably in his chair, dreaming of the crick in his sleep.