You're late.
It's the first day with a new patient and you're fucking late. You had slept in because last night was a doozy with the paperwork and all that procrastinating. You called her already, she was very understanding and told you that there was nothing to worry about and she hadn't been waiting long. You knew that was a lie because you were a whole goddamn hour late.
You hold your coffee in between your knees while you try to shimmy your paperwork into the shoulder briefcase that is currently not being cooperative. You're glad the streets are empty-ish at this time of the day, or you would've probably hit someone. Your parking space is close to the doors, so right as you get out of the car with your things in hand, you start for a brisk walk that turns into more of a jumbled jog in which you're trying your damnedest not to fall straight on your face.
" , the new patient is in your office." Jane, the girl who works for the building, reminds you but doesn't look at you because you can tell she's slightly irritated with your slip up.
You sigh and thank her kindly.
It takes you a short run to get to the end of the hall on the second floor where your office is, you're out of breath and don't even take your time to catch it and try to look professional, instead you barge in saying a slew of apologies.
She looks genuinely confused and startled and you apologise for that too. She smiles really bright, so much that it kinda makes you feel like you got hit with something in the face. She's a lot more than you expected, you just don't know of what.
"I'm Dave, nice to meet you. I'm terribly sorry for this, it really won't happen again." You run your left hand through your hair, offering her your right.
She's wearing a simple green and white baseball sleeved shirt, blue jeans, nothing too fancy. She did, however, have these horn-rimmed round glasses that really stuck out to you. They were thick, like those bottle-cap glasses and you kind of wanted to laugh.
"Jade Harley. Really, it's fine. I'm not in a rush anywhere." She winks at you.
You're kind of baffled by how normal she's acting. But that's the keyword, acting.
You read in her files that she was told it was a priority to see a therapist due to the recent loss of her only family, her grandfather, and a very bad frontal lobe injury.
"So, , let's do some exercises to get to know one another. Tell me a little about yourself." You pat some papers into a neat pile on the table in between both of you.
"Oh, uh." She looks around the room, almost uncomfortably, "I'm twenty. I guess I'm technically living by myself. Out of a motel near bay twenty seven. I graduated with honors but I have no idea if I'm even going to college." She sighs and leans back.
"Do you feel like you need to have an idea?" You lean forward, elbows resting on your knees.
"I was salutatorian, of course I do." She glares over her glasses, but not at you, "But you and I both know that's not what we're here to talk about."
"Well, then, , what are we here to talk about?" Usually you don't jump straight into the juicy stuff on the first day with patients, but she seemed to want to knock off the bullshit.
"Dave- Can I call you Dave?" She stops and you nod, signalling her to continue.
"Alright, Dave. I know that the doctor's gave you my file, I know how this works. I don't want to be here anymore than you do, so let's cut to the chase and save both of us a lot of grief." She sighs
You're shocked, but don't let it show in your face. It shows in your hands and feet though, because your nervous shaking resurfaces from highschool and you never learned how to deal with this in your workshops for people who just lost a family keep a calm face.
"Okay, you call the shots." You sigh and lean back in your seat, "But one thing, I do want to be here. I am here to help."
She breaks eye contact only to take off her glasses and pinch the bridge of her nose.
"I'm depressed, I guess."
"You guess?"
"All signs point to 'Jade's a big depressed baby.'" She snarkily laughs, like she's mad at herself.
"You don't think there's a reason to be depressed." You state, cocking your head.
"I mean, no." She shakes her head, "I don't think I should be sad. I should be strong like I've always been."
"You feel that being sad about this situation is weak?"
"I feel like if you could stop that-" She gets frazzled and snaches off her glasses and runs both hands through her hair.
"Why are you irritated? It's okay to feel things."
"Yeah? Because feeling things like this-" she motions to her chest, "this terrible void inside is okay?! It's tearing me apart."
It's your second meeting with this girl and she's a firecracker. She's so, so passionate and tired and sick that it makes you hurt. You feel it come off of her, like a thick purple smoke. It strangles her so she can't sleep at night, she says. But she doesn't say what it is.
You've been thinking about asking her to switch to across the hall in the complex because you feel yourself becoming involved and you want her to thrive, not be held back. But you haven't made a definite decision yet.
You wrap up the appointment and tell her to try and do some research on why she thinks she can't sleep and get back to him.
"How much?" She asks, pulling out her weathered green wallet.
You stick your hand out, pushing the wallet down. "Your insurance covers the first twenty visits, after that it's fifty-five dollars." You smirk, trying to hint that she won't need that long. She doesn't pick up on that.
She's kind of dense, but she leaves with a polite thank you for your time and a nod. She's not gone for five minutes and you decide to take one of your cigarette breaks.
You pat the pack softly onto your palm, popping up one of the sticks. You walk out the doors and light it, holding it firmly between your lips.
"What a terrible habit," a soft spoken voice says to the right, "I thought doctor's knew better."
You look over your shoulder, startled. You feel kind of a guilt creep into your throat. The kind you got when your brother knocked on your locked door while you were smoking, afraid he would find out and be disappointed.
It was Jade, she was sitting on a parking collom. She was smoking too, but she had shaky hands and looked far more unsteady than she should.
You laugh, "Not that kind of doctor."
"I suppose you're right." She laughs, but it's hollow and missing something like a spark or any sense of warmth.
"Didn't know you smoked." You say between tight lips, holding the marlboro while you light it.
"Ditto." She chirps, you can't sense what kind of emotion she meant it with, but you hope it's excitement.
"Alright, Jade." You start off, turning on the recorder, "Tell me what's going on in your head."
She laughs outright, giving you a pointed glare.
"You know full well what's going on in my head, Dave." She's all fire and no brimstone today, lashing at anything that makes her feel something.
"Enlighten me, please." You push, you know she'll make some sort of progress if she snaps or attacks.
"I'm so sad that it feels like my heart is a black hole and it is sucking up my entire being. I can't sleep at night because I see my grandfather and I want him back so much that I can't stand it," she sighs and cradles her head in her hands, "and I'm pretty sure I'll be alone forever because the only person who ever loved me is six feet under the ground."
The last part hits you like a metric fuck ton of bricks because, even though doctor bylaws state you can't, you have some sort of feeling for this girl.
So you try to choke out a sweet comment about her clothes today but it turns into a rational thing like "you look warm" or "that's an appropriate thing to wear." Then you get so embarrassed that you don't talk for the rest of the session. I mean you /talk/, you do your job. But you don't tell her how great she looks in red or compliment her on the fact that she weaves words together like she was made for it. You don't tell her you really like it when she pushes her hair behind one ear and drinks her too-sweet coffee.
"How much is it today?" She always asks and you always want to dismiss it and say 'Have dinner with me and we're even.' But you always, monotonically, respond "fifty five"
And she doesn't even gasp at the price, she just pulls out her plain, green leather wallet and hands you the bills.
"See you on Saturday."
She sees you three times a week and you silently thank god for that. Because this woman has been your reason for living for 7 whole months. She saw you first on a warm day, the air thickly spread around your office space.
She says 'I just need to sit for a while.'
She says 'He died and I wasn't there and he was scared.'
She sobs 'He was everything and I have nothing now. Nothing at all.'
And you're uncomfortable so you awkwardly scooch over and start patting her back and shush her with sweet noises you only have for your cousin when she breaks down.
"We don't have to jump right into the hard stuff." You say as you calmly sit up and get her the box of tissues.
You wonder why you have turned out to actually like this girl, actually be invested in her well being. Because, if you're being honest, you always have been distant and cool-headed with your patients
Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you're at her place on Saturday before your meeting time because you're finally going to break it to her. You're going to tell her that you can't be her therapist anymore because you want to be withher.
Before you knock, you take note of the strangely sweet smell around her third floor apartment. Then you do knock. And your teeth clench together and your palms get that too-sweaty, clammy feel on them and you feel sick.
When you do knock, you hear her feet plop on the wood floor and you prepare yourself for the worst.
"Hello?" She opens the door and stops in her tracks when she sees you. She looks like she's shaking and her knees look weak.
"What?" she looks adequately confused, "Am I late?"
"Hey." Is all you manage to say with a cocky smile and your hands stuffed in your pockets.
She's wearing tan shorts and a green racer back tank as she invites you inside her house. She's beautiful and her hair is up, she has bruises on her forearms, you notice because she waves you to the couch to take a seat.
"Is something wrong? I could've sworn that our appointment was for five," She looks at you, "was I wrong?"
You shake your head and take a deep breath. You've never been the kind of man to prey to an almighty being, but now's a better time than ever. Before you tell her, you look around and make a final assessment as her psychological physician,
She's moving.
"Listen, Jade." You suck in a breath that lights your lungs on fire, "I have something I've been wanting to tell you for a while now."