Time felt like it went by in a haze for Hanna.
She woke up, ate toast, went to work, came home, ate toast, and went to sleep. Then woke up and did it all again. It felt like it went on over and over for weeks...or maybe even months. Hanna stood in front of the calendar pinned to the wall, hair still dripping onto her bare shoulders and wrapped tightly in a towel.
With a sigh, Hanna rubbed her forehead. It had only been one week.
Having the day off, she had been able to sleep in before forcing herself to take a proper shower. It wasn't until Hanna was standing in front of her closet that she realized it was almost completely empty.
A large winter coat hung in the corner and a pair of snow boots were on the floor. A single tank top – bright yellow and not particularly her favorite color – hung in the center on a wire hanger.
Taking a step back, Hanna looked down at the floor of her small studio apartment. From the bed, to the chairs at the kitchen island, to the small desk shoved into the corner...clothes, towels, dish rags, and all of her various possessions littered the place. The empty floor of her closet had been one of the few places in her apartment that she could clearly see the dull tan carpet.
Hanna grabbed a pair of dirty jeans off the floor and put them on, deciding against any underwear after searching through the dirty clothes and finding nothing that she could bring herself to re-wear. She returned to the closet with the towel still wrapped around her chest and gave the bright yellow tank top a long look before taking it off the hanger and throwing it on, tossing the wet towel into the corner after wringing out her hair one last time.
Stepping around to the two-seated couch that she had managed to fit into the tiny room, Hanna knelt down and greeted the large ball of orange fur. With a mew, the cat's head jerked up and he stretched his front paws.
"Morning, Big Ben," Hanna greeted. "Ready for some breakfast?"
Slowly, the orange tabby stood and stretched some more before jumping onto the floor with a loud thud, following Hanna across the room to where the kitchen was tucked into the corner next to the front door. He sat beside the small mat on the floor and sniffed the empty food bowl.
"Oh, or maybe brunch," Hanna corrected herself when she caught a glimpse of the clock on the stove top.
Cracking open a can of wet food, Hanna filled Big Ben's bowl and carefully placed the empty can on the already over-flowing garbage. She took a second to watch the large cat settle in and eat his breakfast, a purr occasionally broken up by loud gulps.
Hanna threw her hair up into a quick ponytail and rested her hands on her hips, taking in the mess that she had been living in for the last week. Clothes, blankets, empty coffee mugs, plates, magazines and newspapers littered almost every flat surface in the studio apartment. This was not the biggest mess Hanna had ever made, but it did still look like a small storm had passed through and she was embarrassed to say that she hadn't really noticed it until that morning.
God...she looked like a hoarder.
Hanna stepped over to the sofa, avoiding the small pile of plates on the floor beside it and grabbing the blanket that Big Ben had turned into his own little cat bed. Giving it a quick smell, Hanna recoiled at the strong scent of cat on the warm fabric.
Throwing the fur-covered thing into the corner, Hanna took another look around her apartment.
With a sigh she hoisted up her jeans and felt a surge of determination. Moving around the small studio she started gathering up the dirty washcloths and various shirts and clothes that were strewn across the floor. Each article got a quick glance over before being tossed over into the corner with Big Ben's dirty blanket.
By the time she was done, the pile in the corner looked almost as big as the sofa.
Hanna looked around the apartment now that a bulk of the clutter had been moved into one pile. There was quite a bit more to clean, but it was a start. Hanna stepped into the tiny kitchen and rummaged through the drawers.
Big Ben sat up from his food bowl, taking a moment to lick his whiskers before slowly moving to the pile of clothes in the corner and sniffing around them.
"I know it's here somewhere," Hanna mumbled to herself, sighing when she found the bag of change tucked under various items in the junk drawer. Tossing the bag onto the counter, she found the jug of laundry detergent and a few spare garbage bags under the sink.
Setting the heavy jug down with a thud, Hanna went to work on gathering the pile of clothes and blankets into garbage bags to take down to the laundry. Big Ben jumped away when she grabbed a sweater that he had been smelling and he jogged over to the couch, jumping up and curling back up on his (now blanket-less) corner.
Glancing again at the clock on the stove, Hanna found one of her lighter scarves and wrapped it around her neck, adjusting it before hoisting one of the garbage bags onto her hip and grabbing the detergent and bag of change. With her pinky, she hooked a ring on her keys and worked them into the front pocket of her jeans before maneuvering through the front door.
She would probably have enough time to do one load of laundry and the rest would have to wait until after her second appointment with Dr. Fletcher...at least this way she would have something decent to wear.
Hanna jogged down the narrow staircase quickly, the bag of dirty clothes bouncing on her hip awkwardly but she made it down to the small laundry room in the cold basement quickly enough. She took a moment to shake the clothes out of the bag and into the washer, and dumped an estimated amount of soap over them all. Having picked the settings and put her quarters in, Hanna left the basement and shut the door behind her with a quiet click.
Coming back up the stairs on her way to her apartment, Hanna turned the corner at the top of the staircase to see a familiar man knocking on her door. He had a kind smile, was a little bit shorter than Hanna, and the hair on his head seemed to be moving to the hair on his arms.
"Hi Mr. Franklin," Hanna greeted, adjusting the jug of laundry detergent over to her other hand.
"There you are! Was just going to check back to see if that sink was fixed," he said. His deep Russian accent had made their first few conversations difficult, but Hanna was getting used to it and could understand him easier now.
"Oh, yeah! The guy came last week and fixed it," Hanna said with a smile. "Only took a few minutes."
"Great! Great! I called a few days ago but you didn't answer. I just wanted to follow up. Glad to hear it was taken care of."
"Thanks again," Hanna said as the large man passed Hanna and disappeared down the stairs.
Digging in the front pocket of her jeans for her keys, Hanna went into her apartment and set the jug on the small kitchen island. Searching through her purse on the counter, Hanna finally found her phone and decided to check the messages if she had missed Mr. Franklin's.
Punching in a few numbers, Hanna waited for the first message to start.
"Hi Han! It's your mom, just calling to see how you were doing." Her mother's voice trailed off at the end before the options to save or delete started playing in that weird automated voice. Hanna quickly hit the delete button.
"Hello Miss Moreau, this is Mr. Franklin. I am your landlord. I want to know if your sink has been fixed. Thank you." Hanna smiled at the man's words – every message always reminded her of who he was – but she hit the delete button too.
"End of messages."
Putting her phone back into her purse, Hanna ran her fingers through her barely-damp hair.
Big Ben had settled back into his corner of the couch and had morphed back into a round ball of orange fur, occasionally twitching in his sleep. Smiling at the little cat, Hanna's eyes were drawn from the now-clean floor to the kitchen.
Taking a deep breath, Hanna willed herself to maintain her surprisingly high energy-levels that she had woken up with and started on the dishes.
Hanna had managed to finish cleaning her kitchen, dry the load of laundry and find a presentable pair of slacks and a sweater to wear to her appointment with Dr. Fletcher. Each tick of the clock made her more and more nervous, but keeping her hands busy with cleaning helped to keep her calm. Hanna had also come across one of her favorite red scarves in the laundry when she brought it all back up to her apartment.
Wrapping the lightweight fabric around her neck and grabbing her keys and purse, Hanna made her way to Dr. Fletcher's office, ending up earlier than she had planned once again even though the bus was running a few minutes late. This time instead of wandering around the room Hanna decided to just sit on the couch until her appointment time.
The window behind her was open again, the curtains shifting with the cool breeze that was just on the verge of being too cold. The building was extremely quiet aside from the shift of the fabric and she could hear mumbles from Dr. Fletcher's office. It put Hanna at ease – at least a tiny tiny fraction of a bit – to know that someone sitting in the waiting room couldn't hear their conversations inside.
Hanna crossed her legs and pulled the sleeve of her dark gray sweater over her hand, picking small pieces of lint off the soft fabric until she heard a familiar voice inside Dr. Fletcher's office grow louder. The door creaked open and Hanna let go of her sleeve.
"Same time next week, doctor?" Barry's loud boisterous voice filled the waiting room and Hanna felt a surge of sudden nervousness when he turned and his bright blue eyes landed on her. "Hello again!"
"Hi," Hanna said, feeling like her voice was a mouse next to his.
"I still feel bad about last week," he said quickly, stepping around the coffee table to sit next to Hanna on the couch. "About grabbing your jacket. I promise, hands to myself from now on." He laced his fingers and placed his hands in his lap, a small smile tugging his mouth to one side.
"Oh, it's okay," Hanna said, though she was thankful that he wasn't going to be grabbing her clothes again. She wasn't used to strangers being that forward with her.
"I realized after I left that I probably made you super uncomfortable and I didn't mean to at all."
"No, it was-"
"Really," Barry said quickly, leaning forward just a touch before he seemed to realize something and leaned back away. "I feel bad. But I think I have a way to make it up you."
At that, Hanna raised her eyebrows. "And what's that?"
"A museum is putting on an art exhibit this weekend," Barry said, unable to contain the large toothy grin. "I promise, hands to myself." He held up his hands in the air proudly, still clasped together.
"I haven't ever been to one," Hanna said, trying to imagine herself walking around a room of people. The idea of a large group of people was not appealing to Hanna, but they would be looking at the walls of paintings. She could see herself standing a little to the back and maybe enjoying the art.
"If you can see yourself...even just maybe having fun, Hanna. I want you to push yourself. Inch out of your comfort zone."
Dr. Markas' words replayed in her head – Hanna figured they always would be. Comforting, firm, encouraging...it was the reason that Hanna was able to find a job she could hold down.
"Never?" Barry asked, breaking Hanna's thoughts away from her old therapists encouraging words. He was watching Hanna with a look of bewilderment, eyebrows raised almost to where his hairline would have been if he wasn't bald. He was still smiling – he was always smiling, Hanna noticed – even when he was looking at her in bafflement. "It's settled, you're going. Are you working? Doesn't matter, you're going."
Hanna chuckled at his excitement, his bright eyes lighting up and he went into a chatter of different artists that were expected to be there and who was sending in their art from out-of-state. She nodded every few sentences, but the names and places all made no sense to her.
"Oh, do you have a phone?" Barry asked, reaching over to a tiny table beside the couch and grabbing one of Dr. Fletcher's business cards. From one of the large pockets in his trench coat, he found a pen. "I can text you the address. It starts at 5."
He pushed the pen and card into Hanna's hands, withdrawing his quickly; Hanna did appreciate how he seemed to be trying very hard to keep his hands to himself.
"Sure," Hanna said, jotting her cellphone number down on the back of the card and writing her name next to it. She handed it back and he glanced at it before putting it in his pocket.
"I'll get the address to you tonight," he said, grinning widely at her once more before standing. Fishing around in his pocket, he found a beanie and a pair of black gloves, throwing them on before giving Hanna a little salute goodbye.
Just as he started down the stairs, the door to Dr. Fletcher's office creaked open.
"Hello, Hanna. I hope we didn't keep you waiting too long." The woman stepped to the side so Hanna could come into her office before shutting the door behind them. Her office was nice and warm in comparison to the waiting room. "Chocolate?"
Dr. Fletcher motioned to a bowl of chocolate on the table that separated their seats but Hanna shook her head, pushing her hands into her pockets and looking around the room. There were several pieces of papers scattered across the therapist's desk, but other than that the room looked exactly the same.
"You seem like you're in a good mood today," Dr. Fletcher commented right as she sat down in her comfortable chair.
"I am," Hanna said lightly, coming to stop at one of the large paintings near the window. This large abstract piece had drawn her eye during their first session too, lots of red and blue smeared across a white canvas. She admired it for a moment before turning back to Dr. Fletcher.
"So how has this last week been?" the therapist asked. Hanna was aware of the pen and notepad on her lap.
"It was...the usual," Hanna said after a thought. "Work, mostly."
"And you work as a delivery driver, right?" Dr. Fletcher asked. Hanna's stomach felt like it did a flip – she hadn't mentioned that in their last appointment, so it was a bit of information she had gathered from the file Dr. Markas had sent over.
Trying not to skip a beat, Hanna nodded and forced a small smile. "Yeah, for a while now."
"Full time?" Hanna nodded and moved to the other side of the window, briefly admiring a very old looking portrait of a park. "Do you have a favorite painting?"
Hanna's head jerked back to the therapist on the couch who seemed to have been watching her with a somewhat amused smile. She was taken aback by the sudden shift in topics, having expected the woman to continue to push the conversation to the "trauma" that they had skirted around on their last appointment.
"I noticed you like to walk around and look at them," Dr. Fletcher said with a small shrug of her shoulder. She motioned to the park painting that Hanna was standing in front of. "What do you think of that one?"
Hanna took a second to look over the painting again. "It's kinda boring."
"You like the more wild and abstract?"
Hanna nodded, stepping back to the painting that continued to draw her eye; the red and blue abstract one surrounded by an unflattering bronze frame. "I like this one."
"That was done by a French abstract artist," Dr. Fletcher said, tapping the end of her pen against her chin as she thought hard for a moment. "Robert...Delaunay," she said finally.
Hanna nodded, not surprised that she didn't recognize the name with her very limited knowledge of painters or artists. But the splashes of color drew her eye every time she came into the office, and it was far more pleasing for her to look at than the others that just looked old.
"Barry wants me to go to an art exhibit at a museum this weekend, with him," Hanna added, taking a quick glance at the therapist.
Dr. Fletcher crossed her legs and shifted her weight in the chair. "If there is ever anybody to talk to about art, it is going to be that man."
"He seems to really know his stuff," Hanna said, turning away from her favorite painting and coming around to sit at the couch opposite Dr. Fletcher.
"Do you go out to things like that often? Art exhibits, museums, festivals..."
Hanna shook her head. She had a faint memory of her parents taking her to a museum, but as a small child she had found everything to be extremely boring.
"What about things like theater? Movies?"
Again, Hanna shook her head.
"If you don't mind my asking, aside from work, when you leave your house where do you often go?" Dr. Fletcher adjusted the pad of paper on her knee.
"I have to go get groceries once a week," Hanna said slowly after giving the doctor's question some thought. "The pet store, sometimes, if my cat needs a toy or something."
"You have a cat?" The woman's eyebrows rose just a fraction of an inch, and Hanna noticed her hand inching closer to the pad of paper and with a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realized that Dr. Fletcher had already been writing something down.
Something about this woman making notes about her life set Hanna on edge. The familiar discomfort and nervousness that she had felt during their first appointment came flooding back; once more, she was some small object being studied by a scientist. Being dissected and inspected never sat well with her.
Hanna took a slow, deep breath, willing the anxiety she suddenly felt to go away as Dr. Fletcher's pen started scratching on the paper again.