Alright, decided to edit these chapters because they're badly written. To be honest, I have no idea why I forgot how to write dialog. So I've separated the dialogue for a smoother read.
As I walked into the room, I noticed that it seemed like a normal therapists office. There were diplomas on the wall thst stated where he went to college, and a regular therapists couch. There was a door slightly ajar that I thought lead to a closet. I thought I saw a glimpse of blue, but since the door was almost closed, I couldn't tell. All in all, it was a normal therapists office... Except for the pair of black doc martens perched on the desk.
Dr. smith was leaning back in his chair with his feet on the desk. I thought that was really odd behavior for a therapist. In all the years of seeing therapists, I'd never encountered anything like that. Because of his position, I couldn't really see his appearance besides his shoes, but when he sat back up, I was able to see what he looked like. Other than the Doc Martens, he was wearing a white dress shirt underneath a dark velvet jacket. He was also wearing dark blue pants. He had short, slightly curly gray hair and blue eyes. They would probably appeared softer, had it not been for the eyebrows. They gave him a slightly intimidating look. As much as I felt intimated by that look, (and it felt pretty intimidating) I almost felt like I knew him. But I felt like I also would have remembered him.
"Well, sit down." He said in a slightly impatient voice, gesturing to the chair in from of him. Marcus was right about one thing: he was Scottish. I wondered briefly why he was here in the states, as I shyly walked over to the chair. I sat down in the chair. I cleared my throat.
"Um, hi. I'm Allie-"
"Henderson." He finished, glancing at some papers and then looking at me. I shivered a bit because it almost felt like he was looking into my soul. "So." He said, "Why don't you tell why you're here."
I shifted in my seat. This is where it always went awry. I started to talk about the abduction and the nightmares and even though the therapist would be nodding, they would always convince me that I was making in into a fantasy because I didn't want to face reality. That it made me feel safer, yada yada yada. But, as I looked into those intense eyes, something changed in me. Something inside of me was telling me to trust this man. That maybe there would be someone who finally believed me. All of a sudden, I found myself spilling everything, from when I was captured (even adding the part where I got rescued) to the night before, when I'd had my first nightmare in years.
"So that's why I'm here." I finished sheepishly and looking up at him. I expected to see a doubtful expression, or at least a look of fake sincerity, but instead, he had a thoughtful expression on his face.
"I don't suppose there's anything else to that story?" He asked, now looking a bit less impatient.
"That's pretty much it." I said. "I understand that it makes me sound crazy and maybe I am. There have been so many times when I've wondered if it actually happened to me." I sat back in the chair and waited for him to say some therapist mumbo jumbo about how it was all in my head and that if I just let go of it all, then I would become a well adjusted person, but, as I was finding recently, I was so wrong.
Dr. Smith leaned forward in his chair and looked at me. Again, I noticed how it seemed like he was looking into my soul. "You're not crazy." He said, surprising me, again.
"I'm not?" I asked . "That's a relief." But he wasn't finished talking.
"Now, you're not completely sane either, but no human is. There are people who are insane, but you are not one of them." He started rambling on about Charlie Chaplin and how he was crazy, but the way he was talking about him almost seemed like he had met him or something. Which, at the time I thought was crazy since Chaplin had been dead for a while.
Other than that though, I was almost in shock that someone was on my side. For once, someone was listening to me for real. Someone didn't think that I had made it up or that I was just turning it into fantasy to help me cope. I would have burst into tears at that moment if I knew it wouldn't have embarrassed me.
There was something so refreshing about the whole thing that for a second, I forgot about the intense eyes. Until the session was almost over and he was looking at me again. "One more thing." He said, before I left. "Just because it may seem far-fetched, doesn't mean it never happened. You know that it happened I you and that's all that matters" again, this man was just blowing me away. It was almost as if he was reading my mind. A part of me had always wondered if it actually happened or if I just made it up. Now, I knew just from this one session that it had happened to me and I felt so much better.
I shook his hand and shook my head as I went out to pay the receptionist. This was such an odd session. But it was a good odd. Except I kept having this niggling feeling that I did know him. I shook it off, thinking that it was just because he had one of those faces. I was about to discover though, that I should have stuck with my first instinct.