"I'm surprised, Mr. Therman. When you called and asked to set up an appointment, I almost assumed the world had ended," a woman joked, her professional posture contrasting the humor.
The cat clock on the wall ticks repetitively, its eyes darting back and forth. Michael reclined on a red couch with his neck against the armrest, staring at the ceiling while a formally dressed woman sat on the opposite side. The whole Elizabethan-style room consisted of a desk and bookcases, each filled with books on psychology and the human brain as the two sat apart form each other.
Michael shrugged while combing his black hair. "What can I say, Dr. Greene. A lot has happened since the last we spoke…"
"...Which was about a five years, if I do recall," Dr. Greene pointed out with a grin, unintentionally cutting him off. "I know this is a touchy subject, but when I heard your grandfather died, I was worried you shut yourself off from the world. You and him were very close, and that could cause a lot of trouble for people who lost someone dear to them."
"Yeah, you're not wrong on the mark, there, doc," Michael muttered, pursing his lips as the doctor ceased writing.
The doctor adjusted her glasses, smiling calmly while the young man turned his head to the side. "Grief and loss have always impaired and affect our choices in life. It makes us do things we never wanted to do before, make big choices that take us out of our comfort zones, and seek out comforts from other people, either good or bad. And as the saying goes, time heals all wounds. However, when you decided to resume our session, I was a bit elated but at the same time perturbed. Why such a change of heart? Has there been a significant change since the last time we spoke?" Questioned Dr. Green, her tone laced with worry and confusion.
The coffee table in the center was their only divider as the woman observed and took notes from a distance. However, what she wrote down was none too flattering and more troublesome than it's worth. The young man shifted his gaze from the beige ceiling to his doctor, giving her an indifferent shrug.
"You could say that." Michael huffed, a weak smile etching his face while cupping his hands on his stomach, fingers tapping. "I met some interesting people, and they've turned my life around for the better."
His mind began to trail off, going down memory lane. From the first time he met the girls to the weird adventures they've had together, to saving their lives and losing a kidney to a bunch of psychopathic military G-Men, Michael remained unbothered by the ordeals he went through, thinking only the positive. The tears and laughter all of them shared, him finding love and appreciation in a long time. How much it gradually brought him out of his shell. It was the one thing he cherished the most.
Nevertheless, Michael omitted certain parts as he relayed his story to the doctor. He took out the fantastical and surreal aspects, not wanting to make himself sound nuts. The young man came for a therapeutic session, not a one-way trip to the insane asylum, which he reminded himself throughout the conversation.
Chewing on her pen, Dr. Green arched a brow. "And do you have any regrets? Do you wish things would be different, in one way or another?"
Michael took a moment to contemplate. The very question made him feel a tad ambivalent. While he did desire some normalcy and stability in his life to return, would he forsake everything to have it back?
Michael smirked and shook his head, Dr. Greene staring perturbed. "Nah, I wouldn't change anything for the world."
"That's good to hear," Dr. Greene said, her tone borderline content before moving on. "So, are we ever going to discuss how you actually lost your kidney, or are we going to stick to the car accident story?"
"We're sticking to the car accident story," Michael repeated, almost immediately on reflex.
Dr. Greene nodded.
"Fair enough."