[Not Just Any Other] Ghost Story

Chapter 26

"Oh wow. You really have one of these? I thought shrinks only had them in the movies," said Sarah as she entered the office and made a beeline toward the red velvet chaise.

The doctor closed the door behind her. "I tend to find that my patients are more relaxed when presented with the familiar and most for some reason expect the traditional psychiatric couch when they finally agree to try therapy."

After circling the recliner, Sarah motioned toward it. "May I?"

The doctor nodded. "Please."

"I don't want to talk about my childhood, my biggest fears, or why I think I need to be here, so don't even bother," Sarah said while she made herself comfortable.

The doctor took a seat in an armchair nearby. After crossing her legs, she casually intertwined her fingers on her knee. "Well, those are pretty much the basis of my repertoire, so thank you for the heads up," she said, stifling an obvious smile.

Sarah chuckled. She liked people who didn't take themselves too seriously. Maybe this wasn't such a terrible idea, after all. "I'm sorry that for once you're going to have to earn your exorbitantly high fees, doc."

The doctor reached for a notebook and a pen. "Don't be. The minutes started ticking as soon as you stepped through that door, and you don't have to say another word and I'd still get paid," she said, scribbling in the corner of the pad to test the ink.

"God bless the American healthcare system, then," Sarah said, lifting an invisible glass in a mock toast.

"Indeed. Now, let's see. Although I could just let you take a nap on my stereotypical couch while I tried to beat level three hundred sixty two on Candy Crush, why don't we at least attempt a little therapy, okay?"

Sarah sighed. "I guess. Shoot."

The doctor pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with one finger. "Let's start with your goals. What do you want from life, Sarah Corwin?"

This was too easy. "I'm almost eighteen. I suppose it's pretty much what every teenager my age wants: freedom, independence, a chance to be me," she said, relaxing the tension in her shoulders.

After scribbling something on her notepad, the doctor looked up. "Good. Let's expand on that. What do you want freedom to do, exactly?"

Sarah raised her eyebrows. Wasn't it obvious?

"Anything," she said with a shrug.

"So you feel like you haven't been free to make your own choices or do what you wished?" asked the doctor.

"Yeah."

"And who do you feel like has been standing in your way?"

"Society, my mother—"

"But she's no longer . . . around," interrupted the doctor, pausing just long enough to carefully choose her words.

Sarah bit her lip. They were veering into an uncomfortable topic and she didn't like it. "Yeah, well my aunt is the same way and she just doesn't understand me," she snapped back before folding her arms over her chest.

The doctor nodded. "Is that so? I thought she recommended that you come see me today."

"She did," Sarah admitted with a sigh. "But I'm now beginning to think it's a waste of time."

"How so?"

"All talking to you is doing is pissing me off," she said, turning toward the therapist to gauge her reaction. But the woman's face remained unreadable.

Well, at least she was professional.

"You don't like my questions?" asked the doctor, leaning back in her chair.