Lesser Virtues, Greater Goals | Tomarry

Chapter 22: Effort brings profit

A/N: One, sorry for the delay. I'm usually quicker than that. I just didn't have any good ideas to continue with and I wanted time for inspiration to come.

Two, a) this chapter has to do with psychological treatment, which is important for a lot of people, myself included and b) while everyone says that villains need therapy, they never actually write about it, besides in crack fics! *angry noises* Anyway, I decided to write it.

Also, this chapter is more like a filler than actual plot. Love it anyway. ♡
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Tom was ready for this week's appointment. He was.

He had said so to Mary.

He had reassured Ben that there was nothing to worry about.

He had taken his meds, drunk two liters of water and eaten two pieces of white meat, along with a green salad and a small glass of red wine, as his dietitian had instructed him.

It was all fine.

So here he is. Outside the much dreaded destination.

He presses softly on the white plastic button connected with electric wires, also covered in plastic, on the wall besides the door with the big iron doorknob. The main entrance to the grey building in which Dr Sofia Kaine had decided to locate her office is all white with silver finishing lines on the top and bottom.

Once his call has been answered with the familiar beeping sound from inside and the door is unlocked, he pushes it open with all his might. Soph, as he calls her, has always preferred the muggle technology over magic. Dear Morgana, that is one heavy door.

He gets inside.

Her office is on the third floor, so he has to take a relatively new elevator. It has mirrors all around, on the floor, on the top and its walls.

He presses number 3, which glows with a weak yellow light. Once he hears the elevator stop, he pushes its twin little doors, gets out and closes them upon his exit. Once he has stepped outside he turns left and walks to the small white corridor that leads to her office.

He pulls back another door and finds himself into the waiting room. Said room is small and white, with five comfortable leather chairs and a small square table made of glass with all sorts of magazines on it. No one else is inside at the moment. She usually has at least eight clients.

The final door, the one to her office is open. It always is. He walks inside. His steps are faltering. The grip on his black suitcase strengthens.

He sees the woman with the dark curly hair, knowing eyes, nude orange lipstick and electric blue glasses, already seated on her own armchair.

"Well?" She asks, mouth curled upwards to the left side. Oh. She's amused. Shit. Most days she is strict. This is not going to be a good day. "Aren't you going to sit down? Unless you'd prefer to proceed standing up the whole time. I certainly don't mind. You know of my methods by now."

"No." He replies, voice strained due to higher levels of stress than a minute ago. His stare is fixed on the pair of dark red chairs in front of her almost black desk. He decides to sit on the one to the right. He puts his case on the other. "It's fine."

"Very well." She says curtly, as she searches for something on the first drawer attached to her desk. She pulls out a blank page of paper and pushes it to his side. "Here you are."

"Thank you." He mutters earnestly, making her smile a little.

She is not done yet. She opens another drawer, the second one. (There are four.) "So... which pencil numbers will you need today?" Ths sounds of pencils rolling into the wooden white box fills the whole room. "I bought... 7 and 8B just yesterday."