The Survivor of the 27

Chapter twenty

As I walk inside the building, it's this beautiful clean looking place. The entire floor is open glass. There's plants on either side of the desk. I walk up to the desk and wait in line. I look above and read a big sign that reads: F.S.F. This is John's building. Well fu-

"Next!" The person in front of me was now gone and it was my turn to talk to the clerk. I walk up to the man who's now open.

"Hello, how may I help you?" The man asks. He's about six foot with brown eyes. He's more on the thinner side and he's in his mid sixties. He has graying hair and slowly going bald.

"I'm here to see a Dr. Miller," I tell the man at the front desk.

"Name?"

"Mace Williams."

I watch the man type on his keyboard and click the mouse in his left hand a couple of times.
"Fifth floor, room 512," he tells me. I thank him and make my way to the elevator. I walk in and as the elevator door closes I hear, "Next!"

On the ride up I can't stop shaking. My hands won't stop trembling and my right leg won't stop shaking. What's wrong with me?

Once I get to the fifth floor, I step out of the elevator and am welcomed by a plain white hallway. There are some paintings that you would see in a hotel on the walls but nothing fancy. You can tell that they tried to spice up the room, but by doing so, they just made it more depressing.

I make my way to room 512. As I'm getting closer, two women step out of the room and are standing in the doorway. The one has blond hair that's up in a tight bun. She has blue eyes, and she's about 5'4 and probably weighs 110 pounds. Her eyes are red and puffy, most likely from crying. Her makeup is running down her face. Along with her pouring down tears. She looks like a complete and utter mess.

"It'll be ok. Just remember what we talked about," the other lady says. The lady crying walks away and waves goodbye. I watch her leave, with her yellow dress trailing behind her. I watch until my attention is turned elsewhere.

"Mace?" It's definitely the shrink. She has thinner, shoulder length brown hair with gray streaks. Her eyes are brown and she has a sharp jawline and defined cheekbones. She's wearing a navy blue button down long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below her elbows. She has on jeans, paired with black heels. She's probably about 5 '2 without the heels. She's in her mid forties, and maybe 127 pounds.

"Why don't you come in and have a seat Mace. That way we can get the session started," she says with a smile. Most likely fake. I walk into her office and there's a grey couch up against the right wall. Above it, is a painting of white birch trees. On the other side, close to the wooden desk, are two matching gray chairs. There's a coffee table separating the couch and chairs. On the coffee table is a vase of wildflowers. There's the iconic blue rug covering up the floor.

"You ok?" Dr. Miller asks. I realize that I'm just standing in the doorway, analyzing every little detail.

"Uhh yeah. Sorry, force of habit." The Marines taught us to take in our surroundings and to analyze everything.

"All good," she smiles. "Why don't you have a seat on the couch," Dr. Miller tells me. I walk over and take a seat. I look at the wall to my right, which is entirely made out of glass. I can see the buildings towering over this one. There's a little table to my left with a clock and a box of tissues. Tick tock.

"So, Mace. Do you know why you're here?" She asks.

"I'm here because my General told me I had to be," I answer. Tick tock

"Have you been to a therapist before?" She asks.

"Yes." I feel like I'm being interrogated. My leg is bouncing and I can't help but feel a strange feeling in my gut.