Dr. Miller's office was cold. It always was.
The white walls, the sterile furniture, the soft lighting that made everything feel flat and lifeless. It smelled like antiseptic and old paper, and Eliot hated it.
"How are we doing today?" Dr. Miller's voice was a kind of soft hum, a nonthreatening lull.
Eliot didn't answer immediately. He wasn't sure how to put it into words. He didn't know if he could. There was always this pressure, this expectation to explain why he felt the way he did, but words didn't come easily. He didn't have the vocabulary for the storm that lived inside him.
"Same," he muttered. "Everything's the same."
Dr. Miller nodded, scribbling something down on his notepad, then looking back up. "I know it's hard for you right now. The pressures of being in the public eye, especially at your age. I want you to know that it's okay to not be okay."
Eliot scoffed, leaning back in the chair, arms folded over his chest. "I'm not some charity case you can just fix with a couple of 'it's okay to feel' speeches." He clenched his fists. "I don't need your advice."
Dr. Miller remained calm, unfazed. "I understand that you're angry, Eliot. And I think we both know why. But anger isn't the answer. You can't hide from what's inside you forever."
"Then what should I do?" Eliot's voice cracked. He didn't mean for it to, but the pressure was building. "What am I supposed to do? Everyone's got their life figured out but me. My dad's out there talking about politics, my mom's off being 'perfect', and I'm just... here. Alone. Not good enough for anything. Not good enough for them, not good enough for anyone."
Dr. Miller leaned forward, eyes intense but compassionate. "You're good enough for you, Eliot. And that's the hardest thing for a lot of people to learn. That's something you're going to have to discover for yourself. But you have to start by acknowledging the pain inside, not running from it."
Eliot stared at him, feeling something crack in his chest. Maybe he did want to be understood. Maybe he wasn't as impervious as he'd thought.
"I'll try," he said quietly. He didn't know if he meant it, but for the first time, he thought he might.
YOU ARE READING
Shadows in the White House
RandomIn the heart of the White House, a twelve-year-old boy grapples with his own inner darkness while living in the glare of constant public attention. As his father, the president, and his mother, the first lady, navigate the complexities of the politi...
