CHAPTER 2 Waiting Rooms and Restless Legs
1582 Words
Thursday, November 15, 2018
8:16 AM
The alarm went off twice before Elena stood up. She had slept on the couch again, neck stiff, blanket tangled around her legs.
The bathroom mirror showed the same face as yesterday. She did not look long.
She was scheduled for an appointment with Dr. Thorne by 9:30 AM and she has less than an hour to be ready.
By 9:12, exactly, she stepped off the bus into the opposite lane from the institute.
She stood across from the institute and did not move. Her chest tightened. She swallowed, adjusted her coat, the same one from yesterday, the beanie pulled low. The building looked expensive. The kind of place that noticed people like her.
“Hopefully I don't look strange”. She sighed.
She stuffed her headphones into the brown knitted bag she didn't know how to stop carrying.
It was 9:18, 12 minutes to her appointment and she was still standing across, wondering how she would cross without offending the passing cars.
She found herself at the building entrance. She adjusted her dress for the 6th time. She stuffed her thick, dark-rimmed framed glasses into her bag, adjusted her brown sandals and wiped her palms on her coat, leaving damp marks on the fabric. She looked at the building in confusion.
The building looked too expensive for broken people.
That was Elena’s first thought as she stood at the entrance. clutching the strap of her bag hard enough to numb her fingers.
Thorne Psychiatric Institute rose above the neighboring buildings in smooth gray stone and glass, elegant in the cold morning fog. The brass lettering beside the entrance gleamed despite the clouds overhead.
Everything about the place felt polished.
Intentional.
Safe in the way museums felt safe.
Which somehow made Elena more nervous.
People like her did not belong in places this clean.
A taxi stopped nearby. A sharply dressed man stepped out while speaking into a headset, barely sparing the institute a glance before walking inside confidently.
Elena waited for the doors to close behind him before walking in.
Then stopped halfway.
Her stomach twisted violently.
Nope.
Bad idea.
She turned around immediately and walked back toward the sidewalk.
Maybe she could reschedule.
Or disappear completely.
Disappearing had always been her strongest skill.
A cold gust of wind shoved against her coat.
She sighed miserably.
"Coward."
She hadn't meant to say it aloud. An elderly woman glanced over. Elena coughed into her sleeve and looked at the building again.
She looked at the building again.
She had called six times before making the appointment. Hung up five times. The receptionist had sounded cheerful enough that Elena nearly apologized for answering.
Still...
She was here now.
That had to count for something.
After another full minute of arguing with herself internally, Elena forced her legs toward the big entrance door before her courage dissolved completely.
Warm air wrapped around her immediately upon entering.
The lobby smelled faintly of cedarwood and coffee.
Soft piano music drifted from hidden speakers overhead.
No harsh fluorescent lights.
No crowded chairs packed side by side.
The place resembled a luxury hotel more than a psychiatric clinic.
Elena hated how underdressed she suddenly felt.
Her coat still carried rain stains from yesterday. One sleeve had loose stitching near the wrist. She tried hiding it by folding her arms tightly.
The receptionist looked up from her computer with immediate brightness.
“Good morning.”
Elena nearly jumped.
The woman behind the desk wore pink glasses and a sunflower yellow sweater that somehow looked aggressively friendly.
Her smile widened.
“You must be Elena.”
“Oh.” Elena blinked. “Yeah. Sorry. Yes.”
“I’m Jasmine.”
Jasmine Pike said it proudly, like announcing royalty.
She gestured dramatically toward the check in tablet.
“You can sign in right there. Unless technology has betrayed you emotionally this morning, which happens to me constantly.”
Elena stared at her for a second.
Then a startled laugh escaped before she could stop it.
Jasmine pointed triumphantly.
“There it is. Human emotion. We’re already making progress.”
Elena’s cheeks warmed slightly as she signed in.
Jasmine hummed while organizing papers behind the desk.
“You’re with Doctor Thorne at nine thirty. First session, right?”
Elena nodded.
“How obvious is it?”
“You looked at the door six times like you were planning an escape route.”
“Oh.”
“And your hands are shaking.”
“Oh.”
Jasmine softened immediately.
“Hey. Relax. Nobody’s judging you here.”
Easy for her to say.
Elena lowered herself carefully into one of the waiting room chairs near the window.
The cushions were so soft she nearly sank sideways. She sat very straight to compensate.
A man across the room flipped calmly through a magazine while a woman beside him scrolled on her phone. Neither looked particularly unstable.
Elena wondered if she looked worse than everyone else.
Probably.
She tucked her hands beneath her thighs to stop fidgeting.
9:25.
Five minutes left.
Her heartbeat already felt too fast.
She studied the room carefully instead.
Tall bookshelves lined one wall. Framed abstract paintings hung above a fireplace crackling softly with artificial flames.
One painting resembled a depressed octopus.
Elena squinted at it suspiciously.
Maybe modern art was just rich people refusing to admit confusion.
“Most people hate that one.”
The voice came suddenly from nearby.
Deep.
Smooth.
Close enough to make her flinch.
Elena looked up too quickly.
Dr. Adrian Thorne stood beside the hallway entrance in a charcoal gray suit, one hand resting loosely in his pocket.
He was taller than she expected.
Not intimidating exactly.
Controlled.
Dark hair brushed neatly away from his face. Silver framed glasses caught the morning light briefly as he studied the painting with mild disappointment.
“My mother painted it,” he added.
A horrified sound escaped Elena before she could stop herself.
“Oh my God.”
Adrian looked at her calmly.
“You called it a depressed octopus in your head, didn’t you?”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
A pause.
Then quietly:
“Maybe.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Not quite amusing.
Close.
“That’s still kinder than what Victor said.”
He crossed the room slowly, movements unhurried.
Elena noticed ridiculous details immediately.
Clean hands.
Dark tie.
Faint scent of cedar and something colder beneath it.
He carried himself like someone deeply accustomed to being listened to.
Which only made her more aware of how awkwardly she sat.
Adrian extended his hand politely.
“Elena Vale.”
The way he said her name unsettled her slightly.
Careful.
Measured.
Like he was memorizing it.
She shook his hand briefly.
His grip was warm.
“Doctor Thorne.”
“Adrian is fine outside formal sessions,” he replied. “But considering we haven’t survived one yet, Doctor Thorne works.”
That surprised another tiny laugh out of her.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
People probably told him everything without meaning to.
"That's a dangerous skill," she said. "What?"
"Making nervous people laugh." He looked at her a moment longer than the moment required. "Sometimes nervous people deserve relief.
Something tightened in her chest. She looked away first.
Jasmine leaned over the desk dramatically.
“She insulted the octopus painting already.”
Adrian sighed softly.
“The tragedy continues.”
“It’s brave of you to display emotional seafood in a medical facility,” Elena said before thinking.
Silence.
Then Jasmine burst into loud laughter.
Even Adrian’s mouth curved faintly.
Elena instantly regretted speaking.
“Sorry. That sounded rude.”
“You apologize often,” Adrian observed gently.
Heat crawled into her face.
Fantastic.
Now he was psychoanalyzing her before the session even started.
He glanced toward the hallway.
“We still have a few minutes before your appointment. You’re early.”
“I thought if I arrived late I’d panic and leave.”
“Practical strategy.”
“It didn’t work completely.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “But you still came.”
For some reason, that simple statement landed harder than encouragement should have.
Not patronizing.
Just factual.
Elena looked away first.
Outside the tall windows, rain mist drifted through the city streets while morning traffic crawled slowly past.
Inside, everything was warm and quiet. The kind of quiet that made you notice what you were about to say.
At exactly nine thirty, Adrian gestured calmly toward the hallway.
“Come with me.”
Elena stood carefully.
Her pulse quickened again immediately.
This was it.
The actual therapy part.
God.
What if she cried?
What if she said something insane?
What if he realized within five minutes she was fundamentally impossible to fix?
Adrian opened the office door for her.
Warm lamplight spilled across dark wooden floors.
Bookshelves lined the walls.
Soft jazz played quietly from somewhere near the windows.
And sitting beside a leather couch was a steaming mug of tea.
Her favorite kind.
Elena froze.
She had only mentioned it once during the scheduling call.
Briefly.
Barely even intentionally.
Adrian noticed her staring.
“Jasmine writes down preferences,” he said smoothly.
But something about the answer sat too smoothly. Like he had said it before. To other people, maybe. The thought arrived and she set it aside.
He closed the office door gently behind them.
She sat down. For the first time in years, she intended to tell someone the truth.
- Writer
