Chapter 2
436 Words
Chapter 2The next day I was supposed to have an appointment with my psychiatrist, but I lay in bed before the appointment having a vivid fantasy about her.
In the fantasy, I walked through the snow the last few feet to my psychiatrist’s office at The Mental Health Center and checked in, and soon the nurse called me back.
“Raven Michaels,” the nurse said. She was new.
“It’s Rave,” I said with a nod, and walked past her down the hall to room 2A. Inside was the usual doctor’s office equipment: a scale, a padded seat, and a counter of objects such as a thermometer and blood pressure cuff. I was weighed, blood pressure taken, and then sat fidgeting.
I didn’t have long to wait. My heart pounded as the door to the room opened.
“Rave,” Dr. Lee said with a smile.
I fought to control my own facial expressions. With a look of casual interest, I got up and followed her to her office. My palms were sweaty, and I forced myself to look at nothing but the back of her head until we got inside the room. As I sat a respectable distance from her desk and she sat behind it, I finally allowed myself to grin. Dr. Lee was beautiful. Her hair fell in dark waves to her shoulders, she had wide, dark brown eyes, deep brown skin, and a cute smile. She was also thick, with seductive curves. She was at least five inches taller than I was, and she couldn’t have been more than ten years older than me.
Is there a name for a woman who only likes older women?
“How are you feeling today?” she asked, without any preamble.
I took a deep breath. “Well, I’m still not sleeping very well,” I admitted. “Sometimes I don’t take my medicine right, though. I don’t really know why. Sometimes I just don’t want to sleep.” I took a shaky hand and brushed some of my auburn hair from my face.
“I see you’re still having tremors?” she said.
I nodded. “I’m a shaky bastard.” I held out a pale hand, and it shook like I had Parkinson’s.
Dr. Lee typed for a few seconds, and I bit my lip. I tried to stay quiet while she worked, even though I had a million things I wanted to tell her.
“Have you been hearing any voices?”
“I hate when you ask me that,” I said softly. “But I know you have to. I haven’t been hearing any voices.”
“Well—” she said, and then her office door burst open. I saw a heavyset white man with black hair shove his way inside. Then I saw the gun.
- Writer
