“Our brain is like a cold, dark attic. Spiderwebs in the corners ready to lunge. Shadows moving swiftly, giving only a glimpse of the truth. A darkness lingers, waiting for the moment to strike. A silence that echoes through what once was full of fairy tales now feels like a never-ending nightmare. You can hear the beatles climbing the walls of what once was our safe place. You remember the times when you came here to escape the chaos that lay outside. A place with no screaming or fast-moving men with a deadly purpose you can only imagine. This place was a sanctuary of tranquility and peace; it was your home. It is now a cold, damp place with unsettling whispers. A place where one door leads to the next, keeping you eternally lost in its suffocating grip.”

I turn to look around the room, settling my eyes on Dr.Brown.

“Are you basing this off just feelings?Feelings are good, but let’s think about our surrounding environment instead. How about we consider it’s just a now feeling, not a forever one,” the doctor pronounced as she wrote in her notepad. 

   The room is filled with light from the giant windows. We can tell she tries to make it look more bright to make it seem less of a, ‘if you say the wrong thing I have to send you off’ type deal. 

   There’s only a few pillows on each side of the long brown couch. I know she watches to see if we take the pillows or leave them. If we leave it we’re more concerned with others' comfort. If we move them, then we’re comfortable making ourselves comfortable.

   Then there’s where we put the pillow. Did we toss it over to Amber, or did we place it down in front of ourselves or beside us. In front of us would be like a shield compared to neatly next to us. And if we threw it to Amber, it would seem as if we are too comfortable.

   We switch up on what we do to our pillow each session which could mean many things but we want to know what she thinks it means. 

   The room is covered with drawings from past and present patients. The age range has to be from 6-18 due to the various drawing styles. 

   Her desk is facing behind her brown chair that has a coffee stain on the side. On it she has two pictures. Our guess is her family with her two little boys 8 and 12 and her husband who works as a professor for the university of Kentucky. She has colorful pens arranged in a circle. Her desk is neatly laid out which we appreciate because our last therapist was quite messy and incomplete with her evaluations. 

We feel the air thicken and we look over to Amber. She’s staring daggers at Dr.Brown, who seems to be more interested In her shoes than anything. We can tell Amber’s about to say something, and before we have a chance to stop her, she goes on to say,

   “And you're a fraud who claims she has her shit together. Your leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since we started the session and you’re eyeing your phone every minute. For someone who says Gabby just bases her conclusions on just her  feelings, you’re one to talk. You’re messing with your wedding band which some may consider as a nervous tick but due to past sessions and understanding you play with your hair when nervous; you’re thinking your husband found out you cheated on him. I knew you were a cheat from Gabbys third session when you were wearing a lace bra. You might have thought that others didn’t see you change your whole downstairs wardrobe but I did. I overheard a conversation before I walked in on the third session, one I’m glad Gabby didn’t hear because she really likes you. You sounded scared of a little secret coming out and ruining your home. So the next time you have something hypocritical to say think about who the fuck your talking to,” Amber went on to say all in one breath. 

   We turn to look at Dr. Brown; concerned with what she’ll say to Amber and me. Amber is a good friend, she just forgets that we can stand up for ourselves in a respectful way. She’s not violent, she's just always in survival mode. 

   We see as Dr. Brown looks at us with a stern look and glimpse of pity. 

   We know that look anywhere. I want to say that we have a voice and we can use it but we choose to have a fucking filter. I don’t know why she’s looking at me with pity? Me? We’re the ones who should be pitying her. For fuck sake she’s the one who’s worlds falling apart because she has commitment issues that she never got over. You’re 30, married for six years, get it together! We could say that but we don’t. 

   We look away, eyeing the two pictures of a family who’s going to no longer be a family much longer and turn to look back. We give her a smile. 

   “I’m very sorry for Amber's words.” We can feel Amber eyeing us down like she’s a cat and we’re a rat but I go on. “We think your input was questionable but yet so are your life choices but we’ll see you next month, on the 10th?” We really don’t want to see her but it’s either her or a mental institution. Remember when we almost went to one because… well we don’t want to remember the bad. We’ve changed for the better. 

   “Um, yes the 10th. That sounds great, Gabby and…Amber,” She says with questionable uncertainty in her voice. 

   We get up to leave only for Amber to rush in front of us. We know she’s mad at us but that will be a later problem.