𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫, 𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘀

𝟎𝟔𝟒

"𝚆𝚑𝚢?"
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ
𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘺
𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕒𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕟𝕠𝕠𝕟

"HI, I'm Dr. Tom Stephenson,"

"Hi, I'm Emily," The mother says as she shakes the man's hand.  Emily peers down at Noah, waiting for the teen to introduce herself.

Noah looks up at Emily and notices her waiting.  The mother sends her a glare, silently telling her to be polite.

"I'm Noah," The teen mutters.

"It's nice to meet you, Noah," The doctor replies, "Would you like to take a seat in my office?"

"Sure," Noah says and walks into the office. Dr. Stephenson tells Emily to wait in the waiting room. Emily thanks him and finds a seat as the doctor enters his office.

"Is this one of those couches that I'm supposed to lay on?" Noah asks as she sits on the loveseat couch across from a studious chair.

"Not necessarily, but you can get as comfortable as you like." The doctor tells her as he takes his own seat.

The teen sits on the couch and pulls her right foot onto the sofa.  She wraps her arms around her bent leg and rests her chin on her knee.

"So, Noah, I know this may be scary at first, but the bottom line is that I'm here to help.  I'm here to guide you and get you to the place where you wanna be.  Do you have any idea where that may be?"

"I wanna be calm," Noah replies as she watches the doctor place a notepad on his lap.

"Okay, why would you like to be calm?"

"Because I'm always so angry," The teen quietly says.

"Would you say that's the only thing that's brought you here?"

"I don't know," Noah shrugs, "There's a lot, really,"

"Do you mind telling me?"

"I guess my past," Noah sighs, "Kinda fucked my life up — sorry if I'm not supposed to say that."

"No, you can express how you feel however you want." Dr. Stephenson says with a smile, "Do you wanna talk about what happened in the past?"

"Okay," Noah nervously agrees.

"You can tell me whatever it is you want to tell me." Dr. Stephenson says as he picks up on Noah's hesitation.

"Well, when I was born, I was given up and adopted.  That never bothered me much until recently. And when I was four, my adoptive mother started becoming really violent.  It started with my older brother, but eventually she started becoming violent with me too.  Then, it was my adoptive father.  Then, when I was twelve, he walked out and left me with my Mom, who was a complete drunk at that point."

Noah stops as she thinks about her own words. She loathes the story that she has a hard time believing is her own. She also fears the story, the very words that form the narrative of her life.

"And did you have any therapy in the past for that?" Dr. Stephenson questions as he brings Noah back from her thoughts.

"No, we had a social worker who stopped by, but my foster mother wouldn't let me see a therapist."

"And did you want one?"

"I don't think I ever thought it would help. No offense, I just don't see how talking about my problems would help me." Noah sighs as she drops her foot from the couch and leans back.

"That's okay. The trust in the process can always come to you later. This is just about giving you guidance."

"Okay,"