Control

fourteen

"Aurelie Foster?"

The receptionist who calls my name doesn't mean any harm, but the use of my full name when paired with the apprehension I am already feeling is not a good thing, the name doing nothing but exacerbating the nervousness creating a fire within my stomach, a storm building within my head.

I can't do this.

"Aurelie Foster?" the receptionist calls again, looking up from her desk to see whoever is in the waiting room of the clinic.

I stand up slowly to alert her that it's me, I'm Aurélie Foster, wiping my sweaty palms against the jeans covering my legs, thankful for my short sleeve top which allows the cool breeze of the air conditioner to touch my arms.

I pass the receptionist on my way to the psychiatrist's door, attempting a smile that probably appears more of a grimace. I find the door which reads Petroula Kourtis, the psychiatrist whom Louise referred me to after I texted her two days ago, while I sat in the car, overthinking my awkward confrontation with Levi.

I'm still not here for him, I'm here for me, but the loss of our friendship - or whatever we had - makes me realise that maybe my 'habits' are interrupting my life, my relationships.

My best friend had a pregnancy scare, broke up with her boyfriend of 8 years and where was I?

So I texted Louise and here I am.

I can't do this.

An older woman opens the door, smiling at me.

Too late to turn back now.

"Hello dear, I'm Petroula. Come on in," the lady says, beckoning me into her quaint office.

I walk inside, noticing the pale yellow of the walls and the photos decorated on them, depicting beautiful Greek landscapes and sites that you only see in Europe.

I look back at Petroula, a woman maybe 10 years older than Louise and Margot. She has a nice smile, not as warm as Louise's or Margot's, but her frizzy blonde hair and overly-casual clothes over her plump frame makes her more approachable, making me more comfortable.

I sit down in the plush armchair opposite where Petroula sits on a sofa. A desk in the corner occupies the rest of the office, with papers strewn over it.

When my gaze meets Petroula's blue eyes, she is already looking at me with a notebook in her hand, pen poised over the paper.

"Hello. Your preferred name is Rory, correct?" she asks conversationally.

I nod.

"Yes."

I don't think of anything else to add.

"Wonderful, my name is Petroula Kourtis. Why are you here today Rory?" she asks me and for some odd reason, I didn't prepare for this question.

I shift on the chair, my hands moving to rest underneath my thighs.

"Um, I'm not really sure I need to be here. Basically, I have these really weird habits which may seem odd, but I'm fully functional. I'm just looking for ways to feel more comfortable in situations that I can't control," I say, feeling like I'm repeating what I said to Louise.

Except this time, I'm smarter, sounding more casual and highlighting the functional part.

Petroula nods, hand still poised on the notepad.

"Can you tell me what some of these odd habits are?"

Now, this is a question that I expected.