LILLIAN ✩

4 - You Are Not Good For Me

The second I walked into his office, the smell of pine hit my senses.

It somehow almost immediately calmed me down and I took a deep breath in. Savoring the environment.

With my eyes closed and fists clenched around my folder, I finally found myself calming down.

There was no set tactic I used to help me in situations like these, but I could feel my medication I took before we left settling in.

The pills were the answer to filling up many of the empty spaces. The empty spaces of my developing brain throughout my childhood. It was as if it settled in all the lacking divots and creases throughout my skull. Engulfing me in hundreds of warm hugs.

Xanax helped me feel calm. They helped me forget everything I've ever worried about. My Xanax are the only reason I can get through the day.

"Ms. Heart. Please take a seat." His dominating voice interrupted my peace in the distance. I jumped suddenly and followed his orders, not knowing he was seated directly in front of me.

I quickly walked over to his desk area and sat down, I put my head down as well and waited for him to say something. The room was silent, uncomfortably silent. If this were my office, I'd go crazy hearing all the small, random noises. Maybe some background music would help.

After a few small moments, he speaks, "What are you thinking about?" Mr. Grey questioned.

My head popped up and I made eye contact with him, "Nothing, Mr. Grey. I apologize." I feel waves of relaxation flowing through my body, but the way that our eyes locked added a slight funny feeling in my chest.

His expression faltered at the sight of my face.

Slowly, he stood up and made his way around the desk. Footstep by footstep, each one felt like a pound of pressure in my chest.

His tall figure felt like it was taking forever to reach me. Each second added more and more anticipation in my body. It was a confusing feeling, not quite scary, but confusing.

Mr. Grey finally stepped to the right side of my sitting frame, grabbed my chair lightly, and swiveled it until I was facing him.

I gulped lightly.

He grabbed ahold of my chin and craned my head up towards his towering stare.

I was still sitting in the chair, my head tilted all the way up in his grasp. Mr. Grey was standing, one hand cupping my face and the other in his suit pocket.

"Why were you crying, little one?" He analyzes my features, but still holds and emotionless expression.

Confusion spreads across my face. How does he know?

I bite my bottom lip, unable to answer.

Gripping slightly harder on my chin, "I'd appreciate it if you answered me." His powerful voice softly demanded.

Those words send a shock to my core and I slightly pressed my thighs together. I could feel my bottom lip tugging downwards at the pressure of his hold.

"I-" I couldn't find my words. How could I successfully tell him that the stress of coming here has made me lose about 15 years of my life?

Him and I bask in moments of silence, due to the fact that I have nothing to say. I don't want to rile up my emotions again.

How come his touch, and even his stare, are altering the way my medication is affecting my body? Aren't I not supposed to feel these chills?

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head disapprovingly. Releasing his dominating grip on my face he begins to walk back towards his chair, "We're going to need to work on listening. Aren't we, Miss Heart?"