flames || mileven texting au

Chapter 21: Therapy

*A/N: Yes I'm aware that a mask mandate was in place during late 2021 and early 2022 in Indiana, however I feel like it disrupts some of the storyline, so I have decided to change it a little.*

Mike silenced his phone after looking at the time. It was 4:53 p.m. on Friday, January 21st, 2022. He was nervously tapping his foot against the grey carpet floor of the lobby of Dr. Sam Owens, his new psychiatrist. Today was his first appointment, and he was both excited and scared out of his wits.

There was an old lady sitting in the plastic chair across from him. She was wearing a faded pink cardigan over a light blue dress and she was reading a Southern Living magazine. The woman looked up and noticed Mike staring. Mike quickly looked at the reception desk instead, staring at the business card holder. Does anyone even use those anymore? he thought.

He was so thankful for his mask, as it hid his embarrassed blush. Plus it was almost like a security blanket, or a barrier between himself and the world. Whenever he was nervous or feeling insecure, he put it on, even though they weren't technically required at school anymore. 

There was a little wooden table next to him that had a few magazines on it. One of them had a picture of Joe Biden on it. 'A Year In Office', it proclaimed. 

Mike looked at the analog clock on the wall, and saw that it read 4:56 p.m. 

The door to Dr. Owens's office opened, and a middle-aged man with greyish-white hair stepped into the lobby. Another teenager stepped out from behind him and the man held the door as the teenager walked over to the old lady. The teen said quietly, "Let's go," and they both walked out of the building. 

"Are you Michael Wheeler?" the man said. 

Mike stood up very quickly, banging his shoe on the leg of the chair. "Uh, yeah," he said. "But call me Mike." 

The man, who was wearing a white lab coat, and had a kind smile, said "Wonderful. I'm Dr. Owens, and I'll be your psychiatrist. Come with me." 

Mike followed Dr. Owens down a short little hallway to a cozy room. There was a plushy chair on each side of the room, a desk on one side with a monitor and a keyboard, and a short bookshelf with a few bins of things Mike couldn't see from the doorway. A digital clock was on the wall and there was a little plastic pocket next to the light switch. It was labeled "Phone Jail". 

Dr. Owens sat on the chair that was on the side of the room with the desk. He pointed at the phone jail with a smile and said "I don't want any distractions." 

Mike put his phone in the jail, then sat on the other plushy chair.

"So, is this your first time in therapy?" Dr. Owens asked, folding his hands across his lap. 

Mike nodded. He nervously fidgeting with his hands, looking everywhere but at the doctor in front of him. 

In his peripheral vision he saw Dr. Owens pull out a clipboard and a pen. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, okay?" 

"Sure," Mike said, and his voice cracked. Calm the fuck down, Wheeler. Just chill.

"When did you start self-harming?" 

"Well, I mean, I got bullied a lot in the sixth grade. So one time I took a pair of scissors and pressed down really hard on my arm. It bled but it made me feel better. I played it off as an accident the first time, but then I did it more and more, just not on my arm," Mike took a shaky breath. "Then at the end of sixth grade my mom almost caught me, so I stopped. I threw out my razor and my scissors. Then in, like, March of last year, I got rejected in front of almost all the eighth graders."