After meeting under sensitive circumstances, Elliot Hunt and Camille Walker work to find the calm after an eighteen-year-long storm of vulnerability.
A boy with a troubled past, a girl with a troubled present, and a future revolving around their dec...
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My firm belief is that elevator music is meant to be played in elevatorsandnot the entirety of a building, yet here I am for the third time. At a psychiatrist's office that smells stale, has the ugliest green carpet, and is playing elevator music everywhere. The waiting room, the bathrooms, and even Doctor Hart's office are cursed with the burden.
Yes, I literally signed myself up for this, but I did so knowing that therapy and I would never share an epic love story. I did so knowing that I wouldn't enjoy every, or even a single, minute of it.
Especially not every minute that is spent in this waiting room, filled to the brim with sniffles, sighs, and that damn elevator music.
To kill time before my session, I tried to keep track of how many times the light in the back corner of the room flickered. When that got boring, I tried to count the amount of times the lady across the room from me scolded her child. When I was completely out of ideas I shuffled uncomfortably in my seat, keeping my elbows to my sides rather than on the rests so I wouldn't bother the people waiting beside me, and stared at Doctor Hart's door.
It wasn't long before I jumped in my seat as it opened abruptly. A girl rushed out, Doctor Hart not too far behind her. "I'm so sorry I have to leave so early, I just have to go to...well, I have a place I need to be." She spoke equally as quickly as she was hurrying.
Her short, brunette hair flared behind her as she strode across the room with long strides, a coat made of light pink suede held in her left hand and a fist made out of her right.
"I understand that, I'll see you next week?" Doctor Hart questioned, trying to keep up with her long legs.
The girl gave a forced smile as she continued straight to the exit. Once she was close enough, she turned around to push one of the doors open using her back while speaking to Doctor Hart, "Of course."
Once I was finally able to see her face it became obvious to me that the girl was upset, and my heart strings tugged as she briefly locked her gaze with mine. There weren't tears streaming down the girl's cheeks, but her eyes were clearly watery and her features were rosy.
Doctor Hart watched hopelessly as the girl turned around and whizzed out the door, then yelled after her, "I'm glad to hear it!"
She stood there for a moment to collect herself, facing the glass door as it closed slowly, symbolizing the frazzled exit of her patient. Once her heart rate returned to normal, she spun around and searched the waiting room. "Elliot! You're here!" She exclaimed as we made eye contact, drawing the attention of the many other patients in the room. It was as if she wasn't just chasing down a client who seemed to be so rushed that you could call it an escape.
