Love Therapy (GxG)

10

"Shut up, I'm doing my best!"

"Kyle, concentrate!"

"How do you get your hands to do two completely different things at once?"

"Put your finger here, right there. Apply more pressure."

"Kinky"

I've been trying to teach Kyle to play the guitar for about two hours, in vain.

"Oh for Christ's sake, Kyle."

He giggles like a schoolgirl.

"You're like, really, really bad. I've never seen someone that bad. You're, like, awful, a raging dickbrain and-"

"Okay cal down Mozart, I got it!"

"Um, Mozart was a pianist, but whatever you say, dickhead."

I laugh, and it feels good, even though I'm making fun of a poor soul.

It's Saturday morning. The week has gone by quite quickly enough, as I had been busy hiding from Diana, but now is Saturday, and the only thing I've found to distract myself from the fact that I have an appointment in less than an hour is to test my patience with Kyle obvious lack of talent.

"You should do it."

I roll my eyes. "Please don't start," I sigh.

"No, I mean it. You're really good, when you put yourself to it. Even though you're a bad teacher."

Right.

"I'm not comfortable in front of people. I could never. I would throw up, like that awful scene in Pitch Perfect. Never."

Kyle's awful singing voice (one more reason why he doesn't have a future in the music industry) rings to my ears, highly off-key.

"See I never thought that I could walk through fiireee"

"God please stop!"

"I never thought that I could take the burn"

"That's it. I'll be upstairs, killing myself."

I do as I say, meaning going upstairs, and finish getting prepared to confront the cold weather.

"I will never say neveeeeer"

"Shut up!" I yell, and finally, silence graces my almost bleeding ears.

***

I'm not late. In fact, I've never been more on time. But as the wooden door remains closed, I wonder if I should turn back and accept the fact that things between my therapist and I took an unsuspected turn. It'll never be the same again. She doesn't greets me at the door.

When my feet finally obey my brain, I turn around and confront Sofia, the receptionist, and her highly interrogating gaze.

"Hop, hop, not so quickly there! I believe you have an appointment at ten." She scolds like a forty-year-old.

I sigh and turn to glare at her. She seems to take her job very seriously since Diana Alexander became the new psychologist. She must have a strong grip on her staff. Sofia and I haven't had a conversation in what feels like forever. She always has something to print, or someone to call, or something to report to her intimidating boss.

"Hey Sofia. Why are you no fun anymore? You're like, twenty-two going on forty."

"I'm fun when I'm not in my working place," she replies sternly. "And anyways, I'm not here to be friends with patients who skip their appointments. Do you know how much paperwork it adds to my already overworked self?"