𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘 ♔ GEORGE HARRISON

𝐢𝐢𝐢.

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 different than expected, to say the least. she planned on getting a gym card and possibly travelling to france. instead, she was stuck at the therapists again. it's not that she didn't like dr. harrison-she loved his way of therapy, it's just she didn't like the circumstances she had to be there in. but, her parents were dead and there wasn't anything she could do about it. dr. harrison was very understanding. he did his best to comfort her, but steadily reminded her that it wasn't his job to make her okay-it was hers. she was the only person who could control her emotions.

"how have you been feeling since i saw you? it's been... a few days, right?" he stared down at his papers, flipping through and studying them. "has your mood improved?"

sandy shrugged, crossing her legs. that day, she didn't feel like getting dressed, but she knew she'd have to. she wore a simple pair of straight-legged blue jeans and a black long-sleeved sweater. "i guess," she uttered, playing with the small ring that found itself on her middle finger. it had a golden "s" on it.

"so... you're feeling better?" dr. harrison tried to confirm.

sandy sighed. "i mean... better than when i was in the hospital." licking her upper lip, she looked him up and down. "you don't go a lot of places, do you, dr. harrison?"

he lightly allowed a chuckle, but he wasn't amused. intrigued, but not entertained. "let's not digress, here-" dr. harrison couldn't get his sentence out much further.

"no, i'm asking," she inferred, sitting up straight. "i can tell by the way you dress. it's like you've never even stepped out of your office. isn't being a therapist supposed to be... supposed to be..."

"professional is what it's supposed to be." he cleared his throat, lifting his clipboard up to his face to write a few things down. sandy was very outspoken, even to a higher power. "it's my job to judge you, not the other way around," he spoke in a very unencumbered manner.

sandy changed positions in the small chair she was sat in, understanding that dr. harrison was right. she closed her mouth reverently. "you're right, dr. i'm sorry." she directed.

"that's quite alright, sandy," dr. harrison articulated. he wrote a few more things down in his clipboard before looking up at her once again. the look on her face was astoundingly analogous to emilys. pursed lips in a tight line, hair falling onto her forehead neatly, eyes pointed enticingly at him. dr. harrison, realizing he'd been staring for a moment too long, spoke before it got too uncomfortable. "ahem... well, you seem to be handling things with ease," once her eyes weren't directed at his, he glared at her face... oh, how he missed emily. her legs. her arms. her skin. these things were recognizably parallel to emilys.

but, sandy wasn't emily. she'd never been emily. dr. harrison knew this, but deep inside, he wanted to have more than just a patient/doctor relationship. nonetheless, dr. harrison was a grown man. he'd never have the guts to pursue a woman this young, however elegant she was.

"dr. harrison, did you hear me?"

he snapped out of it. "pardon?"

"have you ever had your heart broken?" sandy spoke.

dr. harrison was puzzled; what could he have said to have warranted this question? all he said was that he thought she'd been taking the loss well, then he got lost in her distinct similarities to his late wife. then she started going on about love. everything became tense almost immediately after she asked that.

"i- that's... well, yes. many times." he stuttered.

☼

he knew it was wrong.

he knew it should've never happened, but he couldn't control his urges, his needs. he hadn't had it for so long. it was right for a man to feel this way, right?

his guilty pleasure, onion and peanut butter sandwiches. he stacked the onions on top of the peanut butter, saliva fresh on his tongue. "you want anything, paul?" george called to his friend who was sitting in the front room.

"i don't want any bloody onion sandwiches," paul furrowed a brow. he loathed the smell. he would never eat one of those god-forsaken things. ever. "just-just get me a beer, okay? no onions!" he flicked the telly on, looking for any good channels.

george grabbed him his precious beer, tossing it to him as he entered the front room. "your majesty," george sat on the loveseat next to him, chomping away at his sandwich.

"so, how's work been?" paul cautiously opened his beer, but it had already fizzed up. the white, foamy liquid spilled over the can onto his jeans, soaking his thighs.

george wanted to laugh, but refrained himself. paul was sensitive. "it's interesting," he uttered. "i have this new patient, sandy. she's... something. she always asks me questions if she doesn't want to answer the ones i ask." he took a good bite of his sandwich that was nearly overflowing.

it wasn't a strange revelation to paul. people who go to therapy had issues. shouldn't that be a given? "georgie likes a challenge, aye?" paul had cleaned his thighs off, already taking slow drags off a new cigarette he lit. "how old is she?"

"seventeen,"

"a real challenge, then."

𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬. 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲. 𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬! 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧!