(#2 in the Undying Love series)
SEQUEL TO 'HOLDING ON & LETTING GO'
***
At seventeen, Troye had his heart shattered, but it was put back together by someone new.
At twenty, Troye had his heart rippe...
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"Troye, welcome. I'm Dr. Addison but you may call me Isla. Your previous psychiatrist, Dr. Caulkin, sent over your file from London."
I shook Isla's hand. She was a tall, lean woman with brown hair cut short and sharp hazel eyes. A pair of glasses rested atop her head and she wore a pair of slacks under a long and flowing cream cardigan.
Offering her a smile, I said, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
She gestured to the armchair behind me before sitting down in her own. The high back chairs were made of latte-coloured microfibre and faced one another with a small round table occupying the distance between them. On the table sat a small arrangement of pink and white peonies.
Contrary to what one may think, Isla's office was unconventional for a psychology practice. There was no short cut carpet or metal filing cabinet or leather armchairs, the latter of which I was thankful for as the stiff, dark leather in my previous psychiatrist's office was cold and unwelcoming. It did nothing to help soothe my nerves when I'd first began attending sessions.
In fact, Isla's office was unlike any I'd ever seen. The space was small but had an overflowing bookshelf tucked in one corner, filled with anything but medical textbooks. A large houseplant sat opposite it. There were abstract paintings and personal photographs on the walls and a colourful patchwork rug decorated the hardwood floor. Glass cat figurines were scattered throughout the room. On a small table beside the desk, an expresso machine sat ready to brew.
Isla noticed my observations because she smiled a moment later. "I've found that people are more likely to open up when their physical environment overindulges in stimulation. The process of sharing personal information becomes less daunting when there's already something to distract the subconscious. It's not for everyone but it's certainly better than plain walls and furniture, don't you think?"
"Completely." I agreed, shuddering at the thought of my psychiatrist's office back in London.
Isla took a sip of her coffee and placed her mug back on the table. She'd offered me one when I first arrived but I'd politely declined. She'd handed me a sealed bottle of water instead.
"So, my name is Dr. Isla Addison," my psychiatrist began. "I've been a practicing psychology for nearly twenty-five years and specialising in different types of trauma. I'm sure it goes without saying that this is a safe space and everything you say in here will be for my ears only. I will take notes and they will remain confidential unless circumstances arise where I believe your health may be compromised and need to seek medical attention. Unless that happens, everything said in here stays between you and me. Do you have any questions?"
When I shook my head, she continued. "First, some of my clients prefer to be addressed by their surname. Would you prefer I call you Troye or Mr. Evans?"
"Troye is fine."
"Wonderful." She wrote something down on her legal pad before looking back up at me. "I've read through your previous psychiatrist's notes from the past three years. While I haven't had the time to meet you personally before today, you should know I work a little differently than Dr. Caulkin."
