"So you're telling me that you're cancelling our meeting today, Miss Harrington?"

Courtney gripped her cell phone tighter. She woke up incredibly early—5:30 am—just to have this meeting with Miss Harrington. She informed Courtney that she likes to wake up at 4:00 am, and she specifically told her to have this meeting at 5:30 am for no reason why. Normally sessions would be at around ten or eleven o' clock, but since Miss Harrington paid big money just to have a 5:30 session, Courtney allowed it. She needed the money, anyways.

Courtney was really, really tired for she stayed up at night, doing her homework for college. Her sister did warn her not to be a therapist while she was still in school, but hey, you're talking to the famous overachiever. Courtney didn't like to go to school, go home and do work, and then after that do nothing. She had money, sure—her parents' money and the rest of her money in the bank were for emergency stuff. She wanted to make her own money.

"I'm, like, so super sorry, Courtney. I totally forgot that I had my mani/pedi appointment today," Miss Harrington said in her typical "valspeak" language. "I know, like, normally the time for the appointments and stuff is, like, at lunchtime or before that or whatever. So yeah, I'll totally call your cell-y or tell-y, and we'll see what goes on from there, Courtney!"

Courtney sighed exasperatedly and rubbed her temples stressfully. "Miss Harrington, I told you it's 'Miss Neville.' It's quite informal to just say my name like that. We can say our former names as we get to know each other more, okay?" she said. "And I'd rather not call you 'Lindsay.'"

The only thing she heard was some murmuring in the background and giggles. "I know, right?! Yeah, like, totally! He was all, you know, like, 'Why are you—?' Oh, sorry, Courtney! What were you saying? My 'BFFFL' was totally telling me something and yeah. And—oh, my gosh, he did not! I—"

Courtney pressed the end button on her phone and slammed it on her desk. After a few minutes, she picked it up, inspecting it for any damage. If this cell phone broke, this would be the sixth phone she had broken and replaced. Even though she hated spending money on insignificant things, cell phones were pretty functional for her.

Courtney took a couple of deep breaths, remembering her meditational exercises her friend Bridgette forced her to go to. She then rolled over on her chair to the phone and pressed a button.

"Yes, Miss Neville?" Miranda's voice asked dully. "Is there anything you need, Miss?"

"Yes, Miranda. Can you tell me if I have any more appointments left?" she asked.

"Ugh, okay, hold on."

Courtney wanted to run over to Miranda's office and smash her head against her desk. Miranda always infuriated Courtney with her insipidness and attitude. Courtney would have immediately fired her if she wasn't so good with her job. Although Miranda may seem disinclined to do her job, she still does it and does it…faultlessly.

Courtney started to drum her fingers against her desk.

"Okay, you have…five clients coming today, Miss. Most of them are in the afternoon; the earliest one is in 9:30, and that's 'Icky Nicky.' I'm sure you'll have a pleasant time with her. The last one is going to be…huh. Well, this guy's new, Miss. Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. Yesterday, when you went home early to finish your work and stuff, this girl called in, scheduling an appointment. We had room for one more so of course I wrote her in. I tried calling you that day, but you weren't answering your telephone and cell phone," she explained. "His appointment is at…uh… Damn it, I should have better handwriting… There. It's at 4:30 pm. Think you can handle this dude, Miss?"

Courtney gritted her teeth and groaned out loud. She heard Miranda laugh a little on the other side. "Yes, I can. I should go home and get some sleep since Miss Harrington cancelled our meeting today… Or never mind, I'll just do my homework to waste some time. You can go home if you'd like, Miranda."

"Nah, but thanks, anyways, Miss. I'm too wide awake; I drank too much coffee and ate too much freaking candy. I'm practically hyper. I'll probably go outside and get some more coffee since we ran out. Uh, sorry—I'm an addict for coffee. But I'm not gonna go now. I'll probably watch some TV in the waiting room. Do you want me to put the 'We're Closed' sign on the front?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Well, all right. Call me if anything. Bye, Miss Neville."

Courtney ran a hand through her hair slowly. She rolled her chair near the window and leaned back against the chair. She popped her neck and cracked her knuckles. It was rare that she did; it was only when she was at ten of her "Stress-O Meter" as Bridgette would call it. But now she thinks it's at an eleven. The last time she felt like an eleven was in junior high, panicking over her credits.

I better get started on my homework, she thought, unwillingly getting off of her chair and walking to her bag which was on the mini sofa. She pulled out three thick textbooks and slammed them on the ground. She plopped herself on the floor, taking out her writing utensils, and began writing.

"Shit, I forgot my binder," she muttered. She got out her notebook and then began writing down words. She stopped and groaned out loud in frustration. "Ugh! I didn't even fucking open my textbooks! What the hell's the matter with me?!" She angrily opened her textbooks to the page and then began writing down stuff.

Courtney went through her homework effortlessly as always. She liked it that way. Whenever she does homework—that's in the present time—she would get really angry because she's really tired or she procrastinated. But now that she has time to do it she can do it with ease. She doesn't have trouble doing homework; it's just that how she feels while doing her homework is the huge problem.

She smiled as she went through her homework. Then she frowned.

"Some people assume that Indians in the present time are 'people who wear buffalo skin as clothing and dance around the fire.' What is this normally called?" the question said.

Courtney gripped her mechanical pencil tightly. She started to tap the pencil on the ground, biting her lip, saying, "What the hell is it? It's on the tip of my tongue… Damn, damn, damn, damn! It's something with 'centrism,' right?!"

Courtney thought that she got it when it suddenly slipped out of her mind. She yelled out loud, threw her pencil to the wall, and said a string of profanities to no one. She got up and collapsed on the small sofa, rubbing her forehead, hearing her heart beat fast.

"Um…Miss?" Miranda said through the speakerphone. "I can hear you."

Courtney's left eye twitched. "Then why the hell didn't you press the button to not hear me, Miranda?" she inquired aloud, beyond infuriated.

"Well…I thought you might do something funny. Do you want some coffee? I'll, er, get you some—if you want."

"No."

"Uh, okay. Oh, and Miss…the answer is 'ethnocentrism.' I'm taking sociology classes, too. Bye." This time she heard the click and silence.

Courtney stared at the pencil she threw to the wall and the ground scattered with papers. She took the pillow near her and placed it on her mouth. Then she did what high school girls would do when they're mad at someone:

She yelled through the pillow.

. . .

Jimmy shook his head and started laughing. "It was really stupid, Courtney," he continued on. "I mean, I was just kissing the girl since she practically begged me to do it, you know? I was being really generous and my wife threw a huge gasket over something so…trivial. She started yelling on how 'unfaithful' I am and shit. Then she forced me to do this damn therapy session again, and you know I hate therapists. No offense to you. Hey, aren't you a little too young to be doing this? Uh, usually therapists are, like, old and crap. I forgot to ask you those weeks ago. Anyways, what should I do? It's my wife who needs therapy, not me; I'm innocent, man."

Courtney resisted the urge to stab his eyeballs out with her ballpoint pen. "Look at it in your wife's point of view, Jimmy. She doesn't know the whole story, and people tend to assume things. It's human nature. How would you like it if you saw your wife kissing another guy because 'she was being generous'? Would you like that?" she questioned.

"Of course not, Courtney! I'm just saying that I fulfilled the chick's needs by—"

Courtney looked at the clock hanging above him. "Oh, well, would you look at the time! You're already running late for who-knows-what, Jimmy. The last client of the day will be coming in soon or is probably here already. We'll continue this in your next appointment which will be…"—she pretended to check her clipboard—"…on a… Oh, dear. You don't have any more room," she lied. "We'll squeeze you in a Thursday, same time—two weeks from now."

Jimmy frowned. "Fine, I guess." He grabbed his stuff and went to the door. "I'll see you on Thursday, Courtney! And remember: it was my wife's fault for assuming, not me! I was just—"

"Being generous. Got it, Jimmy!"

Being generous, my aching ass, Courtney thought indignantly. She was about go sit down when the intercom went on and she heard Miranda say, "Miss, your last client is here."

Courtney punched the wall nearest her and cracked her knuckles yet again. She stood and fixed herself up. She walked over to her chair, grabbed her clipboard, and sat down, crossing her legs.

And waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Courtney blew out a breath angrily, rolled her chair, and pressed the button. "Miranda! Where the hell—?!"

The door opened suddenly with a man saying, "Calm down, woman. I'm here, I'm here. Jeez…"

Courtney pressed the button and swiveled on her chair, putting on her professional yet friendly looking façade. She cleared her throat quietly and appraised her new irritation—uh, client.

He had a green Mohawk with black semi-spiky hair. He had a lot of piercings on and was wearing a black, short-sleeved buttoned down shirt. He only buttoned it up to the middle, though, showing his dark blue undershirt. He wore black pants with a chain on the side. He also wore black Chuck's. He was a typical "badass punk."

He was someone Courtney hated and avoided during high school and middle school. Just her luck.

Courtney cleared her throat again. "Hello there…"—she looked at her clipboard—"Mr. Taylor. I'm Courtney Neville. We'll be able to call each other by our first names until we're comfortable with each other—"

For some reason, he snickered at that.

"—but right now we'll address each other by are surnames, is that all right, Mr. Taylor?" Luckily, she had years of perfecting on hiding her irritated tone.

Mr. Taylor sighed irritably. "I'd rather not, Courtney. Being formal with each other makes me feel…uncomfortable. Isn't it your job to make your wonderful clients to feel comfortable…Courtney?" he added slyly.

Courtney tried to manage a small smile. Being formal makes him uncomfortable? Isn't it the other way around? "If that's what you wish, then all right…Duncan."

"I do wish it, Courtney." It was like he was mocking her.

"All right, then… Could you please start with why you are here? What is troubling you?"

Duncan leaned back against the sofa, stretching his muscular arms. "Don't ask me, man. My girlfriend's the one who forced me to be in this stupid hellhole. I don't even know what I did wrong, Courtney," he explained.

What, no "No offense to you" or anything polite like that? "But do you know why she did that?"

Duncan rubbed the nape of his neck, sighing. "Uh…I guess it's because I need help with things or yeah…"

I know that, you fucking idiot. "Help with what, Duncan?"

He smirked at her, obviously knowing that she was irritating him. Courtney was shocked; no one can know what she hides beneath her fake professional tone. Courtney tried to hide it much better.

"I guess it's because I'm treating her wrong. She's the one treating me wrong since she's been hanging around with that Elvis wannabe." He scowled. "It's probably something else. I don't know."

Courtney sighed quietly and wrote down "unknown" on her clipboard. "Okay, Duncan, tell me about you, who you are. Start with the basics to get you started properly if you'd like," she said.

Duncan rubbed his chin. "Huh. Well, my full name is Duncan Riley Taylor," he answered.

Courtney waited till he said some more. "Well? Keep going."

He grinned. "It's your turn…Courtney."

Courtney let out a faux giggle. "Oh, my bad. I wasn't informed that I was supposed to talk about myself as well. I was only supposed to know about you since this therapy session is about you and only you." She gave a forced smile.

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "I'm waiting."

"Duncan, I'm only supposed to—"

"So what? It's only me and you in this dingy place, Courtney. It's not fair that I have to spill out my personal life and issues to someone I barely even know! That's just not fucking right, babe."

That hit Courtney.

"Look, Duncan—I'm helping you, and the only way to help you properly is to get to know you. I'll say some things about me but none too personal. Everything that happens and is said in here is confidential. This is how therapy is—well, at least how I do it," she said cantankerously. "And don't call me 'babe.' I shall not be a victim of your repulsing and unnecessary pet names," she added.

Duncan laughed out loud. He even did that comical "slap-your-thigh" thing. He wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Didn't need to get all snappy towards me, honey. And about the 'pet names'…I can't promise you anything. Besides, don't you feel special?"

"You're flirting with me when you have a girlfriend who probably cares about you a lot since she sent you here."

Duncan snorted. "Bullshit, man. She only sent me here 'cause she's going to go and make out with her other shitty boyfriend. And anyways, flirting isn't all that harmless. At least I'm not making out with you right now—or doing something beyond that if you know what I'm saying…babe." He waggled his eyebrows at me.

Courtney gritted her teeth hard. "Can we please get started now, Duncan?" she tried to ask courteously. "Your time is almost up, you know."

"Damn, that much time went by? Well, I guess I'll continue this so I can get away from here. Not because of you—you're fucking hot—but because…well, therapists are like doctors, and I hate doctors; therefore I hate therapists."

"We need to do at least something, Duncan. And please refrain from such language in my office."

"Something, eh? Well, we could do something fun for you and me. All you have to do is say the harmless word 'yes—'"

Courtney stood up and slammed the clipboard on the ground. "Shut the hell up! Stop being so fucking irritating and do what clients are supposed to do! All right?! So that means you sit quiet, be depressed, act in denial, cry till your body becomes completely dehydrated, or GO HOME!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

All he did was smirk. Oh, how she wanted to rip off that smirk from his damn face. "Temper, temper, sweetheart. Maybe you should lie down on that sofa over there, and I'll be the therapist. Or maybe you just need anger management classes," he joked. "High blood pressure is extremely dangerous to your body."

Courtney groaned out loud and kicked her chair all the way to the wall, making an earsplitting BOOM to the wall. She was shivering with intense rage and if anybody touched her, then…uh-oh.

Duncan went up to her, still smirking, and placed his hands on her forearms, spinning her towards him. They were extremely close.

"Babe…calm down. Your secretary down there must be scared as shit right now from your constant yelling. Just breathe in…and breathe out…" He made a demonstration.

Courtney did exactly what he did. For some bizarre reason, his hands on her forearms were comforting to her and just made her…relaxed. She no longer felt stressed and irritated. It was a miracle.

She didn't notice how she and Duncan's lips were almost touching. Duncan's hands were suddenly going up and down continuously on her arm. Then—

"Hey, Miss, I brought some coffee just in case you—well, this is damn surprising," Miranda said as she suddenly busted in the door, carrying a Styrofoam cup.

Courtney pushed Duncan, and he fell all the way down to the sofa.

"This is nothing, Miranda. And thank you for the coffee!" Courtney said nervously, taking the cup, and pushing her out of the room. She walked quickly over to her desk, drank some of her coffee, and set it down on her table. She put her hands on the table and leaned down, breathing hard. "What the hell was that?"

"You stole my question, babe," he replied. She heard him come closer and Courtney stiffened. She felt his hands go on her waist, and she spun around, pushing him back with her hands on his chest. She tried to do it gently which is hard for Courtney.

"Get the hell away from me, you molesting…pig!" she hissed. "I don't want any of your dregs on my body, because if it was, then it'll nastily crawl its way inside my body, spreading contaminated Duncan in me!"

Duncan held up his hands in a defensive manner. "You're fu—uh, freaking funny, you know that?"

"Shut the hell up."

Courtney watched his arm slowly and gingerly reach around her, grabbing the Styrofoam cup. He drank some of it, his eyes targeted on hers. He sighed in relief and put it back, eyes never moving. He looked at the time and pouted.

"Aw, it's time for me to go," Duncan said in a whiny voice. He walked a few steps towards her. "When's our next session, sweetie? It better be tomorrow same time since you didn't help me today."

"That's because—!" she started.

Duncan put a finger on her lips. "Ah-ah-ah, Courtney. Denial is just an excuse for people. You should speak the truth and only the truth even if it hurts." His hand went behind her again and then he chuckled.

Courtney peeked behind her and saw him staring at the picture of she and her mom; the picture said, "My little Princess."

She was surprised when she felt something soft on her cheek. She realized that Duncan kissed her cheek softly. She grew pale and backed away, feeling the edge of the desk on the small of her back.

"What the hell are you, some kind of…lecherous monkey of some sort?" Courtney snapped, wiping her cheek with her sleeve.

Duncan smirked at her and walked to the door. He opened the door and then paused. "In Japan, when two people take a bite out of the same food, a bagel or an apple, or drink from the same drink or straw, then that's considered as 'indirect kissing.'" He turned a bit and winked at her. "See you tomorrow…Princess."

Even when the door closed, Courtney's mouth was still hanging.

"Um, Miss, Duncan said that your session with him is tomorrow, correct?" Miranda's voice went through the phone.

"Uh, yes," Courtney said absentmindedly. "Or wait, wait—!"

"Okay, got it. I'm going home now. Bye, Miss. See you tomorrow." Then a click was heard.

Courtney cracked her knuckles, went over to the sofa, and laid her head down, staring at the ceiling. What the freaking hell was that? Isn't he faithful to his girlfriend? Although he bears a small grudge towards her for doing this, it shows that he cares about her deep within his eyes. This guy…is confusing.

Peculiarly, the cheek that Duncan kissed was tingling.

TBC.

[Hi there.

Please excuse the impolite language said in here to those who are uncomfortable with it. This is a practice of characterization.

As for my other story, I'm sorry for not updating for a long time.]