"I'm not sending you away, Hanna. Your needs have changed over the years and I don't think I'm the right kind of therapist that can help you. What happened last week is proof of that and I'm not willing to risk you getting hurt again. I really wish you would give her a chance. Dr. Fletcher is a wonderful woman – a brilliant therapist – she can help you more than I can right now. You need someone like her."

Dr. Markas' words had been playing over and over again in Hanna's head.

The sweet elderly man could have told her a million times more and that wouldn't have helped the feeling of betrayal and dread that made her stomach flip. He had waited until the end of their session, talking about Hanna's latest "fit" (his words) before he grew quiet and finally approached the topic of transferring her. She should have noticed something was different, but their conversation had been more emotional than normal and Hanna had completely overlooked her rather large file on his desk next to an even larger envelope...he was sending Dr. Fletcher Hanna's file so this new woman could read up on Hanna before meeting her.

Even thinking about a stranger reading some of her most private information left a bad taste.

Immediately after being told that – after some loud words were exchanged on Hanna's part and she had finally left – she had looked up the name to see who exactly this woman was. Dr. Fletcher was a fairly common name, but through searching Hanna figured out which one this new therapist was.

The woman looked nice enough; white hair, wide smile, kind eyes...at least that's what she could tell from the few images on Google. However, she had a hard time envisioning herself – that's always what Dr. Markas told her to do – opening up to another therapist or anyone for that matter.

Hanna had only ever had one person in her life that she could truly talk to, and it had taken a lot of convincing and to put it bluntly, forcing for her to go. It had taken years for her to become comfortable with the elderly doctor, and after all that time and after everything they had talked about and worked through, he was pushing her away.

There was no way for Hanna to hide how much that hurt her. However, her hurt had slowly been turning into anxiety after nights of laying awake in her bed, staring at the blank ceiling and willing herself to forget about it.

But of course she couldn't.

Each night brought her closer and closer to a break in her routine, and the even more daunting task of talking to a stranger about her personal life. It felt like each day twisted her stomach into tighter knots and a heavier weight was added to her chest.

Dr. Fletcher could have been reading about her at any moment...the image kept popping up in Hanna's head throughout the day of her first appointment. Even sitting on the bus on the way to her office, Hanna thought about when this new woman had gotten her file in the mail. Had she read it immediately or waited until just before today? Was she horrified? Would she pity her?

A surge of anger made Hanna's face feel hot at the last thought. She was not a thing to be pitied.

The bus came to a stop and Hanna observed the people around her. A man bobbed his head to music blasting through his headphones; an elderly woman was being helped to an open seat; a little kid was standing in his seat, face pressed against the window.

At the next stop Hanna adjusted her scarf and followed a handful of people off the bus. The cool breeze that hit her when she stepped onto the sidewalk was a welcomed relief after the stuffy ride – 15 minutes longer than it was when she would go to Dr. Markas.

She tried to shake the bitter feeling in her stomach as she took a deep breath and looked around her, getting her bearings in the new part of town. Hanna started down the street, having a vague idea of where Dr. Fletcher's office was and paused at a crosswalk before continuing.

The building was quite old, all brick and a large entryway covered by an arch. Some time ago, someone had carefully carved the address number into it, but now it was hardly readable. However, the list of offices off to the side of the door clearly read this new doctor's name on the third floor.

The inside really showed the building's age. The old wood lining the stairs and the wall looked like it hadn't been kept up in a long time, and the old patterned wallpaper and tiled floor had seen better days. The elevator to the side had a large "out of order" sign so Hanna found the stairs just a short ways from the front doors.

Hanna took the large spiral steps up three flights, checking her watch to find that she was earlier than she had expected...having already planned on being early and getting a chance to look around. By the time Hanna made it to the third floor she was a little out of breath, but relieved to see someone had left a window open. The fresh air was a nice break from the dusty smell of the old building.

The waiting area seemed nice enough; a comfy couch, a coffee table littered with magazines and books, and a large water cooler over in the corner.

Hanna did a small circle around the room, touching one of the ferns and rolling one of the small leaves between her fingers. She continued around to admire the paintings on the wall; some abstract that Hanna couldn't make out, some of nature, all with elaborate frames. By the time she had made it to the open window and had reached out to move the curtain behind it's holder at the wall a door creaked open and she jumped back, withdrawing her hand like the old dusty fabric had shocked her.

Hanna spun around to see a tall man step into the waiting room. He turned to lean back through the door enough to wave and smile widely at the therapist inside. "Thanks again, Dr. Fletcher. Same time next week, right?"

He didn't wait for a response before shutting the noisy door behind him and shoving his hands into his pockets. The man had taken a few steps towards the stairs before turning sharply towards Hanna as if just now noticing she was there.

"Where in God's name did you get that jacket?" the man asked, his voice surprisingly feminine despite his large build and mannish clothes. He crossed the room is several long steps, his trench coat swishing around his knees as he came to a stop in front of Hanna and reaching out to grab her jacket.

Hanna stood very still while the man admired it, surprised at how forward he was. His bright blue eyes light up as he talked about the kind of fabric it was – Hanna wasn't entirely sure - and something about his designs shifting towards the geometric. He tssked at the fraying hem around her waist before shaking his head and taking a step back, laughing and giving Hanna a sheepish smile.

He pulled away as suddenly as he had rushed at her.

"Sorry, I should have asked first," he said quickly, his smile pulling to one side apologetically. Hanna had a sneaking suspicion that he was looking over the rest of her clothes, but he did so with a little more distaste than he did her jacket. Then suddenly, the muscles on his face relaxed and he grinned at her again. "I'm Barry, by the way."

"Oh, hi." Hanna stood awkwardly by the window, glad that the breeze coming in was cooling her increasingly warm face. His blue eyes seemed to be watching her expectantly and she felt her face go even redder, realizing what he was waiting for. "I'm Hanna."

Barry took one of her hands in both of his and shook her hand warmly, glancing back at Dr. Fletcher's office door. "You must be here to see Dr. Fletcher too?"

Hanna nodded, her anxiety from her first appointment mingling oddly with the shock and amusement of meeting this man. His bright teeth flashed in another wide smile.

"You're going to love her, she's like a mother to us."

Hanna wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she smiled again and struggled to find anything to say to break the awkward silence that had fallen.

"I-uh, I can't wait to meet her," Hanna said slowly, unsure whether her voice was able to cover up how nervous she really was. By his smile, she figured she had done well enough.

"Well, it was nice to meet you but I've got to get going," Barry said with a long-suffering sigh, taking a beanie out of his pocket and pulling it over his head. "Lots of designs to go over, and I really want to get into more geometric angles today...," he trailed off. He pointed again at her jacket before turning and descending the spiral steps with an energetic skip to his step.

Hanna adjusted the scarf around her neck, her face still feeling warm and her stomach still in knots. She turned back to the window, stepping closer and taking a moment to enjoy the colder air coming in. He had been quite a character, but what he had said about her new therapist did do a little bit to ease the butterflies in her stomach...even if it was just a little bit.

The door Barry had come out of – Dr. Fletcher's office – creaked opened again and a woman's heels slicked on the floor as she stepped into the waiting room. The therapist looked almost exactly like the pictures on Google...perhaps a year or two older but she greeted Hanna with that same smile that she had seen on her computer. Warm, kind...very grandmotherly.

"You must be Hanna Moreau," Dr. Fletcher said, stepping around the coffee table and coming to shake Hanna's hand. Hers was far more professional and fleeting than Barry's had been. "I'm very glad Dr. Markas was able to get in touch with me. I've been looking forward to taking on new patients for some time now."

Hanna followed the woman into her office, scanning the new room as Dr. Fletcher stepped behind her desk and opened a few drawers.

It was a bit smaller, but more decorated and lived in than the waiting area. Potted plants and various old and modern art fixtures and paintings were placed intermittently around her office. Hanna's eyes skimmed over them quickly, taking a moment longer on some of the more abstract works of art on the wall.

She was aware of Dr. Fletcher moving over to a worn but comfortable looking chair and by the way the room was set up, Hanna was sure that the couch opposite the doctor was meant for her.

"So since this is our first session, I don't want you to feel like you need to dive right into topics that you aren't comfortable with yet," Dr. Fletcher said carefully, though Hanna noticed the small notepad perched on her knee and the pen balanced on the arm of the chair. She was ready to take notes.

Hanna tried to give a quick smile to the woman to show that she had heard her words, but she struggled to find anything of substance to say.

"What do you think about this change?" Dr. Fletcher asked after a moment, and when Hanna felt her gaze, she slowly crossed the room and took the seat opposite the doctor.

"It's okay, I guess," Hanna said, adjusting her skirt and scarf as she settled onto the couch.

"Do you have any questions for me?"

Hanna found herself looking around the room again, struggling to find anything to talk about.

"What kind of patients do you normally work with?" she finally asked, the question coming to her suddenly as she remembered reading about Dr. Fletcher's work online.

"Well, in the past I have been only taking patients that suffer from Dissociative Identity Disorder; where a patient has several personality identities," Dr. Fletcher added quickly. Hanna nodded, deciding to not tell this new doctor that she had already done quite a bit of reading up on her. It only felt fair that Hanna had some information on this new person too, seeing as all of her information had been transferred over.

"I don't have DID," Hanna said, wondering briefly whether this was the reason that Dr. Markas had sent her away. Did he think she may be suffering from this?

"I know that," Dr. Fletcher said firmly. "I've recently opened up my practice to other patients, though I feel I often work best with people who have suffered a trauma."

"You think I've suffered a trauma?"

"Haven't you?" Dr. Fletcher asked, her question probing but her smile kind. She leaned back into her chair and her eyes seemed to be watching every shift that Hanna made.

Hanna didn't answer right away, instead looking over to the desk in the corner. Her file sat atop the envelope that Dr. Markas had sent over, the familiar envelope cut cleanly on one side. "You already read about it though, didn't you? Isn't that all you need to know in there?"

"Reading about things of this nature are different than talking about them. I would like to talk about it, but only when you're comfortable."

"And if I'm not?" Hanna asked, feeling as if she were some sort of frog spread out on a biologists lab table. The idea that she was some commodity to be poked at turned her stomach, and being watched under a microscope was far from appealing.

"Then we can just sit here and talk about the weather, if you'd like," Dr. Fletcher said with a smile.

Hanna shifted in her seat. That didn't sound any better than talking about her "trauma", but Hanna was suspecting that any conversation in the office would feel like an interrogation.

"Do you want to talk about the weather, Hanna?" Dr. Fletcher asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Not particularly," Hanna said after a moment.

"Then why don't we start with this instead," Dr. Fletcher said, adjusting the notepad on her knee. "Why don't you tell me something about yourself. Something I wouldn't know from reading your file." She pointed with her pen over her shoulder to her desk; to Hanna's information.

Hanna worked her lip between her teeth before realizing that Dr. Fletcher was watching. Would she write that down? Would small things like her nervous lip biting make their way into a new file with her name on it?

"I don't really know how to answer that," Hanna answered honestly after a long moment.

Dr. Fletcher nodded. "Fair enough, it is hard to jump into conversations about ourselves. Can we start with your hobbies? What do you like to do when you're not at work?"

Hanna let out a long breath and tucked her hair behind her ear, hoping that the therapist watching her every move didn't notice her hand shaking.

It was going to be a very long hour.