I sat fuming, For many reasons, a few unknown and one in particular.

Him.

I held in another sigh and breathed in, trying not to wince from the bruising. The strong smell of his cologne only added to my pounding headache. I have raging pms at the moment, which led to a fight this morning right outside of my church.

I should have not opened up as much as I should, it is not because I don't want to... It's because I feel too self conscious in front him. I don't know if I can even complete an entire sentence without stuttering or sounding like a complete idiot. It's hard to speak to him directly or even hold his gaze when he speaks to me.

I'm sorry, but Dr. Lecture is not the kind of man I want to spill my guts to. As soon as I met him I cursed myself for existing that day. I assume that his other patients actually find him to be trusting and caring, but he doesn't fool me with his clean cut demeanor, calm and gentle toned voice. And that accent of his, is that like a secret weapon of his? I know he's judgmental— very judgmental. I saw and felt it the second he laid his wolf like eyes on me.

A wolf in sheep's clothing. Very expensive sheep's clothing.

I stared down at nothing in particular, clenching and unclenching my jaw from anger. Today will make this our third session together. Although, it was not my idea to attend therapy, I sort of had no choice in the matter. It was either this or be sent off to Followers of the Cross Camp.

No way in hell that was happening.

Our last two sessions passed by pretty fast without me spilling my brain out to him. Sure he tried asking the usual- like all shrinks do, but I stood my ground by not giving anything away.

I've been here for almost 20 minutes and not much has been said. As he sat across from me with a soft expression and dressed to kill, his gaze rest intently on me. I feel nervous and extremely self conscious. Especially, since I look like hot crap today, well, scratch that, every day I look like hot crap. I don't know if he's trying to read me or if he's lost in thought or maybe just plain out bored, maybe even disgusted by my mere presence.

I bet he sprays his chair with Lysol when I leave.

"You're angry," He states, that smooth voice breaks my train of thought as I look up to meet his stare. Bingo, babe!

He tilts his head a bit, eyes narrowing slightly in thought, "What's troubling you?".

My heart jolts a few times as I stare at my lap. He was reading me. I wish he would look away so I could stop sucking in my stomach.

My gosh, no decency.

I wasn't about to tell the man I'm having raging PMS at the moment. I swallowed as I chose my words wisely. I debated whether or not I should actually tell him what happened at church. I mean, do I really want him to know how bad of a temper I actually have? What would he think?

Oh, the hell with it.

"I got into a scuffle right after church," my eyes traveled upwards to catch him nod in thought.

A scuffle was putting it lightly.

"What happened?" He asks.

I looked down, debating on what to say or how to say it without sounding vulgar. I wiped at my lemon pattern dress that's a tad bit too tight in the derrière.

"She threatened me and I just snapped. I pushed her, she pushed me. I grabbed her by the back of her neck then she threw a punch my way and I threw her to the ground, hard," She ended up with a fractured wrist but I didn't need to let him know that part. He must already think I'm immature after telling him I fought outside of church. I'm surprised I've said this much.

I sighed, "The priest was actually the one to break us apart by throwing holy water on us," I looked down, ashamed.

Did I really have to add that part in? Ugh.

"Did you feel threatened by her?" He asks, hoping to somehow break down my walls.

I rolled my eyes mentally. No, babe.

"I feel threatened by no one," I stated.

Silence makes itself present right after. I sure shut him down fast. I don't know what to say right now, maybe he's waiting for me to continue? I want to look up at him to see his expression, maybe try to catch something flicker in his eyes to let me know what is going on in that head of his.

Still feeling his eyes on me, mine travel up to stop and stare back at him. My thoughts head down south from the way he looks sitting down with his leg crossed over his knee as his hands rest in his lap. The man looks like he's posing for a magazine cover. And here I am, a 25 year old fat girl with anger issues sitting in a office that is worth more than my entire existence telling a man who is literally hotter than hell how I feel? He probably thinks I eat cake all day. I'm as pathetic as they come. This man probably seen crap better looking than me, yet I sit here and have the nerve to stare back at him?

That's it.

I look away and stand up, not giving him another look as I turn to leave, giving him my back, "I'm sorry, I have to go." I say, not giving him time to even stand up and ask what's wrong. I walk out, closing the door behind me.

I let out a breath, finally able to stop sucking in my stomach as I Power walk as fast as I could to the elevator. "Hurry up, shit ass!" I slap the button repeatedly as I look back to see if he might of followed after me. No one in sight. I breath a sigh of relief. The doors open for me to walk in.

Than again, why would he?

I shake my fat head as the doors close, feeling angry and embarrassed at myself. I shouldn't have told him about the fight. I shouldn't have said anything at all. I don't know what I even thought about coming to this weeks appointment.

Today is my last and final session with this man.

—

After telling my mother about not wanting to go back to therapy, she goes on to tell me how Dr. lecture is the best around and I should be lucky to have him as my therapist, but I didn't care.

It was all bullshit to me.

She agreed to not me go back only if I agree to start working on my anger issues by attending church twice every week and bible study. Of course I agreed just to get her off my back...

For now.

As I sat in bed, staring at my tv while not actually watching it my mind kept reminding me how stupid I am for thinking I could open up to him. "Stupid fuckin' idiot!" I cursed myself, groaning.

My. Life. Sucks.

I decided to get this shit over with and finally be done with him. I grabbed the card he gave me after our first session from my night stand. It's simple and sharp. It displays his info along with his office number and email.

Being that I've never done something like this before I had no choice but to google how to write a termination letter to my psychiatrist. I clicked a few links, read over some sample letters, rolled my eyes multiple times at how professional they all were.

Bullshit.

I filled out the contact info and subject then wrote him the basics:

I do not wish to continue our sessions.

Please terminate our contract.

Thank you.

I shook my head as I read over it. Terrible yet simple and to the point. With a shaky finger I hit send.

"Good riddance, Hanni!" I grab my cardigan and snuggle under my blanket with it bunched up close to my face.

I'm out of his life and he's out of mine.

I fall asleep breathing in the smell of his dark cologne.

—-

3 months later.

"So, how was your weekend?" I hear Will ask from behind me as we try to set up each table as best as we can with little time.

"It was fine..." I look over my shoulder and see him fixing a table for two. He is lookin' mighty fine in his all black work attire. "How was yours?" I ask, turning around to fix another table.

"I went out on a date with an old friend. We Had a really nice time, I actually forgot how fun she could be." He tells me, cheery.

Yippy. Hoorah-hooray.

"Oh, that sounds nice!" I say over my shoulder. Feeling bad when I shouldn't. I may like Will but he does not like me. We're just friends, I guess.

"Hey, what happened to your lip?"

Shit. I forgot to cover up.

"Oh, I cut it on a soda can." I told him, hoping he would believe. Would I believe it?

"Looks pretty bad..." he adds, letting me know he's not buying it. Of course he doesn't. My lip is pretty bad split.

"Fine. It's not from a soda can!" I waved over my shoulder, confessing. I hear him stop what he's doing to feel his questioning gaze claw at my back.

He sighed, "Who did you fight with this time?"

—

It's been a week and my stupid lip hasn't healed an inch! I rushed back and forth around the bar, taking down orders and trying to make them perfect for our customers satisfaction.

Assholes.

"Would you mind taking table 79 a bottle of our finest red wine!" Will rushes to grab the drinks I already had waiting for him. "Will, I can't leave the bar—"

"—I got it covered as soon as drop off these drinks I'll come right back!" He assures me.

It's a busy night and we're short on servers, as usual. Will is trying his best to seat people and get down their drink orders to bring back to me.

I furrowed my brows, not sure if he made a mistake. "Will!" I go around the bar, leaving potential tips from customers. He stops in a haste. "Did you say table 7—"

"—-YEP!" He dashes off. Huh... I don't remember the last time someone dined up there. I take in a breath, still not sure if he made a mistake. If I go all the way up that narrow tiny spiral staircase to see no one sitting in that dark dining area I will fuck will up. He knows I hate upstairs, it freaks the hell out of me. I got a move on, making my way into the back room where the wines were stored. I found one of our most expensive bottles priced at a whopping 100 buckaroos!

Pretty expensive to me. I don't know if these idiots are expecting a 20 year old bottle of aged wine at a local Italian restaurant.

"This will have to do." I say, grabbing a cork screw and two wine glasses that had the least bit of finger prints. It's a dim lit setting in this place, so hopefully they won't notice.

I make my way across the floor to the spiral staircase near the corner of the restaurant. As I walk up, I pray no one can see up my skirt. I sigh, making it up without tripping or dropping anything. Immediately, I feel weary being up here for the first time in ages. People rarely sit up here, there's not much to enjoy, unless you like a darkly lit, quiet and cold place to eat.

I look to see no one seated at any of the tables closest to the front. I know this upstairs is damn haunted. I swallow, walking further to see if they maybe sat at the back where it is closed off more.

Bingo!

I see the back of a head seated at a table nearest to the back wall where the ceiling lights fail to reach, having it lit only from the candle light chandelier that hangs down, create a soft orange glow.

"They must really want their privacy," I mumble, walking up. I really hope I pour this wine without spilling it all over. As I near I slow down, seeing only one person seated.

Maybe the other person hasn't shown up—-

Slowly, he turns his head slightly, enough to show the side of his face as he keeps his eyes down, letting me know he's aware of my presence.

"Fuckin' hell..." I grit my teeth, not believing this shit. Out of all the fucking places. I debate wether or not if I should just turn around and run. Pretend I forgot something, anything! It's been almost 4 months maybe he forgot what I look like. Lord knows I'm no head turner.

Eff it.

There's no turning back now. I'll just look like an even bigger coward if I run away, like last time. Plus, this is just a coincidence of him being here.

Has to be.

I'm trying not to let my nerves show as I walk up to his table. Shit! I forgot to suck in my stomach. And of course he looks up to place his eye piercing stare is on me the second I'm in front of him. He doesn't even bother to look at the bottle of wine, why when he can burn me alive with his eyes. I place the cups and bottle down, not letting my shaky hands show, I don't even greet him as I start opening the bottle, I haven't laid an eye on him. I keep my focus completely on the bottle in front of me, trying my best to block him from my side view.

Maybe he recognizes me?

I decided not to be a complete asshole and sum up enough courage to greet him. I mean it's not like things ended badly, I don't think there's any hard feelings. He probably could care less about me ending it.

Geez, I talk about it like we were in some kind of relationship.

"Good evening." It comes out forced, why I don't know. I didn't want it too, now it seems I have an attitude.

He says nothing, not even a nod of acknowledgement. I'm afraid to even look his way, I don't know what I might see, especially the look of him glaring at me under this lighting would send me crying in a corner. From my side view I can't make out his expression exactly. Maybe he's lost in thought. Maybe he didn't even hear me. Maybe—-

"... Sit." He tells me, his voice low and sharp.

I guess he does remember me.

—

Please, excuse spelling and grammar errors! Drop me a comment, let know if i should continue?