“Hmm,” the therapist looked at my file curiously, “Now this is something concerning.”
I took a deep breathe and waited for him to continue. Although, I was not really keen to hear what he had to say. I, kind of, already diagnosed the situation.
“PTSD and OCD,” he concluded, “Both at the same time.”
“Ooh, you finally got it, smarty pants,” I said, concentrating on the dust particles at his table.
He smiled and removed them with a tissue paper.
“You are better than the stupid doctor I met a few days ago,” I giggled, remembering about the Man In White.
“And why is that?” he raised his brows.
“For starters, you don’t look like Ugly Betty,” I said with a horrified expression.
He laughed, “So I know.” And just after a minute, the seriousness was back on his face.
I groaned. If only dad did not force me to meet a therapist. It was his idea because, according to him, his daughter has started being isolated and looked like a dead porcupine.
No, that was not the reason which concurred me to come here. Dad said if I won’t visit the therapist, he will make me eat all his dishes for a week.
And so, I was left with no other option. Clearly, handling a therapy session is way less dangerous than handling his cooking.
“When did you diagnose it?” the therapist asked me.
“In freshman year,” I said, blankly, “It was not really difficult to analyze.”
“You must be a bright child,” he smiled.
“Uh, not really. I’m just good at psychology,” I said with a flushed face.
He, once again, went through the details written on the file. This time in a more observant way.
“Can you brief me with your current situation?” he asked.
“I-I get nightmares, sometimes twice a week,” I spoke, hesitantly, “Then there are these rare panic attacks and intrusive thoughts, ”
He heard me with patience, making notes of things I was saying, in between.
“Any flashback?” he raised an eyebrow.
I took one deep breathe, before replying, “A lot of them. The whole thing plays in my head like a movie, every time I’m near water.”
He nodded in understanding, “What about OCD?”
“That is something I can’t control,” I chuckled, “I wash my hands every time I touch something. There’s always a sanitizer in my bag. I refrain from physical contacts, have a repetitive behavior at times. I am always scared. I even washed my coins once, before taking it from the vendor.”
“Sounds so much like OCD,” he laughed. Then with a big smile, he said, “Just a few therapy sessions and you will be fine.”
I smiled back. I was never the one to be on the optimistic side. I am one of those people who are cynical about life. So I definitely did not believe him. But, I smiled back.
“Tomorrow, I will be starting the therapies. I hope you will be here,” he said, gesturing his hand for a handshake.
“Y-Yeah,” I looked at his hand, hesitantly.
He chuckled, “Oh, how I forgot. See you tomorrow.”
I gave him a huge smile, as he backed his hand, and left his cabin.
I sighed. Now, time to deal with Trystan.
I sat in my car and turned towards the direction of Dylan’s house. I had been really curious to know what Trystan was planning for me. I still remember the look on his face when I crashed Cady.
I laughed at the name. I don’t know whether to call him cute or stupid for naming his bike ‘Cady’.
There was a sudden vibration on my phone. I looked at it, only to find it was a call from Gabby.
“How did it go?” Gabby asked, as soon as I picked the phone.
“Hmm,” I smiled, “Actually, not that bad.”
She gave out a sigh, “You know, I was so concerned about you that I did not even stalk Chase on Instagram.”
“Awe, I always knew you loved me more than Chasewhore,” I said, making kissing sounds.
She chuckled on the other side, “That whore is super hot, though.”
“Yeah yeah,” I rolled my eye, “Now I have a job to do, so I’ll call you later.”
“Oh, the very same job you share with a Calvin Klein model?” she, definitely, smirked while saying this.
I snorted, “Bug off, Gabby.”
She chuckled in response. I was about to cut the phone when she stopped me,
“Always remember, I’m never gonna blame you for anything,”
I smiled as she cut the phone.
When did I get so lucky to have such people in my life, who love me even after everything?
I parked my car as I entered Dylan’s house. With a smile plastered on the face, I rang the doorbell.
“Tadaa, look she’s here,” Trystan opened the door with Tiffany in his arms, both wearing a chef hat.
I absolutely ignored Trystan and took Tiffany from his hand.
“Why is my mollycoddle having cocoa powder on her face?” I cooed, wiping her dress, which was ruined with stains.
“Because we were making a masterpiece dish, before you interrupted us,” Trystan took back Tiffany from my arms.
I looked at both of them. Trystan was wearing a white shirt with the long white chef hat over his head. Tiffany had the same hat on her head, which matched her white frock.
Standing there, they both were giving me a grin. A charming one from Trystan, and an adorable toothless grin from Tiffany.
“You two really look like father and daughter, right now,” I blurted out.
Tiffany clapped her hand, looking at Trystan. As if she loved the idea of being Trystan’s daughter.
“Wanna join our family of two?” he smirked. I rolled my eye and went to the kitchen.
My jaw dropped, as soon as I stepped inside.
It was a huge mess with Hershey, cocoa powder, and some other stuffs spilled on the floor.
“What kind of cooking were you doing?” I hissed at Trystan, annoyed by the condition of the kitchen.
“I was trying to make a chocolate cake,” he frowned, putting Tiffany in her go-cart.
“And where the hufflepuff is this cake?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Oh, it’s in the microwave,” he replied with excitement, which was soon replaced with realization.
“IT’S IN THE MICROWAVE,” he yelled, running towards the machine.
I gasped as the burning smell hit my nose.
“YOU IDIOT, YOU BURNED IT,” I yelled, blowing my hands at the smoke, to remove it.
He immediately wore the gloves and took it out, “Stop shouting and help me.”
I nodded and took the cake from his hand, keeping it on the counter.
We coughed as the smoke covered our face.
The cake was burnt really bad and the whole kitchen was filled with smoke. Out of panic, I started fanning the kitchen with my hand.
“What are you doing?” Trystan asked, perplexed.
“Trying to get rid of the smoke,” I glared at him.
“It looks more like you are catching a mosquito,” he coughed.
“At least I’m doing something, unlike you,” I gave him a ‘Do not mess with me right now’ look.
Luckily, he got the clue and, instead, started playing with Tiffany. He took her go-cart back to the living room, so that the smoke won’t affect her.
“Do you think Dylan is gonna throw us out of the job?” Trystan asked, as he came back to the kitchen.
I looked at the condition of the kitchen, and then at the clock.
Dylan would be back in half an hour. He told us, he will be coming home early. And, there was no way we could fix the kitchen in half an hour.
“Probably,” I whispered.
Then, I don’t know from where, but a feeling of determination engulfed me. I looked directly into Trystan’s eye.
“We can do it, Trystan. We can clear the mess,” I said with a determined look.
He looked at the kitchen, then back at me. He was about to agree, I knew it from his expression, but then he smirked.
And that was not his usual playful smirk, but his evil ‘get ready for revenge’ smirk.
He took out the key of his bike from his pocket and twirled it on his fingers, still smirking.
My eyes went wide when I realized his intentions.
Witty wit! How can I forget, Cady was still with the mechanic.
“Not we, sunshine. You can do it,” he poked my nose, and left the kitchen.