Session 1- Marcy
'This feels more like an interview.' Marcy observes, nodding at the desk between them.
'What makes you say that?' The doctor asks curiously.
'The desk between us. It's a rather formal setting.'
'Would you prefer it if I asked you questions or would you like to tell me about yourself?'
The doctor asked kindly as she gazed at Marcy. Marcy glanced at the framed certificates on the deep red walls, her eyes falling to the books lined up against the wall. Most had obscure titles, and seemed very old. They didn't look like fiction books anyway, she thought. She realised the doctor was waiting for her to respond so she cleared her throat.
'Well, I'm Marcy Rivers. I'm eighteen years old and I live at home with my father, Edward.'
Her voice was calm, she noticed proudly. It hid the feeling of anxiety that was ripping her stomach apart.
She hated therapy.
'Do you and your father get along?'
'Yes. He's a good man. He's done the best he can considering...' her voice trailed off as she shrugged her shoulders. The doctor waited patiently as Marcy scratched her earlobe. It was clear she wasn't going to elaborate any further.
'And your mother?'
Marcy hated that question the most. She was asked it the most, that's why. What happened to your mother?
'She died when I was young. Cancer.'
'It's one of those things.' She said quietly. 'I don't remember any of it so it's not too painful.'
The doctor remained quiet, her soft brown eyes on the girl.
'Your father thinks therapy will help you. Do you think it will?'
Marcy shifted as she fiddled with her fingernails, chewing on them nervously.
'I don't know. I'm fine.'
She seemed fine, the doctor observed.
'What's your favourite thing to do?'
'Watch Netflix. Read. Play on the Sims.' She shrugged, her shoulders relaxing.
'Who are your friends?'
'Rosie and Doug, mainly.'
'What are they like?' The doctor pressed as Marcy frowned.
'They're my age. We go to school together. Well, sixth form.' She started, her fingers resting on her lap now. 'Rosie is my best friend, Doug is a good friend too though. But she's my best girl friend. She stays over alot.'
The doctor made a few notes, which made Marcy curious.
'What are you writing down?' She questioned, her eyes narrowing as she waited for a response. The clock ticked slowly, the only sound in the room other than the scraping of lead on paper.the doctor finished writing before looking up in her own time.
'Notes of your friends names. I wouldn't want to forget them and seem rude.'
This seemed to satisfy Marcy who sat back in the chair. It creaked as she did, and she jumped slightly.
'What do you do when Rosie stays over?'
'We talk, mainly.'
Marcy shifted uncomfortably, folding her arms as she coloured slightly.
'Does it matter?' Her voice was exasperated, but the doctor nodded.
'I'm trying to get to know you. Get into your mind. Let me try.'
'Fine. It's boring. Instagram, books, people at school. Clothes. That sort of thing.'
'Theres no names there, so now what are you writing?' She demanded as the doctor raised her eyebrows.
'Your hobbies. What about boys?'
The girl rolled her eyes then, turning to gaze back at the bookshelf.
'What about them?'
'Do you have anyone you are interested in? Any boyfriends?'
'I have an arrangement if I need intercourse.'
The doctor blinked, but recovered quickly. She recalled at eighteen she was just learning to iron and cook, this girl had herself a friend with benefits.
'Who with?' The doctor asked with interest.
'I see. Is it Doug?'
The girl laughed as she fixed the doctor with a stare.
'No, it's not Doug.' She said regretfully, her voice taking on a softer tone. This intrigued the doctor who didn't need to wait long for her to elaborate. 'Doug is my other best friend. We don't see each other like that.'
'And what about this friend? Are you close friends?'
'No, it's a good arrangement because we barely know each other.'
'Isn't that a little dangerous?'
'We use protection and I'm on the pill so no, not really.'
The doctor scribbled again, and this time Marcy didn't question her.
'Do you think you are happy?'
'Its hard to measure happiness, Dr Sparon.'
'Very true. But if I gave you a scale of one to ten, how happy would you be if ten was the happiest and one was the saddest?'
'I'd say around eight. I've got my whole life ahead of me.'
Optimist, wrote the doctor. No sign of depression. Slightly anxious.
'Okay, well that's all for today. I am probably going to recommend monthly therapy sessions for you, but only because your father insists. Medically I think you are of a sound mind. Try to see it as a session to off load, if you will. You can tell me anything in here, its completely confidential.' The doctor gave her a warm smile, closing her notebook firmly.
'Unless its putting myself or others at risk.' Marcy checked, giving the doctor a knowing grin.
'Well yes, of course.' Huffed the doctor.
'Then I can't tell you anything then. Just selected nuggets of information. Everything is risky isn't it? Crossing the road is risky.' She shrugged as she stood up, the doctor tapping away on her computer screen.
'Its up to you what you tell me. I will see you in one month Marcy.'
'Sure. Have a good month.'
'You too. Take care.'
Marcy smiled quickly before turning and leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her.
The doctor stared at the closed door, unsure why she felt curious about her new patient. She seemed medically fine, but her father insisted she had issues. Talking in her sleep, loss of appetite, tiredness. The doctor had checked Marcys blood results and they were all fine. All that was left was to try counselling. Maybe the father was over anxious himself, but if he wanted to pay for the therapy then she needed to follow it through. The doctor began to type up notes, pushing the girl to the front of her mind to do them justice. The sound of her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard soothed her, and she finished her notes promptly.
She pressed the intercom for her secretary and asked her to send in the next patient, her mind still fuzzy with Marcy. She just didn't know why.