Doctor Valentine

Doctor Valentine was an imposing figure. A tall, stern looking woman. John had never been to therapy before, and so he was unsure as to whether the nervousness he felt was normal, or if Doctor Valentine just had that effect on him. When Jon walked in, she was standing in front of her desk, staring at him appraisingly. She was wearing a grey skirt suit, a white blouse, and very tall heels. Her blond hair was up in a severe bun, tied with two chop sticks. Her lips were pursed, her eyes squinting at him from behind her horn-rimmed glasses.

She was easily three inches taller than John, and in her heels she towered over the high-school senior. For a moment, John considered turning and bolting, but then he remembered the sleepless nights he had been experiencing the past few weeks, the thoughts of self-harm, the dark places his mind had taken him in his depression. John needed help, and the school guidance counsellor has recommended her highly.

"Oh, she'll fix what's wrong with you," Ms. Emerson had told him, almost cryptically, "I'll make all the arrangements."

And she had. The fact that the school was willing to pay out of the guidance counsellor's budget had sealed the deal. John didn't come from a wealthy family, and the thought of having to shell out thousands of dollars for therapy that he needed, but couldn't afford, just added to his feelings of failure, of hopelessness.

"Welcome," Doctor Valentine said, "You must be John."

"Yes," he responded, sheepishly, "I, um, I've never done this before, so I don't know..."

"You will sit," she instructed, indicating a wooden chair in front of her desk as she turned and walked to the other side of the desk, easing herself into a large leather chair and crossing her long legs, "then we will begin."

"Okay," John said, quickly sitting down.

"Now," Doctor Valentine continued, "if you will look here..."