Denise tried not to draw unwanted attention as she shifted her weight. The creak of the uncomfortable yellow leather couch betrayed her. Robert glared at her as she ignored him by examining her impeccable teal manicure, a perfect match to her turquoise and silver jewelry. She didn’t need to see him. She felt his annoyance. Robert’s voice continued, a dull buzz in the therapist’s office that reminded her of the irritating hum of a fluorescent light fixture.
The therapist must have hired a designer to furnish the spacious suite. Soothing grays, calming blues, and fashionable mid-century modern furniture made the space look homey and relaxing. The trouble, or maybe the desired effect was, looks were deceiving. The doctor occupied the Eames lounge chair with its matching ottoman. It was undoubtedly, an original and probably the most comfortable piece in the room.
The droning ended, and Denise realized someone had addressed her. Kind brown eyes regarded her, waiting.
“Do you have a response?”
She shrugged before looking at her hands.
“Surely, you have something to say.”
It was difficult to ignore eyes that seemed to care.
“He never asked the one question that would have guaranteed success.”
Denise waited, ready for Robert’s normal tirade, but the therapist’s raised hand stopped him.
“What’s in it for me?”
Robert attacked, throwing facts, statistics, logic, and rhetoric at her. His repetition offered nothing new, nothing she hadn’t heard a thousand times before.
“You’re not listening. Those things don’t matter. They never have.”
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer