.LAST THING TO LOSE.
Summary: Trendy new haircut: 100 dollars. Gorgeous new wardrobe: 500 dollars. Sexy new psychiatrist: 1000 dollars. Having your ex waltz back into your life with a new girl on his arm? Priceless.
Men can read maps better than women. Because only the male mind could conceive of one inch equalling a hundred miles.
Drinks Menu: Coke, Fanta or Sprite
Me: Oh my. And whose ass-crack do you happen to be?
Psychiatrist: Well I-
Me: Never mind, I'm not here to hear you complain about your life. I've got my own to whine about.
SFX: (mobile ringtone)
Psychiatrist: Your phone's ringing…
Me: (glare) Yes, I can tell.
Psychiatrist: (in wonderment) It's Jingle Bells.
Me: (pauses) Aren't you going to ask me why I'm not picking up the phone?! (hands on hips)
Psychiatrist: Uh… okay. So why?
Me: (sighs dramatically and shakes head) You aren't very good at your job you know.
Psychiatrist: (smiles hesitantly) Job?
Me: Yes, look- very funny and all but it's engraved right there on your table (picks up name-card): Dr. Phil Solsbury, (insert fake enthusiastic tone here and remember to smiiile) your dedicated psychiatrist with 10 years plus of clinical experience!
What would you do in this situation? My first session with the new psychiatrist.
Progress: I wouldn't exactly call it a good start.
Note to self: kill Sammy.
What am I doing now? Well. I have to say I'm a little busy trying to form a comfortable butt groove on this posh leather recliner. Some wisdom from a wizened butt groove whore- don't buy expensive furniture. The more expensive the furniture, the longer it takes for your ass to sink into it. And no, this has nothing to do with size.
Bored, I look around. Only one thing in the simply decorated room caught my interest. Yes, I must say… the poster pinned up near the back of the good doctor's head is rather amusing, with the quote "Anyone who goes to a psychiatrist ought to have his head examined" highlighted in bold blue Arial font. Automatically, my gaze slid to the drinks cabinet. I swallowed dryly, suddenly noticing how thirsty I was.
From the cabinet, a perfectly boring selection of Coke, Fanta or Sprite jostled for my already limited attention span.
Ah... green tea please, I thought longingly of my favorite drink.
SFX: (jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…)
Me: (glares at mobile) For the love of God, will you stop ringing?! (stands up, turns and answers)
The traitor on the other end of the phone: (static) How's it going Rin?
Me: So, you still got the guts to call me? This (glance over shoulder)- THIS- is the well known psychiatrist you wanted to introduce me to? (deep breath) Okay Sammy, let's set some things straight here. Bald I can take. Old I can take. I can even handle a turkey voice. But it just oh-so-coincidentally happens that he's not bald, he's not old and he doesn't have a frickin' turkey voice! Oh nooo, heaven forbid there be a balding old man here. All Karin sees is black hair, a body to die for and a voice made for sex. You promised! You promised me a balding old man Samantha Anne Graham!
Sammy: Karin, hun, you're borderline hysterical. And I'm sure that's a disorder of some sort. But are you sure you have your glasses on? … Wait a sec, where exactly are you now?
Psychiatrist: (raises eyebrow)
Me: Ah. FUCK.
Phil runs a hand through his no-sign-of-thinning (oh the resentment) black hair while I feign ignorance to the fact I've just managed to scream at my newly appointed psychiatrist that I would like very much to fuck him because he has a sexy voice. I check my watch. Record time Karin; 5 minutes and 43 seconds. Judging from this, within the next 17 seconds should be more than enough time for a hole to suddenly open up and swallow me. Hello? God? Are you listening? Hole. Now please.
Or, I could take matters into my own hands and walk out. Grab a drink, quench my thirst, that kind of thing.
Damon Lourdes watched the rapidly receding figure of the blushing girl with barely concealed amusement. When he'd walked into Dr. Phil Solsbury's office, he hadn't expected to have this much... fun. He brightened at the rarely used word.
Glancing at his watch, Damon proceeded to calculate the exact moment good, ol' predictable Phil would step through the door.
3, 2... 1.
Sure enough, his hard amber gaze met two overly polished black leather shoes.
"Hello Phil," he purred.
The old man stilled, a look of fright flickering across his usually even features.
"I've come to collect your debt," Damon smiled widely from where he was seated- on Phil's chair.
"You- you can't," Phil stammered nervously.
Damon enjoyed making the normally cool-headed psychiatrist quiver. He stretched complacently, "Oh believe me, Phil, ol' boy. I can."
Standing with a sudden snap of finality as the chair toppled sideways, Damon grinned.
"And I will."
A/N: The second chapter is up! Yay. I'm going crazy today, I've already updated two of my stories, so this is my third update. Seriously, I'm ready to drop into bed. Please take time to review, it makes me write faster so you get the updates quicker. Plus, I'd be devoted to you for the rest of my life (grins- seriously, what more could you ask for?). And I'll probably edit this a bit later. Too tired atm, 3:00am, eek. Bedtime.