~~Ryan O’Brien~~
Ryan’s palms are sweaty, and his throat feels tight as he scans the room. The walls are a soft, muted green, the kind of calming color that’s supposed to make you feel relaxed, but all it does is make him itch. There’s a framed print of a serene forest landscape on the wall opposite him and a smaller, abstract painting that looks like a five-year-old’s tantrum on canvas. He tells himself he’s focusing on the art because he finds it adorable in a ridiculous way, but he knows the truth. He’s avoiding the therapist’s face.
Because he shouldn’t be here.
This is a waste of time, he thinks, shifting in his seat. His fingers tap an erratic rhythm on his knee, a habit he picked up since everything went to hell. Why does he need to talk to a shrink? His mother insisted, though.
