27. Straight Outta Compton

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Scheduling a therapist was harder than I expected it to be. The number of people who were equally as f-cked up as me was shocking yet somewhat comforting. People had been in far worse situations than I have been in and they were perfectly fine. Therefore there had to be at least some hope for me and my problematic tendencies.

All of the prestigious therapists were all reserved so I had to schedule an appointment with a therapist who had an office in a sketchy part of Los Angeles. The only good aspect of making Tim Jenkins my therapist was that his prices were way cheaper than the mainstream therapists in the city. For my sake, I hoped that he was well experienced enough to help me through my troubles.

Today was my first day meeting with him and I was slightly afraid to even consult with him. I've never been the person to just dish out my problems to people, especially not complete strangers. My appointment was two minutes ago and instead of being inside of the building, I was sitting inside my car and chewing on my fingernails. The only thing that got me out of the car was the fact that I remembered that I was paying him by the hour. It was my time that was being wasted, not his.

With a sigh, I got out of my car and stepped out into the sketchy neighborhood. I got a couple of funny looks from the scarce people who were walking on the sidewalk. They gave me a look as if they recognized me, but then they just brushed it off and kept walking. I always thought that was the funniest thing about being famous. Sometimes people would recognize me and then just blow it off, thinking I was just a look-a-like or something. The only thing funnier was when fans were only a few feet away from me, but were too busy to notice me.

When I walked into the office, there was an uninterested blonde chick sitting at a desk. She was flipping through a magazine and chewing gum viciously. When she heard the door open, I could tell she was annoyed that she had to deal with someone. A small huff came from her lips. She peered over her magazine and gave me a confused glare. I ignored the stare and walked over to the desk. "I have an appointment with Tim Jenkins. It was actually five minutes ago. My name is Arden Scott."

Her eyes grew wide and she slammed down the gossip magazine. "Ar-Arden Scott? Like the Arden Scott," she asked me as she grabbed a piece of paper. She examined my name on the list of patients before looking back up at me with astonished eyes. I laughed awkwardly. No matter how many times I went through this process I never knew how to truly act when someone was surprised to see me. I didn't want to be arrogant or shy either, so I just stared with a slight, awkward smile.

"Wow! Why would you come-I mean...," the blonde was truly frustrated. I think her brain was literally malfunctioning.

"Arden, you're here," a deep voice said as a man appeared from a door behind the blonde girl. I recognized the voice as my therapist, whom I had talked to briefly over the phone. Thankfully, he was about to save me from the stammering blonde. "Ashley, why didn't you page me and tell me?"

"I was late," I defended the woman sitting at the desk, even though she did waste like three minutes just stuttering. "I made a few wrong turns," I lied. The GPS led me to this place as if it was a piece of cake. It was my fault for procrastinating and just sitting in the car.

Tim pursed his lips together and nodded his head understandingly. "Well, please head back." He walked into his office and I gave a still starstruck Ashley a nod before following behind him.

When we got into Tim's office, he took a seat behind a cluttered desk with a huge computer monitor on it. I sat in one of the two ancient, worn out arm chairs that was across from his desk. When I usually pictured a therapy session, it was always in a nice, comfy and homey looking room. I imagined artwork on the walls and inspirational quotes in frames here or there. But it was nothing like that with Tim's little set-up. It looked like he had legit just moved in the building and he used furniture that he found on the street to put in his office. The walls were blank, concrete and white. Everything seemed raw.

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