That initiative had led her to reschedule twice. Thinking it embarrassing to do so a third time, she had finally motivated herself to follow through on this… this thing she knew that she needed. Telling herself that running three minutes late made her fashionably late rather than problematic, the redhead, characteristically overdressed - hence her fashionable tardiness - strolled into the reception area, finding an attractive middle-aged woman scanning over a heap of paperwork. The Belgian, almost never sheepish in these situations, eased her way into the room with as much stealth as one could muster in five-inch heels.
“Ahh you must be Arlise!”
She started, having never seen the woman look up from her work. Sufficiently rattled by this superpower, the redhead crept closer, clinging to her purse. “Yes. I have an appointment with…”
“Dr. Crowley, yes. She is ready for you anytime. You look lovely, by the way!”
Arlise had not so much as seen her move her hand, but she heard mouse clicks indicating that the woman had checked her in for the appointment. The suddenness and efficiency left the redhead rocking back and forth between her feet before she got them moving to beeline through the door ahead of her. “Thank you and… ah, thank you,” she answered, as if both the woman’s effort to check her in and the compliment needed separate thanking.
Her steps slowed as she began to slip through the door. She hated this uncertainty and discomfort. It plagued her nowhere else in life but this one place, this… addiction? Is that what one should call it? She hated the idea of having an addiction. It clashed with her carefully crafted but hard-earned reputation as indomitable. Her mind thumbed through all of Dr. Takemi’s “analyses” of her psyche and wondered how much of that this new doctor planned to bring up during this appointment.
…And she had no further opportunity to stall. The Belgian stepped fully into the room, lips pursed, feeling as if she awaited sentencing.
Arlise

Wearing


