Restoria V

*Snap*

“—lf! A real elf!”

Ending of a dialogue that comes off as absurd to everyone else in the therapy room. Half of Lutèce’s body launches from off the velvet therapy couch. One arm out far in front and into the sky, the other clutching her chest where the jacket pockets once were.

“Luè!” Liz grasps Lutèce’s outreached hand tightly, “Luè, are you alright?”

A dazed Lutèce sits up. The state of being stuck somewhere between here and the vague past. Her mind playing catch up to the therapy room that has been house her for the last hour. All she can manage in regards to her sister is a thumbs up from her free hand. That is, until taps of dress shoes can be heard re-entering the therapy room.

“Oh,” Dr. Tarsh let’s out a cheerful clap, “good! You woke up more quickly this time, Miss Sinclair.”

The snap hadn’t happened in any more time than a dozen or so odd seconds. Just enough time to let the receptionist off for the day and nearly make it back to the room in time. A smile may cover the doctor’s face, but an exhaustion is also cracking around his edges— as is Lutèce’s.

Traffic outside is ramping up. Aggressive honks escalate from beyond the room’s window as the sunlight through it has dimmed. The soothing oceanic sounds no longer are coming from the miniature boombox radio. Everything has seemingly been shut off, packed up, and ready to close for the night. Yet, the doctor remains professional.

“How are you feeling, Miss Lutèce?” Dr. Tarsh’s words are as nice as they are squeaky like this. Nevertheless, he’s still asking these questions by the room’s entranceway.

“Honestly?” Lutèce double-checks.

Both Liz and the doctor nod. Each in different tones.

“I’m somehow more tired now than I was before I fell asleep.”

“Hahah!” Dr. Tarsh’s words laughs. A warming, comfortable presence exudes from his body language. As if not an ounce of nerves could be felt from him. Confirming so, “That seems to be a common complaint from people who have had gone through this type of recover process before. It should lessen the more memories you have overcome.”

Nevertheless, a reluctance hides underneath the doctor’s facade. Not that of ill-intent— no— but the lack of time. Time to ask questions. Time to discuss the details. Time to discover something revolutionary. Alas, there will be time again soon.

Those bits advice send relief through the nerves in Lutèce’s body. Soothing any worries of uncertainty about this recovery process at this moment in time. Except, the dim needle-prick pain developing in her temple.

Liz stands up first. After helping Lutèce up, she thanks the doctor as both sisters end into the hallway. The needlepoint isn’t going away. As the three make there way towards the office’s exit, Lutèce reaches a free hand to her temple. A moderate hiss develops from under her breath.

“Three days from now will be your next visit.” The doctor confirms the next session visit, “that works for you two, yes?”

“Yes, Thursday should work for us, Dr. Tarsh.”

                                         “Yeah— sure, doc.”

Just as they are about to leave the office, “Hey, doc,” Lutèce stops Dr. Tarsh.

“Yea, Miss Lutèce?” His voice— while pleasant— his eyes are firmly on the lock of his office’s entrance door.

With a hand on her temple, “You don’t happen to have anything for headaches, do you?”

Dr. Tarsh scrambles around in his lab coat pockets. Front ones first. Then, the pants pockets. Finally, the upper breast pocket. Nothing can be found taking up real estate within the palms of his hands. So, his hands shrug where they are currently at.

“Huh…” a tiny mumble trickles from underneath his tongue before a statement erupts in its place, “there are many available medicines on the market that should be able to treat your headache, Miss Sinclair. They all will be over-the-counter for you to choose from. Not a prescription needed. This should work unless you’re not satisfied by next appointment.”

“Ah—“ Lutèce nonchalantly rolls with it, “yeah, I guess that makes sense. Thanks, doc.”

As all three turn towards their respective directions on heading home, Liz stops short. Her pupils hesitate. Staring into the doctor’s back. A sense of unease grips her throat like a lump of coal in a Christmas stocking.

“Sis?” Lutèce calls back to Liz.

“Yeah, yeah,” Liz haphazardly replies, “I’m coming. I’ll be there— shortly.” Liz’s eyes squint until the back of the doctor is out of sight. Her trepidation isn’t settling as they leave the building and go home.