It was Wednesday, the day of the week she loathed. Alice glanced into the rearview mirror and dabbed her lipstick. She reluctantly got out of the car and slammed the door before she locked it. Ugh, AA meetings. If it wasn't for a court order, she wouldn't be here. It was all a big misunderstanding really. She wasn't anything like these people. They were pathetic. Some were unemployed, some suffering loss, some she believed were certifiably bonkers. And then there she was, just an average executive who lived in the Upper East Side, who came from wealth and perhaps made a few wrong turns on her path to success. Some may call it impulsiveness, others a lust for power, but really it was Alice who had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
She opened the heavy oak door and was greeted by the same 10 dumb faces and the intolerable Dr. Torres. He was one of those pretentious psychology PHD's who will only answer if "doctor" is said before his name.
"Hi Alice." Everyone droned.
"Hi all, sorry I'm late." She tried to sound chipper.
"You know what I always say, the only way to be on time is to be early!" Dr. Torres chirped.
His fake positivity was extra annoying today.
"Shall we commence?" he added showing her to her seat.
Alice glared at the clock. Forty-five minutes of pure hell lied before her. The second hand ticking might as well be a bomb about to detonate inside her. If she couldn't tell her side of the story soon, she felt she might explode.
Shelley's Inkwell blog is where non-fiction and fiction collide. It's a place for my life reflections and a place to escape into some really good stories. Sometimes that really good story is fiction and sometimes it's non-fiction. Because sometimes the best chapters in life are the ones we could never write ourselves.