[Session One] Love at First Sight
Around three-thirty PM, on her way to her therapist’s office for their weekly session of talking about nothing but her, Miranda Elizabeth Stone fell head over heels, face first in love.
They were absolutely gorgeous. Italian made black leather with a three and two-fifths heel and the small golden Gucci symbol of love attached to the top, a clear sign that these were the boots she should be purchasing. When she made her way inside to try her soul mates on, they molded to her skin like they were always meant to be a part of her. They were a perfect. They were beautiful. She knew without a shadow of her doubt that they were meant to be together and have their own glorious place in her closet.
At three-forty PM, Miranda had her heart broken when she found out that it would cost her five of her two week paychecks in order to bring her soul mates home with her. As her daddy would say, some things in life just aren’t fair.
***
“So how was your week, Miranda?”
Doctor Wallace Crawford was a comfortably dressed man, but he was always well-dressed. She had to give him at least that much credit. He was also probably considered decent looking by women his age, but at a bright eyed twenty years-old, Miranda mostly considered him an old fart. But according to her mother, he was the best family therapist on the Upper East side, and while actual family therapy had fallen through, Miranda seemed to have taken to him, and it was into therapy she went.
“Well, it was great until this afternoon,” she replied with a shrug as her phone beeped and she flipped it open. “I fell in love and got my heart broken in the span of ten minutes.” Her thumbs moved skillfully to the keypad and starting to respond to the text message she’d just gotten. She could feel the disapproving stare coming from her therapist, and she glanced up.
“Miranda, we talked about the cell phone during therapy.”
“It was an emergency.” She gave him an innocent smile, before leaning back in the seat. She hit the end button on the phone and held up the shut down phone before tossing it back in her purse. “See-all off.”
The disapproving look stayed on Doctor Crawford’s face, and he just shook his head, before turning back to his legal pad. Miranda watched him earnestly, waiting for him to ask the next question, and she crossed her legs, resting her folded hands on top of her knee and raising her eyebrows in his direction. Crawford sighed before flipping through his notes.
“You and Jack have finally developed some kind of commitment?” Jack was the boy she had been seeing for a while, on and off again. The last time they broke up, he told her the only person she’d ever be happy fucking was herself. Miranda had spent the entire hour with her shrink that week explaining the obvious problems in logic with that statement, and she thought she’d had Crawford pretty thoroughly convinced that she was, indeed, in the right here. They had gotten back together again two weeks later, but that was besides the point.
It was the question itself, not Jack, that had made her wrinkle her nose and make a face. Jack was actually quite pretty, and a sweet boy, who put up with far too much from her than he should. In fact, it was down to a particular word in the questioning that was making her a bit squeamish. They’d been over this particular roadblock in her therapeutic process. He knew the answer to this question.
“God, no.”
Crawford sighed heavily, before making a note on his pad and looking back up at her. “So who stole your heart and then broke it?”
She rolled her eyes playfully before returning to her attentive patient pose. “Not, who, silly. What.”
“What?” he frowned.
“They’re called the Gucci Hysteria Boot. And I swear to God, Doctor Crawford, my feet were meant to wear them. They fit like a glove.” The frown on his face only deepened and she tilted her head to the side slightly, confused at his reaction. “What? You know how I am with my shoes.”
“You can’t fall in love with inanimate objects, Miranda. Not real love.” His eyes glanced at her over the top of his glasses. “I thought we spoke about trying to take the next step in your relationship with Jack, trying to place more trust in him as a partner, and less of a friends with benefits kind if situation.”
“First of all, Doc, Jack’s in Vegas. Has been for two weeks-I said I’d make attempts after he got back,” she gave him her usual ‘get with the program’ style look, before leaning back against the couch and relaxing. “And who says I can’t love inanimate objects? You know how I am with my shoes.”
“It’s not the same kind of love, Miranda,” he sighed. “Inanimate objects-they can’t return affection. They don’t interact, they don’t have feelings or emotions.”
But that was the beauty of it. They don’t have feelings or needs of their own, so they never needed to leave her or ignore her to focus on themselves. They were hers unconditionally. That was why she loved them so much. But she wasn’t about to tell her shrink that. That would defeat the purpose of playing hard to get with the way her psyche worked.
“They love me more than anything else does,” she said with an innocent shrug, and then he got that look on his face. The look that said he was coming in for the sucker punch and while she hated that look, she was masochistic enough to wonder where that blow was going to go and how far below the belt it was going to hit. So she waited, in the silence for the question that was going to come and watched his face to see if she could figure it out in advance.
“More than Jack loves you?”
Bastard.
“Jack doesn’t count, because I don’t love him back,” Miranda said matter of factly, even though her stomach started to flutter as she said it. “My shoes are my soul mates. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
At that statement, he pulled off his glasses, tilting his head to the side slightly as he studied her for a long moment. There was something about his stare that made her uncomfortable, made her squirm, and she didn’t like it. Her brow furrowed in a ‘what?’ kind of gesture as she stared back at him, and it was a few minutes later before she actually voiced what the look was saying.
“What?”
“Jack seems to be a sore subject today,” he said, quietly, almost observantly. Miranda was aghast, her body tensing as she reached for her purse.
“He isn’t.”
“Miranda,” he sighed, watching her as the phone came out and back on. The phone was worse than the shoes as far as he was concerned, but he wasn’t about to voice it. He just watched as she kept her eyes on the screen and yammered nonsense syllables for a few minutes, which is what she usually did when she was covering something.
“He’s not a sore subject. He just-he shouldn’t even be a subject to begin with. He’s in Vegas. With the show girls and scantily clad waitresses. He’s not here therefore, we shouldn’t be talking about him.”
He watched her again, that same slow stare that made her squirm, and she looked up from her phone. She watched him back, waiting for the next comment and almost holding her breath as she prayed for him to drop the subject and move on to something else. He watched her, continuing to hold her gaze, before dropping it to the object in her lap.
“You know how I feel about the phone, Miranda.”
She took a deep breath and dropped the phone to her purse again, starting to feel equilibrium restoring and her body shifting back to the comfort zone that she had when the session had began. She looked up and gave him a soft smile, before turning back to the matter at hand.
“We were talking about shoes, right?”
Crawford sighed, putting glasses back on, and glancing back down at his legal pad, before slipping back into the annoyed voice he’d been using before he’d caught on to the bit about Jack. “Yes, we were, but I was hoping we could move onto something more productive.”
Her eyes narrowed and she looked back up at him. “That subject is not productive.”
“Then what would you consider productive, exactly?”
She was quiet for a moment, her eyes racing as she tried to figure out the appropriate answer to that question, and it took her some time, but eventually she just looked up and smirked at him. “I think shoes are very productive.”
He sighed softly. “You always do.”
***
On the way home from the shrink’s office, she stopped in front of Neiman Marcus again, staring into the window at the objects of her affection, her one true loves, and sighed wistfully, wondering if her father would see reason. She knew that she was supposed to use her own money for her shoes, but-really. Five paychecks. And that was guaranteeing that she made at least three hundred dollars a paycheck. If she didn’t, then she was definitely screwed in that department.
She moved closer to the window, pressing her hand against the glass and her nose right next to it, leaning forward and watching them as the leather gleamed in the window and the gold pendant at the top of the calf was glimmering, and it only made her heart ache all the more. She needed to have these shoes. And they needed her to take care of them.
Well-she could always save.
[Session Two]
They were absolutely gorgeous. Italian made black leather with a three and two-fifths heel and the small golden Gucci symbol of love attached to the top, a clear sign that these were the boots she should be purchasing. When she made her way inside to try her soul mates on, they molded to her skin like they were always meant to be a part of her. They were a perfect. They were beautiful. She knew without a shadow of her doubt that they were meant to be together and have their own glorious place in her closet.
At three-forty PM, Miranda had her heart broken when she found out that it would cost her five of her two week paychecks in order to bring her soul mates home with her. As her daddy would say, some things in life just aren’t fair.
***
“So how was your week, Miranda?”
Doctor Wallace Crawford was a comfortably dressed man, but he was always well-dressed. She had to give him at least that much credit. He was also probably considered decent looking by women his age, but at a bright eyed twenty years-old, Miranda mostly considered him an old fart. But according to her mother, he was the best family therapist on the Upper East side, and while actual family therapy had fallen through, Miranda seemed to have taken to him, and it was into therapy she went.
“Well, it was great until this afternoon,” she replied with a shrug as her phone beeped and she flipped it open. “I fell in love and got my heart broken in the span of ten minutes.” Her thumbs moved skillfully to the keypad and starting to respond to the text message she’d just gotten. She could feel the disapproving stare coming from her therapist, and she glanced up.
“Miranda, we talked about the cell phone during therapy.”
“It was an emergency.” She gave him an innocent smile, before leaning back in the seat. She hit the end button on the phone and held up the shut down phone before tossing it back in her purse. “See-all off.”
The disapproving look stayed on Doctor Crawford’s face, and he just shook his head, before turning back to his legal pad. Miranda watched him earnestly, waiting for him to ask the next question, and she crossed her legs, resting her folded hands on top of her knee and raising her eyebrows in his direction. Crawford sighed before flipping through his notes.
“You and Jack have finally developed some kind of commitment?” Jack was the boy she had been seeing for a while, on and off again. The last time they broke up, he told her the only person she’d ever be happy fucking was herself. Miranda had spent the entire hour with her shrink that week explaining the obvious problems in logic with that statement, and she thought she’d had Crawford pretty thoroughly convinced that she was, indeed, in the right here. They had gotten back together again two weeks later, but that was besides the point.
It was the question itself, not Jack, that had made her wrinkle her nose and make a face. Jack was actually quite pretty, and a sweet boy, who put up with far too much from her than he should. In fact, it was down to a particular word in the questioning that was making her a bit squeamish. They’d been over this particular roadblock in her therapeutic process. He knew the answer to this question.
“God, no.”
Crawford sighed heavily, before making a note on his pad and looking back up at her. “So who stole your heart and then broke it?”
She rolled her eyes playfully before returning to her attentive patient pose. “Not, who, silly. What.”
“What?” he frowned.
“They’re called the Gucci Hysteria Boot. And I swear to God, Doctor Crawford, my feet were meant to wear them. They fit like a glove.” The frown on his face only deepened and she tilted her head to the side slightly, confused at his reaction. “What? You know how I am with my shoes.”
“You can’t fall in love with inanimate objects, Miranda. Not real love.” His eyes glanced at her over the top of his glasses. “I thought we spoke about trying to take the next step in your relationship with Jack, trying to place more trust in him as a partner, and less of a friends with benefits kind if situation.”
“First of all, Doc, Jack’s in Vegas. Has been for two weeks-I said I’d make attempts after he got back,” she gave him her usual ‘get with the program’ style look, before leaning back against the couch and relaxing. “And who says I can’t love inanimate objects? You know how I am with my shoes.”
“It’s not the same kind of love, Miranda,” he sighed. “Inanimate objects-they can’t return affection. They don’t interact, they don’t have feelings or emotions.”
But that was the beauty of it. They don’t have feelings or needs of their own, so they never needed to leave her or ignore her to focus on themselves. They were hers unconditionally. That was why she loved them so much. But she wasn’t about to tell her shrink that. That would defeat the purpose of playing hard to get with the way her psyche worked.
“They love me more than anything else does,” she said with an innocent shrug, and then he got that look on his face. The look that said he was coming in for the sucker punch and while she hated that look, she was masochistic enough to wonder where that blow was going to go and how far below the belt it was going to hit. So she waited, in the silence for the question that was going to come and watched his face to see if she could figure it out in advance.
“More than Jack loves you?”
Bastard.
“Jack doesn’t count, because I don’t love him back,” Miranda said matter of factly, even though her stomach started to flutter as she said it. “My shoes are my soul mates. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
At that statement, he pulled off his glasses, tilting his head to the side slightly as he studied her for a long moment. There was something about his stare that made her uncomfortable, made her squirm, and she didn’t like it. Her brow furrowed in a ‘what?’ kind of gesture as she stared back at him, and it was a few minutes later before she actually voiced what the look was saying.
“What?”
“Jack seems to be a sore subject today,” he said, quietly, almost observantly. Miranda was aghast, her body tensing as she reached for her purse.
“He isn’t.”
“Miranda,” he sighed, watching her as the phone came out and back on. The phone was worse than the shoes as far as he was concerned, but he wasn’t about to voice it. He just watched as she kept her eyes on the screen and yammered nonsense syllables for a few minutes, which is what she usually did when she was covering something.
“He’s not a sore subject. He just-he shouldn’t even be a subject to begin with. He’s in Vegas. With the show girls and scantily clad waitresses. He’s not here therefore, we shouldn’t be talking about him.”
He watched her again, that same slow stare that made her squirm, and she looked up from her phone. She watched him back, waiting for the next comment and almost holding her breath as she prayed for him to drop the subject and move on to something else. He watched her, continuing to hold her gaze, before dropping it to the object in her lap.
“You know how I feel about the phone, Miranda.”
She took a deep breath and dropped the phone to her purse again, starting to feel equilibrium restoring and her body shifting back to the comfort zone that she had when the session had began. She looked up and gave him a soft smile, before turning back to the matter at hand.
“We were talking about shoes, right?”
Crawford sighed, putting glasses back on, and glancing back down at his legal pad, before slipping back into the annoyed voice he’d been using before he’d caught on to the bit about Jack. “Yes, we were, but I was hoping we could move onto something more productive.”
Her eyes narrowed and she looked back up at him. “That subject is not productive.”
“Then what would you consider productive, exactly?”
She was quiet for a moment, her eyes racing as she tried to figure out the appropriate answer to that question, and it took her some time, but eventually she just looked up and smirked at him. “I think shoes are very productive.”
He sighed softly. “You always do.”
***
On the way home from the shrink’s office, she stopped in front of Neiman Marcus again, staring into the window at the objects of her affection, her one true loves, and sighed wistfully, wondering if her father would see reason. She knew that she was supposed to use her own money for her shoes, but-really. Five paychecks. And that was guaranteeing that she made at least three hundred dollars a paycheck. If she didn’t, then she was definitely screwed in that department.
She moved closer to the window, pressing her hand against the glass and her nose right next to it, leaning forward and watching them as the leather gleamed in the window and the gold pendant at the top of the calf was glimmering, and it only made her heart ache all the more. She needed to have these shoes. And they needed her to take care of them.
Well-she could always save.
[Session Two]