"You're the one paying for this Ms.Brown, not me." The psychologist said to her. She huffed and fidgeted in the beige office chair, that had little rips on the arms as if someone had been picking at them. Zola had been through a lot so she needed this, but she couldn't find a way to open up. "I understand," The man said, his deep British accent sounding husky, "that this isn't easy for you. We can start easy. How about you tell me what type of music you like?"
She took a deep breath, "I-I like The 1975, Fleetwood Mac, The Smiths, and Panic! at The Disco." She watched as he quickly jotted down what she had said. She already knew that he was going to write everything down, but it didn't occur that it meant everything.
"Hmm, Fleetwood Mac?
She took a deep breath, "I-I like The 1975, Fleetwood Mac, The Smiths, and Panic! at The Disco." She watched as he quickly jotted down what she had said. She already knew that he was going to write everything down, but it didn't occur that it meant everything.
"Hmm, Fleetwood Mac?