眼泪ㅤㅤⴕ  ㅤ⠀

.ᐟ Aaron Tully

          Destination to the heavens, yet the adventure is hell. That much is true, at least in Hellskitchen. One is brought into this world with pure innocence yet the devil hangs on every shoulder. Though the devil itself doesn’t have to be biblical or spiritual, it can even be a person, place, or thing. Anything or anyone that deceives another for the benefit of self-gain. Unfortunate really.

Aaron believes this to be most authentic, almost everyone he’s met so far has either wanted something from him or just used him and he only found out their true intentions after. He was always told he would never make it in life. He wasn’t worth saving. He had always wondered what he did wrong to gain such animosity towards him. He didn’t kill, deceive or have a bad reputation. He didn’t sin…or at least he likes to think so, he never knows anymore. Nor did he care at this point in his life. His view of the Catholic religion was tarnished anyway. So in a sense, you can say he was persuaded by the devil to lose faith in god.

And don’t most say to make leaving your hometown a goal or else you'll end up staying there for eternity? Yeah, Aaron never made it. He’s certain he never will. It’s not a depressing thought for him...

It’s the truth.

The damn truth.

He exhales heavily at his overloading thoughts, he didn’t need this today. He reached in the cabinet under the desk he sat at and opened the file drawer. Full of files collecting dust yet the bottle of pills awaiting consumption hidden in the back gnawing at Arron. He mentally curses at himself as he gives in and takes them out, opening it and popping two in his mouth, swallowing them with no liquid, hinting at his desperation.

He then stares at the orange bottle, almost empty. He taps his feet, waiting. Waiting for what? He didn't know. He groans as he leans back in his chair, looking at his desk. There’s a sense of organization, when in actuality his place was nothing like the sort. A notebook, a mug of tea lay on the left side, steam still flying out and a few neatly stacked papers. His chair is comfortable but professional, with a high back for support. A small diffuser in the corner of the room emits a light. He then looks out to the room, the room is thoughtfully arranged to create a warm and welcoming environment. The lighting is soft and natural, enhanced by a large window that allows sunlight to stream in during the day, framed by neutral-colored curtains. A few cozy lamps with warm-toned shades add to the inviting atmosphere, casting a gentle glow.

The walls are painted in calming muted gray, decorated with minimalist art or nature photography to foster a sense of serenity. Across from the desk is a seating area featuring a plush, neutral-toned couch and a couple of armchairs with soft, textured throw pillows. A small coffee table sits in the middle, holding a box of tissues, a few books, and perhaps a small succulent or vase of fresh flowers.

The space feels uncluttered but personal, with subtle touches of character like a bookshelf filled with therapy books, wellness guides, and a few decorative pieces, such as a candle or a figurine. A soft rug anchors the seating area, adding warmth to the hardwood or carpeted floor. There’s a gentle hum from a sound machine or air purifier in the background, ensuring privacy and creating a peaceful ambiance.

The sound of a ringing phone, halted his peace. It's persistence reminding him of what he's here for. He grabs the phone and holds it to his ear, leaning against the desk with his elbow, playing with a pen between his fingers, in his other. “Yes, Veronika?” He said.

“Jake Flores is here to see you at 3:30.” she spoke over the phone. Her voice emitted a warm welcoming as well. Arron saw she always liked her job despite it being a desk job.

He hummed and set the pen down, grabbing his notebook and opening, scanning to today at 3:30. “...Yes, I do have jake at 3:30. Send him in.” He announced.

“Of course.”

At that he hung up, waiting for the door to open. He took a sip of his mug and about his pen and notebook, walking over to sit in an armchair that faced the elongated couch. As he did, the door open and it was none other than Jake. Arron smile and crosses his legs, leaning back. His notebook is sitting in his lap. “Good evening Jake, hope you didn't have a rough time getting here.” He greeted his client.

Jake timidly walked in and sat on the elongated couch, his leg bouncing. “No, no I didn't. Just uh, traffic is all.”

“Of course, traffic in Hell's Kitchen is no joke,” He spoke understandably. “So,” Arron stated as he opened his notebook and held his pen.

“What brought you in today?”