The waiting room's walls had been freshly painted a stark white, and the blood that was stained there was now unseen. The coat of paint was fresh enough that you could smell it, the metallic scent becoming known to you as soon as you entered. 

There were also white chairs on the right side; they all faced a large clock on the left, which had made itself known by its loud and abhorrent ticking. The chairs were not cushioned and were made of hard plastic and metal; if they were to scrape, the sound would be louder than the clock's ticking. 

There was a lone door in the waiting room, or more commonly known as the waiting hallway. It was made of dark oak wood and stood out among the white, like a polar bear in the Sahara desert. The door handle was made of metal and seemed cold to touch, considering the air-conditioner on the roof was quietly blowing straight on it. 

I am restless within this room, though I had been in here many times. There were many memories that were held in this room, many of which I have not the courage to grasp. 

There is one memory that I do hold within my palms, however. I am the reason why the walls have been repainted. The blood that is caked on the walls is my own, though most of it has been scrubbed off, and all has been painted over. 

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That memory in particular is a long one, full of mysteries and dark secrets, some of which I do not even know. Mysteries and secrets that have been left to the void to rot alone. 

As I start to reminiscence that memory, I hear a click. I look up from my chair to see that my counsellor, Miss Jane Rick, is standing there. I see her beckon to me with her finger. 

"It's time for your session now, Liam," she says, and she smiles warmly. I smile back hesitantly, and she then notices my restlessness. Her right eyebrow raises a bit, but then goes back down again as I stand and walk over to her. My footsteps are loud and noisy in the hallway. 

As I approach the door, Jane moves aside. I walk into the familiar room and sigh, moving to sit on the black couch in front of me. 

"A penny for your thoughts?" Jane questions as she closes the door. 

My mind is in circles for multiples reasons right now, but she doesn't need to know that. The bloodied memory has come back, and I wish I had never come here today. 

But here is a thought aimed for the curious readers, as I know that you have questions already:

Yes, I do know that the waiting room is weird; there's a reason to that. You shall know soon.