Mend the Seams (2 page)

Therapy Session #2

One more fuckin’ time with this hag askin’ me all these damn questions and I may just strangle the breath from the bitch. I guess my short-and-sweet-kiss-my-ass answers weren’t enough for her likin’ the first time? Seeing a fuckin’ psychologist is complete bullshit if you ask me, but after my attorney, James McCoy delivered the Petition for Divorce I flipped my shit. An officer was on the receiving end of my wrath, so James requested that I undergo a psychological evaluation as part of my punishment. Damn fucker. Whatever strings he can pull to lessen my sentence, I reckon. But I’ll tell you this much, crazy is one thing I’m not.

Quick tempered – sure.

Arrogant – maybe.

Crazy – hell fuckin’ no.

But I’ll entertain another little get-together with this uptight bitch…silence is my strong suit. Sure as fuck beats layin’ in that damn cell staring up at the ceiling.

“What state of mind are you in today, Josh?”
Fuckin’ pissed as hell, about to come unhinged.

“You look tired, Josh. Aren’t you sleeping well?”
Fuck no, not confined in a six by eight cell, sleeping on a thin, shit stained mattress.

I don’t answer her pointless questions. I stay stoic, with my arms crossed over my broad chest and my right brow raised high into my hairline. She huffs in annoyance blowing her bangs back outta her face, then continues her   questioning.

“You realize our time together would come easier if you worked with me, not against me?”
Time together?
What the fuck?
I scratch my day old beard and glare at her boringly. Still not backing down, she probes further.

“Do you feel any remorse for abusing your wife all those years, Josh?”
Keep your shit together, asshole.
I flinch at her mention of Savannah. Like vinegar in an open wound. I swing my leg up on my knee trying to appear careless and unaffected. Dr. Hampton sighs heavily, shaking her head in frustration, but she still continues to speak in a soft, almost pleading tone.

“Josh, you’ve been incarcerated for nearly two months. No family has visited you, only your attorney. You have to be missing your children.”

“Don’t mention my fuckin’ kids!” My voice is harsh and laced with venom. I flex my wrists behind my back, the cuffs that restrain my hands digging into my flesh only adds to my anger. I’m seething, fuckin’ ready to come unhinged. She doesn’t think I realize I ain’t seen my damn kids in months? I’ve lost all contact with the world that I know, I don’t need any fuckin’ reminders about the hell my life has become.

“Josh? Josh, you need to try to control your breathing.” Dr. Hampton speaks in a low, soothing tone. I blow out a rushed breath and pierce her with a deadpan glare. “I realize that I’ve brought up a very sore subject, but you need to understand this is all rather important. Now, if you will, please comply with my questioning. You’ll soon find that talking about your issues will help you come to terms with your disorder.”

Disorder? There ain’t a damn thing wrong with me. What the hell is this bitch talking about?
I stare at her momentarily, letting her ridiculous statement sink in, penetrating deep into the parietal lobe, but the frontal lobe is hindering the process. “Dr. Hampton,” I look up at her with a devious glare, “I don’t give a fuck about your graduate degree and all the pretty little plaques hangin’ on your damn walls. I can assure you, I have no disorder.”

“Funny you would say that, Josh. But my graduate degree and I will have to disagree with you.” She clicks the tip of her pen repeatedly, an obvious nervous tick. “You remember our last session together, correct?” I nod, because how the fuck could I forget? She smiles nervously, glancing down at her notes. “During that evaluation, Josh, I diagnosed you with Antisocial Personality Disorder. Not that I would expect you to believe me or find any shock value in my statement, because anti-socials like yourself hold themselves to a higher esteem than that of their peers.”

I glare at her for a moment before a boisterous roil of laughter shakes my broad chest. If I were one for dramatics and weren’t bound by restrictive metal cuffs, I’d be doubled over at the waist slapping my knee as the laughter rolls off my lips, but fuck that. This woman, this cute little doctor with her mousy voice and delicate smile – well she has a simple way of crawling under my damn skin and attaching herself to my nerves, plucking at them aggressively one by one. I have a feeling she and I won’t be seeing eye to eye on much of anything. But I’ll humor her diagnosis for my own shits and giggles.

“Antisocial Personality Disorder, huh? Well,
doctor,
” I mock her professional title sarcastically, “since you don the degree, please elaborate on your findings of my diagnosis, please.” Yes, I have one hell of condescending tone. I flex my shoulders, rolling my neck as the cuffs restraining my wrists pinch my skin. Stretching my long legs out, I slump back in an awkward position and smile. Might as well get comfortable, sure this bitch will be talkin’ my fuckin’ ear off for days and days. She tucks her hair behind her ear, then shifts in the chair obviously uncomfortable with my relaxed nature.

“Prior to evaluating you, I took the time to go through your file. The laundry list of charges you’re facing is quite appalling. After digging a little deeper into your background, I quickly concluded that you’re a man who expresses himself with actions rather than words, and you’re often rather careless in those actions. It’s clearly evident that you disregard authority of any kind.”

True, I have little patience for ignorance. “That’s very interesting, Doc…please, continue.”

“You’re deceitful, yet witty in your attempt to manipulate for your own personal gain.” Dr. Hampton quirks up a brow and the amusement on her face just further pisses me off. She thinks she knows me based on some textbook definition? That’s laughable.

“So tell me, why are you here if you have me all figured out?”

She sighs softly and closes the file, clicking the pen closed. Looking up at me with innocent doe eyes she says, “Our hopes are that you’ll agree to weekly treatment where together we will talk out the issues that have plagued you.”

Straightening in the chair, I bend my knees and push up to my feet, smirking down at the fragile woman. “Dr. Hampton, in order for you to treat me, something would have to be wrong.” I purse my lips together, rolling my eyes, “and I can assure you, I’m as right as rain.” Turning towards the door I tip my head at her, silently instructing her that I’m ready to be transferred back to my cell, but she ignores me.

“Josh, the decision is yours, but facing your demons may help you understand the wrong turn your life took that caused you to be so callous and heinous. It will also help your case if you voluntarily undergo therapy because then the courts will see that you have some remorse for your actions and you are attempting to right your wrongs with baby steps.” Dr. Hampton’s voice raises a few octaves, displaying a hint of urgency in the care she wishes to coddle me with. Well, my momma done raised me, I don’t need another tit to latch onto.

I crack my neck to the left and slowly turn towards the small doctor, my eyes drawing into small slits. “Demons, eh? You wanna talk about my fuckin’ demons?” She tilts her head to the side, looking up at me with those innocent, fearful eyes. “Doc, my demons lie dormant for a reason. I’m the monstrous man that I am because I have to
protect
the people that I love and speaking about my demons will only unleash the dark evil inside me, and I’d just rather let sleeping dogs lie.” I spit through grit teeth.

Dr. Hampton’s body trembles. She looks away from me, loudly inhaling a shaky breath. She’s a small woman, maybe five-foot-one and one hundred-twenty pounds. She has a heart shaped face, with soft round innocent eyes. Very attractive, but meek and mousy. I wonder what prompted a woman like her to want to work with deviants like myself. To put up with murderous psychopaths day in and day out. Maybe she needs
her
head checked?

She straightens her posture, squaring her shoulders proudly. “Josh, I’m only going to ask you this once, next time I’ll step out and ask the CO to forcefully instruct you. SIT DOWN,
please
.” Her voice rises as she barks her command. She can’t be serious. She can’t fully expect
me
to listen to her demands.

My shoulders bounce up and down, as a sardonic chuckle slips free. “And what if I feel no remorse?”

She waves her hand at the chair I was sitting in, smiling she says, “Well, let’s talk about that and we’ll go from there.”

I glance up at the clock boringly and realize twenty five to life is a long ass time, so I got it to kill. What more do I have to do than sit with Dr. Hampton and listen to her incessant rambling about whatever psychological bullshit she wants to spin my way. Reluctantly, I plant my ass back down in the chair. I’ve never seen a psychologist. Hell, I have two emotions – pissed and fuckin’ pissed as hell. There’s no happiness, hearts or fuckin’ rainbows in my life. There have been happy moments, but I erased every thought of happiness when I let Drew figuratively shove his hand up my ass and play puppet master. So what Dr. Hampton hopes to gather from these
sessions
is beyond me. But I am rather intrigued.

Staring blankly at Dr. Hampton my jaw tics waiting for her inquisition to begin, only she stares back silently. A war of impassive glares ensues and my frustration grows. She taps her pen lazily against the folder in her lap, uncrossing her left leg from the right, only to cross the right over the left.

“What the fuck? You told me to sit, I’m fuckin’ sittin’. What next? Are we just gonna sit here and have a fuckin’ starin’ contest, because if so I’d rather head back to my cell and count the fuckin’ ceiling stains or pound my fist against the wall to beat out some of this frustration you’ve caused me here.” I snap at her. I have very little patience.

“WOW! Such anger. We’ll work on that as well. I was actually waiting for you to open up, Josh. But I should have expected you to be a man of few words, so I’ll start. You’re very prideful, genuinely overconfident. Explain your pride to me.”

She’s read my file and she doesn’t understand why I’d be proud? What the fuck did she go to college for? “I’m very successful, of course I’m proud of the man I’ve become.” I huff at her ridiculous question.

“Perhaps too proud?”

“Is there such thing?” I scoff.

“There is actually. Answer me this – Do you feel you are of the utmost of importance?”

“Highly.” I smirk,
proudly.

“And you feel that there are people who are beneath you?”

“Dr. Hampton, there is a food chain of command in this world and I just happen to be at the top.”

“I see,” she nods, clicking the tip of her pen, scratching notes in her pad. Classic fuckin’ shrink. “So how does your importance affect your relationship with your family?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking?”

“Do you put yourself before your family, Josh? Do you spend holidays and birthdays with your children, or rather attend to business meetings or golf with friends?” Her eyebrows raise and she tilts her head to the side as she watches me intently, analyzing my breathing, my facial expressions, and the dilation of my pupils. She’s trying to gauge my trigger points, and if she hasn’t figured it out by now mentioning my family sets me off. But I refuse to allow her to label me with her fuckin’ head shrink bullshit, so I keep my tone even and steady.

“Dr. Hampton, my business is essential to my family’s life style. Without my endless hours at the office and traveling for days on end, my wife wouldn’t have the opportunity to stay home to raise our children. My children wouldn’t attend the best private school in the state. They would have wants and quite possibly even needs. So yes, I sacrifice time with my family to enhance their lifestyle. Personally, I think it’s a rather selfless act, putting my family first.” I tsk.

“But what about the abuse, Josh? How do you justify the abuse?” My jaw sets hard as I grind my teeth together. She ain’t very delicate in her attempts to get me to open up. She’s a heavy hitter, aimin’ right for my fuckin’ nut sack.
Bitch.

“What you see as abuse, I see as exercising my authority.” I reply truthfully.

“Authority? You hold authority over your wife? Her sister? Or women in general?" She squares her shoulders as she speaks, silently relaying the message that in this room, she is the authority. My right brow quirks up at the confidence she exudes in that statement, but like I told her earlier, those pretty little plaques on her wall don’t mean shit to me. “Your arrogance and hunger for authority and power coincide with your antisocial personality. Anti-socials aren’t just people who shy away from society, and I believe that is what you’re hearing when I use the term. Anti-socials actually are very depraved individuals, Josh, who are very lack in remorse, laws are nonexistent to them, and they seek pleasure in manipulation and pain.”