Million Dollar Man

Million Dollar Man: Chapter Three || Talk To Me

"So," Dr. Nardovino began as she placed Michael's file on the coffee table between them, before leaning back into her chair, trying to show she was more relaxed than she actually felt. Doing her best to ignore how the enchanting scent of his expensive cologne had invaded her living space. "I've looked over Dr. Friedlander's notes, and I have a loose idea of who you are, your history, your life and such, but I'd like for you to tell me about yourself, in your own words."

Michael really didn't like the idea of her having preconceived ideas about who he was, but he was too busy fighting his eyes from being drawn to her long toned legs, to give it any considerable thought.

The doctor wasn't oblivious to where his eyes were placed, although she tried to show any reaction. She knew that wasn't a good start to the session, or their professional relationship. However, she also knew that even though he as a patient in need of her help, he was also a predator who would smell weakness if she let herself show it.

"What's to tell?" he shrugged, pulling his eyes off her. Faced with the discomfort of having to rehashing the story of his early life for such a pretty young thing was quickly making him doubt that another round of therapy was right for him.

Knowing she'd likely already passed judgement on him, based on what had been written in his notes, was enough to make him want to clam up, but there stronger part of him pushed for him to talk. Needing to vent to someone who would actually listen. He had to give her the benefit of the doubt and open up, at least this once.

"Grew up in the mid-west. Abusive father. In prison as much as I was out of it. Failed football career thanks to a couple injuries and on account of...my aggression issues." his voice low as he fed her the appropriate markers for her to analyse him.

It was obvious that part of his life was still a major thorn in his side. She had read as much, and had already developed a theory for how his past had directly influenced his present.

"Do you think this could be why you've chased wealth and success?" she deduced from Friedlander's notes, that the root of many of his problems lay with his early failures. A nagging regret that he always carried with him, deep seated issues with never being able to please his father. Barely buried anguish for losing out on the professional sports career, which could have seen him achieve fame and fortune, fast cars, faster women, money to burn. All of which he seemed to crave and pursue in his career as a thief.

"Jesus!" Michael exclaimed. "You don't fuck around, do ya Doc?" he asked, biting back his urge to be more sarcastic and aggressive, but remaining a little taken aback by how upfront and unnervingly accurate she was.

"It's not my job to beat around the bush, Michael."

An odd sensation stirred through him at the sound of his name on her lips; warm against the cold spotlight he felt himself under. Maybe the second round of therapy wouldn't be so unfavourable after all.

"Guess not." he gave back in a mutter.

They looked at each other for a moment, her blue eyes were keenly encouraging him to answer her question, as she quietly feared she may have pushed too hard too soon. However, he didn't notice as his eyes were fixated on her mouth. The full lips, painted a bold red, the sight of which would have made most men's balls shrink in fear.

"Well?" she asked, guessing that his mind was already starting to stray but not being willing to allow him to avoid the question she'd posed.

He slumped back into the sofa and looked off to the ocean again. "Yeah...I mean, of course. I fucked up my shot at the big time...." he said bitterly. "I wasn't good at anything else until I got pulled into this life." he confessed and before he knew it, his mouth was spilling his minds contents all over her living room. "...Runnin' all the damn time, trying to avoid getting clipped. The more I dodged the bullets on the job, the more outlaw became the only thing I wanted to try to do." the way the words were so eager to escape his mouth told him he'd gone too long without an outlet. "...Getting that rush, like I got from the game....out running everyone, scoring the touchdown, the big win." he put out, more thinking aloud to himself than offering her the information.