The Therapist [h.s]

2

"Hey Harry."

"Alright."

"How are you feeling today?"

"Alright," inside I was slowly screaming, it was sessions like these that made me hate my job. When I had to worm my way into a person to get them to talk.

"So why are you here if you're 'alright'?"

"Management sent me," I could hear some bitter resentment in his voice, an underlying tone.

"Why did they send you here?"

"Say I'm messed up in the head. I need to focus more, to be the happy 16 year old I used to be again. The one I was on X Factor."

"Where's that person gone?"

"Drowned in alcohol, fame, money and the press. He wouldn't survive here, no he wouldn't. Too precious for this world."

"Why wouldn't he survive in your world?" I was finally getting somewhere, I was at the start of the journey.

"You tell me."

He was the type to be difficult. He didn't want help. He wanted to remain in the hole he'd dug himself into.

"I think that person hasn't gone anywhere, I think you just ignore him."

"I think you're out of your depth trying to figure me out."