A Visit to His Therapist - A Short Story

A Visit to His Therapist by Taylor Payne

His hand slid across the chair arm, curling at the end until he was pressing his finger tips to the point of losing their color. His lip almost quivered at each word, every sin he drew from his soul to release in the form of communication from himself to the professional sitting only a few lengths away from him.

The room was small, but not so small that one would fear claustrophobia, or even the vulnerability of being too open. It was a somewhat comforting room with a sweet scent of vanilla hidden somewhere inside. There was one dark, cushioned chair int he center, occupied by the man fidgeting in place -- almost seemingly contained. Then, there were two couches: one against the wall and one turned at a 90 degree angle from its twin, placed next to the window and turned so that one could lie on their back and stare past their feet straight at the blonde sitting squarely in her own sleek black chair.

Her long fingernails gripped a black pen loosely, not even bothering to jot down any notes or scribble down a farce diagnosis. Instead, she perched with her right leg over the left; resting upon them a soft gray fabric which made up a skirt. The raven heel of her shoes tapped lightly at her ivory legs as her steel-colored eyes remained intensely glued to her patient.

His blue eyes never met hers.

Instead, he fought to stay in place -- dragging his long fingers through his tousled raven-colored locks, which were in desperate need of a haircut. He dressed as if he was poised and present, but if anything, his body language would suggest that he was a nervous wreck -- a ticking time bomb.

After a pause that felt like forever, the male gave in to his impatient nature and stood, his stiff legs leading him to the couch, which was draped in what little sunlight was brave enough to make it through the clouded skies and angled blinds of the room. It was here that he could plant himself, take a deep breath, cross one leg over the other, and release his breath. As he spoke, he kept his voice soft -- cautioned.

"I've been many things before . . . "

Once again, impatient nature crept into his body and he was standing up just as fast as he had sat down.

"A son. A father. A student."

He paused, his eyes lowering to his hands, which seemed tense and rough -- as if he had been struggling with something mentally to the point he could visualize his physical appearance deteriorating just the same.

"A lover, then a liar . . . and a cheater."

His words seemed to get longer, as if dragging out every breath.

"My wife, I don't treat her right. I cheated on my ex wife with her, and now the process just starts again. It's like a cycle. She knows I cheat on her, and what does she do? She acts like she doesn't notice. It's honestly laughable."

A sigh.

"She's just tired all the time -- tired because of the baby. Lord only knows how tired I am of being a father."

His eyes, which had remained unwavering from his fingertips, now flicked up, meeting the woman's for the first time within their progress of an hour-long session. There was no more confessions to be made by her patient, and the room was filled with the painful screaming of silence.

The woman pursed her lips, her eyes never wavering in the hold she had on him since he had walked in. She switched the dominance of her crossed leg to plant both heels firmly on the ground.

"I see," she began, the corners of her lips fighting not to lift. "It seems that you're in desperate lack of attention, if I were to make a professional diagnosis."

Her hands gently lifted the unused pen and notepad from her lap to push it off to the side.

"I'm sure we can find you a suitable treatment for you, Mr. Creed."

That statement was like an echo against the walls -- a soft, sweet echo that seemed so quiet, it could have been whispered in his ear.

In one fluid, quick motion, she was on top of him, straddling his lap the best she could with the presence of her skirt and the inconvenience size of the small couch. Their lips clashed with an eagerness that lit the whole room ablaze.

The moment turned wild.

Her fingers were