therapist [jm];3
word count: 932
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s u m m a r y ; you are still the therapist
You sat at your desk, softly whistling a tune, as you look through your papers with all your clients on them. It was always boring in the office. No came to visit, just those sickos every day, and the guards that tried to hit on you.
"Oh, you're so beautiful," "Can I get your number?" You've heard them all before. To the blushing from the glazing. But, the sickos where no different, especially Jason, who happened to be the man you saw right now.
You could hear the guards shuffling through your door door, but you don't look up, remembering what occurred when you had a session with Jason. The guards easily place the man in the chair, just feet away from you, in front of your desk. Still, your head doesn't tilt up, until the guards leave you and Jason.
An eerie feeling enters you, making you shift in your seat a little. His eyes never leave you, and you knew it. You thought about if he was still mad, or if he'd want to hurt you, hurt you with his bare hands.
"Hello, Ms. (Y/LN)," You heard his voice echo into the room, only giving you chills. Chills from your head down towards your toes. You down speak back immediately, which gives Jason the impression that you think he's still mad. Well, he is mad. . .
"No. I'm not still angry at you. Although, I should be, I'm not. But, you know you should be punished for what you said," His red-rimmed eyes burn through you, his lips up in a sinister smirk. Feeling high on confidence, Jason tries to scoot himself closer to you.
"I-I don't need to be punished," You say, your eyes finally lifting to see the man sitting in front of you.
Jason McCann. The man who claimed that he killed his family. The same man who tried to get under your skin. And, he was going on the right path.
"Ms. (Y/LN), do I make you nervous?" A question he always asks you, with a glint in his colorless eyes. But, they do carry his madness. A madness that could hurt people. .
"No, Jason, you don't," You sharply answer, giving him your best glare. You hated how Jason could just look at you, and you would start to shiver. He'd ask if you were cold, oblivious to the fact that it was warm outside.
"My wife was afraid of me," Jason pondered out loud, his eyes staring straight through you. He doesn't seem to be there, in the room, present. Like he's back when that terrible event, that landed him here, happened. You just listen to him, wanting to see how far he would go.
"She was afraid of me, called me a monster," Jason's eyes stay straight ahead, his whole body still, but his mouth. He spoke, but not directly to you. You watch him, writing down things, as he talked.
"She was my life. They were what I lived for. I guess that wasn't enough, she still thought I was nothing, but monster," His eyes closed, making you ease back, as he came to. His hands handcuffed at the wrist. Restricting any movement.
"But, I killed them, and I am okay with that. She - Rosie - deserved what she got," Jason harshly said, his eyes flashing open to glance at you. You meet his eyes, wanting nothing, but him to keep telling the story, even if it scares you.
"But, you don't deserve that. You deserve to be loved." He made your heart flutter a little, as you set your pen down. "Jason, no one deserves to be killed," You tell him, as you try to give him sad eyes.
He lets out a growl, his eyes making you wish you said nothing. Nothing, you should've just listened. . .
"You don't know me, no one does! It's just a joke to everyone, to you!" Jason is now screeching, his eyes hard and his head down. Jason squeezed his hands together, and tried to pull from the handcuffs, his anger getting the best of him.
"You know what? All you women think you are so great! But, you aren't! Women kill their husbands, murder their families, but no one reacts the way people do when it's men!" Jason snarled to you, his body shaking.
"Everyone loves to judge, but I had my reasons," Jason whispers, his smirk growing on his lips. His eyes catch your's. "I had my reasons for killing her and that child! I was angry, boiling with it! I'm not normal, I can never be," Jason knew what he was.
"Goodbye, Ms. (Y/LN)," At that moment, your session with Jason was over, and minuted later the guards shuffled in and retrieved the crazy man.
*****
Hours later, another session was done, and you were on your way down to the front desk.
Many guards and people you worked with were scattered around in big groups. Some were whispering, while other's just looked around, suspiciously.
"What happened?" You ask the lady at the desk, who was writing something down. She quickly looks at you, sadness in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Ms. (Y/LN), but Inmate 756, Mr. Jason McCann committed suicide," Your eyes bugle out of your head, the sudden rush of tears flood your eyes. Jason is dead. . .
"He can't be!" You say, keeping your voice low. The lady gives you a sad smile, "I'm sorry," And she continues what she was previously doing.
He can't be, You say. . .
~ ~ ~
this was the final
[ bieberdaycare ]