I’VE NEVER BEEN MORE THRILLED to see the inside of a VA hospital in my life. We were woken up at six this morning to go on a seven-mile run. Of course, Damian and Trevor led us, their football crafted bodies running us ragged as they barely broke a sweat. As I sit in the air-conditioned office, the hum of the air vent creates a cozy ambience. I can feel my eyes shutting of their own free will.
“Bishop?”
I shoot my eyelids open, caught off-guard by her voice. Shaking the cobwebs out, I respond, “Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”
She laughs. “Well, you sat down, I asked how you were doing, and your eyes started closing. Have you been having trouble sleeping?”
“You could say that. It’s Hell Week in the fraternity.”
“Hell Week?” She laughs. “What in the good Lord is that?”
“It’s just our last week of the pledgin’ process. A whole lot of horse shit. Not a lot of sleep.”
She shakes her head. “Didn’t you have enough of those games in the Army?”
“What can I say?” I shrug. “I guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“So how have you been otherwise, Bishop?” Carleigh asks, her smile warm but her body language apprehensive, as if she’s still trying to figure me out.
I sit back in my chair, a wide smile on my face as I give her a shrug. “Livin’ the dream, Doc,” I reply.
She narrows her eyes at me. “What did I say about ‘Doc’?”
“Sorry, Carleigh. I’m livin’ the life people only dream of.”
She smirks. “If sarcasm could be measured, I think you’d be pushing red.”
“It’s my second language,” I respond, smirking.
“Why don’t you tell me the truth, Bishop? It’s getting to you, isn’t it? I can see that.”
“The disrespect, mainly.” I shake my head. “It’s been rough.”
“So, tell me again, why are you doing this to yourself?” she asks, a bit of pleading in her tone.
“I need to see it through.”
“Why?”
“Because …”
“Because why?” she repeats, sternly this time.
“Because that’s what I do. When I start somethin’, I finish it. Is that so hard to believe, Carleigh?”
“You’re so beyond this though.”
“And who are you to say that?” I ask, more harshly than intended.
“I’m your therapist, and somebody who has gotten to know a little about you. You have to trust me, Bishop. I’m not your enemy. I’m not the bad guy. I’m your friend. I only want to help you.”
“You wanna help me?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes,” she responds, exasperated.
“Make these thoughts go away. I’ll take a magic potion, acupuncture, fuckin’ voodoo, I don’t care. I just wanna stop feelin’ this way.”
“What way?”
I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest as the floodgates begin to open. “I wanna stop feelin’ so damn alone, even with so many people around me. I wanna stop hatin’ myself so much for things I can’t fuckin’ change. I wanna stop feelin’ so goddamn sorry for myself.” I hesitate, my eyes on the floor, when I continue, “I wanna know who the fuck I’m supposed to be now.”
“Why do you put all this pressure on yourself?”
I shrug, shaking my head. “I don’t know. It’s just how I’ve always been. As much as I live in the moment, as much as my Peter Pan Syndrome influences me, I hate not knowin’ what’s ahead. I hate not knowin’ where I belong.”
“You still have so much left to give, Bishop,” she says, leaning on the desk, her brows furrowed with concern.
I roll my eyes. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “You tell me.”
I lean forward. “I was meant to be a soldier, Carleigh. It’s what I was born to do. It was taken away from me. Poof. Gone. Where do I go from here? What do I do?”
She puts a hand up, as if she’s trying to calm me. “Okay, Bishop. I’m not trying to get you worked up.”
I hadn’t even realized I was getting worked up. I let out a heavy breath and say, “Sorry, Carleigh. I didn’t mean to get so tense. I’m just…” I shake my head, sighing. “I’m lost. And fuckin’ tired.”
“Well, that’s why you’re here.”
I laugh. “No, I’m here because I beat a kid’s face to shit.”
She smirks. “I’m a big believer in ‘everything happens for a reason.’ You’re here with me because you need this counseling, Bishop. You do have a problem.”
Her words hurt, the truth in them the most painful, but before I can retaliate in anger, I’m overwhelmed by the concern in her features, as genuine as the smile I sometimes get out of her.
“I know I do,” I mutter, my head in my hands.
“And how do we fix the problem?”
I laugh. “Isn’t it your job to figure that out?”
She’s not amused. “It’s both of our jobs, yes, but I want to know what you think it will take to resolve this. To feel okay about yourself and where you’re headed.
“I couldn’t even tell you, Carleigh. I really couldn’t. I just don’t know who I am anymore. I’m mentally exhausted. Drained. I can barely think, let alone figure out how to fix this catastrophe.” I point toward my head, letting out a heavy sigh before adding, “I hope you’re happy, by the way.”
“What about any of this makes you think I’d be happy?” she asks, rearing her head back and her lips pinching together.
“Me spillin’ my guts.”
“Well, yes, I am happy you’re being open and honest with me. It’s necessary if we’re to make any progress.”
“How many military members have you worked with?” I ask, seemingly catching her off guard with the abrupt shift in conversation.
“A lot. Why?”
“How many would you say you’ve helped?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know, Bishop. Not enough. It could never be enough.”
“Do you think you can help me?”
“Will you continue to be honest with me in here? Be open to change? Willing to accept your own fault in this?”
“The first two … yes. But willin’ to accept my fault in this? What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, you have a lot of power, Bishop. You’re assertive, dedicated, loyal. You have the ability and the determination to pull yourself out of this. You just have to want to. You have to need to. We’ve both agreed you have a problem here. Now, how do we fix it? Where do we go from here?”
“Other than me needin’ a beer immediately after this session?” I grin.
“You probably are, aren’t you? I imagine you do after every session.”
I shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Bishop!”
“Carleigh!” I smile.
She scoffs and says, “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”
I nod, my lips in a tight smile. “I’m not an easy nut to crack, doctor.”
“Promise me this one thing,” she says, her pointer finger aimed at my face.
I put my hands up in retreat. “Yes, ma’am. Anything.”
“Be honest in here. Always. We will only find progress through truth.”
“You sound like Dr. Phil,” I joke.
She narrows her eyes at me. “Do you agree?”
“I agree, Dr. Jacobs. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“I’ll stick a needle in your eye,” she says, heaving a hand toward me as if she’s attempting to stab me. “Now, let’s talk about those grades.”
“Carleigh, I gotta be the cleanin’ bitch for a hundred dudes. I’ll talk about anything and everything you’d like, for as long as you’d like.”
“You’ll regret saying that.” She smiles, wide and effervescent, maybe even a little flirtatious.
I’ve decided, right here, right now, that one day I will bend this sexy minx over her desk and have my way with her. As she talks, it’s hard for me to focus on anything else but that round ass of hers perked up and waiting for my rock-hard cock. In my head, she looks back at me with those devastatingly beautiful eyes, her bottom lip between her teeth, her face saying, “Fuck me silly.”