Session 8
“Neither of us slept that night,” I informed Not-Doctor Reid. “She was anxious. We had to establish ground rules. Hadley wasn’t allowed to touch the locks. None. I would go through the house and check the doors. And she wasn’t allowed to follow me. But that night after I’d set the alarm and we were watching TV in bed, Hadley was agitated. She didn’t throw a fit or anything, but I saw that she was just shy of losing it. So we stayed awake. I played my guitar for her, we played cards—anything to keep her mind occupied.”
“And the next morning?” she asked.
“She waited outside in her car. We had to drive separately so I could meet with my attorney.” I smirked, stretching my legs out as I sat back on the sofa. “But you already know how that went.”
Reid gave me a polite nod.
She wore a blue button-up blouse and dark gray dress pants with a pair of black heels. It was a vast departure from her usual jeans and T-shirts. I didn’t spend a second thinking she’d dressed up for me.
“You got a lunch date or something?” I asked.
Her brow furrowed.
“You look nice. What’s with the outfit?”
“I’m presenting the first draft of my dissertation to my advisor.”
“What’s it about?”
“We’re getting off topic.” Reid woke up her iPad and crossed her legs.
“I had just left the attorney’s office with word that Gregor wanted a payoff. I refused, of course. I walked into Dr. Richardson’s class and was promptly sent out to see the student disciplinary board. It was just a preliminary hearing. Since Gregor hadn’t filed charges, I was there for them to tell me I was on academic probation pending a formal hearing.”
Once Gregor realized I wouldn’t part with a dime, he chose to leave well enough alone rather than risk my attorney dragging his name through the mud during a full trial. Above all, Gregor valued his professional reputation, and he didn’t want to find out what skeletons I could coax from his closet to parade for the press.
“In the end, you were referred here. Why was counseling an absolute last resort for you?”
“You dress like shit,” I told her. When she wasn’t all dolled up for her professor, at least. Loose clothes that hid her figure and said to everyone, Don’t look, I’m ashamed of myself.
Reid didn’t look up from her iPad.
“How does someone with body issues decide to study sex?”
She wouldn’t so much as glance my way.
“Dressing like you usually do, you don’t present the image of someone qualified to tell me all the ways I’m going wrong.”
“I’m sorry you find me offensive,” she replied as her eyes met mine.
“No, you’re not.” I leaned back on the sofa. “You couldn’t give a fuck what I think of you. You’re the one in the leather chair and I’m over here. There is a power structure to this arrangement.”
“So it’s my implied power that angers you?”
“No. I’d have to fear the consequences to care about the outcome here. Because I don’t, you have no power.”
Reid sighed, putting her iPad down. “Then why are we here, Josh?”
“Am I wasting your time?” I smirked, tilting my head.
“It’s your hour.” Reid countered with that bored look she must have practiced in a mirror because it was too damn effective. “I get credit either way.”
“You clean up well. The outfit’s nice, but it’s all wrong on you. Like you’re dressing up, playing a part. You don’t know what the professional, powerful, polished Not-Doctor Reid looks like.”
“Why do you call me that?” She uncrossed and recrossed her ankles as she sat up in her chair.
“You tell me.”
“Because it allows you to walk out of here after every session and dismiss our conversations, dismiss me, as total bullshit.”
That was the first time she’d cursed while not quoting me. I liked it.
“You assure yourself, seek to remind me, that I don’t really know you—no one does—and am therefore not to be taken seriously. We’re irrelevant, obsolete. You exert the absolute minimum effort and strive for nothing. You covet nothing. You have no goals, ambitions, or aspirations. You’re bored, Josh. And, frankly, you’re boring me with your narcissism.”
“Just a minute, lady. I can claim many vices and personality disorders. Take your pick. I’ll own it. But narcissism isn’t one of them.”
“With few exceptions, you tick off every characteristic on the list,” she informed me with an even tone. “Excessive preoccupation with control, personal adequacy, prestige…” She paused, looking me over. “Shall I go on?”
“You’re on a roll. Don’t stop now. I love hearing about myself.”
“Within the general population, you believe you’re better than others, fantasize about power, refer to your past achievements with conceited hyperbole, and expect constant praise and admiration from others. If you don’t get it—for instance, not being publicly recognized at the seminar—you rationalize away the expectation and then resent the perceived adoration.
“You state that you have no fear of consequences, which was brought on by a lack of adequate punishment for infractions during your childhood. You miss the emotional cues of others—Hadley most of all—in favor of your own misguided notions. You take advantage of the tolerance of others. You’re jealous and assume you are highly envied, have fragile self-esteem, and when you’re not assaulting or physically attacking another person, you default to a state of unemotional stubbornness.”
“That was a mouthful. Feel better?”
“No,” she huffed. “Because it isn’t real, and you know that. You really are too smart for your own good. So smart you’ve conned yourself into believing the lie.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“That for all your ill-conceived endeavors to rectify or normalize your behavior, you are still essentially a victim. You’re terrified, Josh. You are more the scared five-year-old boy curled up on a dirty mattress, discarded and crying, than a grown man and a survivor.”
My fists clenched and my jaw locked. It took great concentration to keep my knee from bouncing.
“Name one fear you’ve overcome in the last eighteen years.”
“Sex,” I hissed through my teeth. “Rabbits fuck like me.”
“And you can’t ejaculate without curling into a ball and regressing to that same little boy.”
She revealed no pride in pulling the trigger on that well-aimed shot. Instead, she resembled an owner putting down a dying, pathetic animal. I stared at her in silence. As if every second I didn’t tell her to fuck off and then slam the door behind me proved her wrong.
“I dress the way I do,” she added, “because we’re here to discuss your sexuality, not mine. You’re obsessed with the topic. With good cause. What you endured was abuse, Josh. Not sex. Subjugation. But what if you could change the way you think about your trauma? Let’s work toward that goal.”
It all came back to fear.
My natural instinct when confronted with fear was to demonstrate power, to exert control over the situation. Depending on the circumstances, control manifested as manipulation, retribution, the need to inflict harm—physically if possible.
“You wouldn’t hit a woman, right?”
“Of course not.”
“Why?”
That struck me as an unusual question. The answer was obvious, though she wanted something else. I didn’t understand what.
“Proper manners aside,” she continued, “why not hit a woman who has threatened you or someone you want to protect? You’ve struck men for less.”
“Because…” I was stuck. I didn’t have a good answer.
“Would you hit a child or an elderly person?”
“No.”
“What do they have in common in your mind?”
I rubbed my hand through my hair and slumped sideways on the sofa, exhausted. “You don’t pick on someone smaller, weaker.”
“So you view women as weaker.”
“No,” I groaned. “Don’t make me a chauvinist.”
“Not at all. But consider that for a moment.”
I did. Closing my eyes and laying my arm over my forehead, I went round and round in search of the response Reid intended me to offer.
“I was the only one. I don’t know if that’s in the notes. Other kids came and went from that foster home. Including Hadley, there were three or four others at any given time. But I was the only one—at least I’m pretty sure—that he abused while I was there. I was also the smallest. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I started to grow into my body, you know? All this”—I gestured over myself—“happened all at once. One day I woke up six inches taller than everyone else. Until Hadley got there, I was also the youngest.”
“Go on.”
Sliding back farther on the sofa, I exhaled and took a minute to gather my thoughts in some kind of logical order.
“He picked on the runt. And what could I do, right? I had no choice but to take it. And I hate the word helpless. So one day I wake up and I’m not so helpless anymore. I got in a lot of fights when I was a kid. Sure, I had anger issues. Have anger issues,” I corrected, “but that wasn’t the only reason. I picked some of those fights. I started a few. I was the bully. Because I could. Because one great fucking day I woke up and realized I was bigger and stronger than the other guys my age and I didn’t have to take shit.”
“You ran from Gregor the first time he touched you,” Reid said.
My eyes still closed and my cast resting over my face, I nodded. “I was still a kid back then and he was an adult. Not so much the second time around.”
I opened my eyes and dropped my arm to the side. It was at that point I realized I’d gone horizontal on the sofa.
“Breaking his jaw wasn’t impulsive or an act of sudden rage. I told myself a long time ago I’d make that bastard pay if I ever saw him again. I was just making good on a promise.”
Reid closed the cover on the iPad and set it aside. “I neither approve of nor condemn your actions. That’s irrelevant. What’s important to discern is if you understand where the motivation for violence in these situations originated. Logically, you do. You also understand the difference between rage and reasoning.”
“I’ve got a headache and I haven’t slept for shit,” I groaned. “Give it to me straight.”
“You don’t have an anger-management problem, Josh. Neither are you prone to excessive violence as your sole means of conflict resolution. You know what is considered acceptable behavior but do not temper yourself when there are no consequences. There are specific circumstances under which you feel frightened, threatened, or motivated to protect. When you are afraid or perceive a threat, you get angry; that is not unnatural. Rather than treating the symptom, you would be better served by working to eliminate the fear while also retraining your brain to mediate your anger response. Medication can help.”
“Right,” I exhaled. “I’m just a big pussy.”
“So,” she continued, “as far as I’m concerned, you can walk out that door a free man. I’ll write up my evaluation and recommended that your enrollment continue.”
I sat up, wary. “That’s it?”
“Not nearly. Unless I told the disciplinary board that you were likely to come back with an assault rifle and five hundred rounds of ammo, you were never in real danger of expulsion. You know that. We’re all going through the motions here.”
“So what now?”
“Keep our appointments. Come back for our next session and let’s really go to work. Commit to meaningful therapy and digging into the topics we’ve skimmed so far. Do it for yourself and not because anyone is forcing you.”
I placed my elbows on my knees, studying Reid as she swiveled back and forth in her chair by the tip of her shoe, just a couple inches to each side. She was too damn excited by the prospect.
“And why do you care either way?”
Reid smirked and then let out a heavy breath. The pretense came down. Like this whole time—weeks now—I’d only met a character she played on TV. A persona she put on just for me.
“I like you. You’re fascinating. And I want to help you. More than that, I know I can help if you’re willing to work at it.” Her back-and-forth swiveling became more animated, teasing and excited. “What’s your answer?”
“Well, if I’m so fucking fascinating…” I stood and gathered my stuff.
Reid raised an eyebrow.
“See you next week.”