During yet another very dry and bleak holiday season, Simone Evans, a high school English teacher, finds herself in the most unlikely friendship with Jordan Jackson- an ex con.
**Mature Content**
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Jordan Jackson
"Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick," was the only noise that came from the very quiet room as Jordan's eyes watched the clock, feeling like this was one of the longest hours of his life.
His psychiatrist sat there, watching him as he watched the analog clock behind her head.
"Tick.... Tick... Tick..."
Jordan awkwardly ran his dark brown hands across his black jeans as he sat on the very stiff couch in his psychologist's office. He was supposed to be talking, he just didn't have anything to talk about this week.
"Can't we just cut this session short today?" He asked, eyes still watching the clock behind Dr. Hudson's head in pure and complete agony.
"No. It's either you come here once a week for the full hour... or you go back to prison Mr. Jackson."
"Yeah, I know. You're constantly reminding me Dr. Hudson," Jordan replied quite sarcastically, mocking how she always says his name.
"Good. Then you know you actually have to participate," she crossed her pale white legs and sat her leather covered notepad down on-top of her right knee. "And you haven't said anything for the last," she glanced down at her watch. "Fifteen minutes."
"What else is there to possibly talk about?" He sat back against the couch. "I wake up, I go to work, I go home, then I come here and we talk about it. And every once in a while I meet with my parole officer. Don't shit be happening—"
"Mr. Jackson," she narrowed her eyes at him.
"My bad," he mumbled, knowing she doesn't accept 'colorful language' in her office. "Don't nothing be happening for us to have stuff to talk about."
"I have to report these sessions to your parole officer... meaning you have to actually talk to me Mr. Jackson."
"Can you stop calling me Mr. Jackson?"
Jordan asks her this ever single session since he started going to these court mandated therapy sessions for anger management a couple months ago. He doesn't see why he needs it though. Sure, he'll agree that he had terrible anger issues when he was younger, but he's been good about it the last 8 years of his sentence or he wouldn't have been released 12 years early.
"Why? Does it make you angry when I call you Mr. Jackson?"
"Not angry. More of an annoyance than anything else. Why can't you just call me Jordan?"
"I like to keep things as professional as possible," her very pale hand reached up to run through her overly processed and extremely thin blonde hair.
"Okay," he mumbled, knowing there was no use in trying to strike up an argument with her.
