King of the Cell (DNF)

Chapter 25: Therapy

Something that all of us probably need.
_________________________________________
George POV.

This was the first time that I had been without Dream in over two days. This morning I had been wary but I told him that I was going to go to the therapy session alone even though he had offered to walk with me. I was walking down the corridor, towards the steps leading to the fourth floor.

I clutched the note that I’d been given yesterday, telling me when my therapist session was going to be. In order to get to the fourth floor you have to have a guard or some sort of note allowing you to go up there. When I reached the staircase I showed the two guards standing on either side the note before letting me up.

The reason I didn’t want the blond to come with me was because I hadn’t been separated from him for over forty-eight hours. If I didn’t start spending time away from him now then I probably never would. Deep down though, I also felt bad that he was spending all his time looking after me, he deserved a break.

Both of the guards took a couple seconds looking over my note before giving me a nod, signalling that I was allowed to go past. It was 11:15 when I left the cell to come here, and so I probably had ten minutes to get to the therapist’s office that was just down the hall.

Most of the rooms on the fourth floor were offices for high ranking members of prison staff, all of them had gold plaques with the names of the people who owned them. There were some other plaques for rooms that weren’t offices, saying things like ‘meeting room’ and ‘staff kitchen’, both of which required key cards which only the guards have to be unlocked.

Only one door didn’t follow the trend of having the name of the room without having the key card, and it simply said ‘therapist’s office’. I took a moment to examine the door, not that there was anything else to examine. So I tentatively knocked, since I knew that there was always a chance that there was another inmate in there who was in the middle of a session.

Unlike the other rooms on the lower floors, the rooms on this floor were all built with soundproof walls, so that no passers by could hear what the warden was saying to different guards and inmates, or overhear what someone was rambling to the therapist about. I couldn’t even be sure that a therapist was in the room until I heard the door unlock from the inside.

It opened, and I immediately froze as I locked eyes with the man standing inside.the office, staring back at me with a straight face. It was Philza… Wilbur’s father. The parent of the person who I was accused of murdering.

Immediately I lowered my gaze so I didn’t have to make eye contact with him and quietly murmured about how I was here for my 11:30 therapy session. For a moment the older blond continued to just stare at me before slowly nodding. “Come in,” he said slowly, his eyes dim as he stepped sideways so I could enter.

As I walked into the office I refused to look at the father of my best friend, or former best friend I guess. Instead, I glanced around at everything in here. The room was furnished nicely, and it didn’t feel like a room that you would find in a prison. It just seemed like your average therapist office.

Philza locked the door to the office before turning to look at me, and he told me to sit down. I did so, cautiously taking a seat on the couch in the corner of the room. After I did that the blond kept to the edge of the room, examining me as he walked around to a chair facing opposite me.

“Hey George,” he greeted as he sat down, a sad smile on his face. Both of us were only thinking about Wilbur. My best friend and his son, who had been stabbed in an alleyway. I then took the blame for it. I hadn’t spoken to him since a few days before Wilbur’s death, so I wasn’t sure whether he believed that I actually did it or not, but he said nothing.

“Hello Phil,” I managed to respond. After making a brief second of eye contact with him I turned away to look at the rest of the room. My eyes focused on a bookshelf running the length of one wall, with a range of titles but most of which seemed like self-help books. I attempted to read the different names that were there as a distraction, but Philza speaking caught my attention.

“So the Warden told me about what had happened to you,” Philza spoke softly, causing me to turn back to look at him. “I’m here to help you process what has happened, and monitor how you go from this moment forward.” He explained, and I just sighed lowly. The blond watched me with furrowed brows and then moved forward slightly.

“I know that therapists are not supposed to have personal relationships with their clients, so if you want to I can put a note forward to the Warden and ask him to bring in another therapist specifically for you.”
“No, I’m fine with you.” I replied. "Besides, I don't want to make life harder for everyone else."

I’ve known Philza for the most part of my life, and I knew about the fact that he was a therapist and went to different places to give therapy sessions on different days during the week. From what I remembered he worked at a school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and took appointments on Saturdays while having Sunday and Monday off.

This must be where he came on Wednesdays and Fridays, and I was surprised that I didn’t know that since when I came to dinner at Wilbur’s house as a kid he’d often talk about how his day went. Never disclosing information of course, but he’d talk about the traffic and the weather and other stuff along those lines.

“Where should I begin…” Philza asked himself quietly, looking over a set of notes that were sitting on his desk. He then sent me an apologetic look. “The Warden told me that I was getting a new patient and told me a little about your situation, but I still was supposed to get some files about you from the admin block. You were here early of course…” he trailed off slightly.

“You can go get it now,” I offered, my voice sounding meek as I spoke. “I don’t mind waiting a little while.” I attempted to send a small smile to the father of my best friend, but all I got in response was the look a therapist would give their patient, because that’s all he allowed himself to see me as.

“No need,” he replied, setting himself back in his chair. “Most of the files were just about your schooling or if you’ve been to therapy before, but I already know most of that stuff anyway.” I nodded at him, watching as he took a notepad out and clicked the end cap, so that he could use it. “I hope you don’t mind me taking notes of what you say.”

I shook my head, a moment later Philza asked the first question. “I was wondering if you could take me back to the start… do you mind explaining what your first couple of days were like in prison? Leading up to what happened.” At the request I hesitated, taking a deep breath and taking a moment to glance over at the clock awkwardly.

It was 11:31am, since I had gotten here early, and the therapy sessions were half an hour. So I had 29 minutes. Without even realising it I had begun fidgeting with my hands, well I hadn’t realised it until Philza cleared his throat to get my attention. “George, are you okay? You’re fidgeting.”

“Sorry,” I responded when he said that.
“It’s alright, before you start though I want to remind you that everything you say is confidential, unless it puts anybody else at risk. And just tell me if you get too stressed out and you need a break or anything, okay?”

I nodded at him and took a jagged breath before beginning to talk about what had happened to me during my first couple of days inside of this prison.
_________________________________________
1447 words