Sympathy for the Devil

2

I stewed in my silence. I was skilled at remaining silent even as the tension grew. To my shrink, Luke, I was just another degenerate kid with a shitty attitude. I didn't bother trying to unravel my traumatic rollercoaster for someone who is only here because he gets paid to be. And I am only here to appease my dad.

Most of the time, Luke allows me to be silent. Silence seems to be more telling than filling the void with nonsensical chatter based on how many notes Luke jots down as I sink into the couch cushions further as the minutes tick by excruciatingly slow.

He is a middle aged Irish man with a muscular physique. He has coppery ginger hair peppered with gray. He always wears a sweater vest and slacks. He looks like a hitman disguised as a therapist.

The therapy room is small and stuffy with one window with the beige striped curtains always drawn closed. The walls are brushed copper and the decor is riddled with dust. There is a bookshelf in the left-hand corner with a few outdated young adult novels that have probably been abandoned here. Most of the shelves are vast and empty. Luke's desk has no personality. There isn't even a knick-knack on the mahogany desk to reveal anything remotely interesting about him. Not even a single picture of his kids or wife that he probably has based on the golden band around his ring finger.

He does bring his dog to the office, though, Failinis, who always lays his head in my lap during these dragging sessions. Failinis is an interesting-looking dog with jet-black fur and eyes that are black and menacing. You would think that he would be aggressive, but he is the sweetest dog I have ever met. I would not want to get on his bad side, though, his teeth are jagged and sharp. He looks at the secretary like she is a meal whenever they cross paths. His baritone growl rumbles and shakes the room when he is in a mood. But Luke always seems to calm him down with a simple hand gesture.

"How are your brothers?" Luke began with his pressing questions. His pen was readily in hand.

"Fine," I spoke softly.

Luke paused to continuously write.

"And your father?"

I paused as there was more scraping of the pen against the pad of yellow paper.

"Also fine." Testiness seeped into my voice. Luke was pressing all subjects I did not want to talk about. Not that I wanted to talk about anything in this suffocating shoebox of a room.

"And are you also fine, Ellie?" I squeezed a blue stress toy tighter until it nearly popped within my grasp. The compression made it squeak in my grasp until my grip relented.

More endless Ellie notes filled the page. These sessions were grueling.

I picked at the yellow foam peaking out of the brown leather couch.

Instead of lying, I told the truth, "No." I let out a tired sigh. "I don't think I have ever been fine. Not completely anyway. I'm not even capable of understanding the complexities of being fine at this point." I fixated on my lap rather than the jotting of more notes.

I'm convinced Luke is writing novels at this point.

Failinis whimpered at my candor as he burrowed himself further into my lap, licking my hand as I rested my hand beneath his chin. I gave him a light scratch to calm him down. He loved belly rubs. He flopped around until I scratched the right spot. He panted and let out a gleeful bark that tore through the silent room.

"Then what are you feeling? It doesn't have to be just now, why don't you generalize the feelings that have been stirred up the most within the past week? And explain to me why these feelings have been so heightened as of late?"