THE THERAPIST

00

𝗣 𝗿 𝗼 𝗹 𝗼 𝗴 𝘂 𝗲   

The lone man sitting at the bar glanced at the TV screen and frowned. Another episode of TIME WITH DR. ASHLEY played in the background. Today’s guest for the broadcast was the woman he didn’t want to see. Those two clowns, he scoffed as he traced a finger along the rim of the glass. He watched the ice cube disintegrate slowly. With a sigh, he picked up the glass and sipped.

     Returning his attention to the screen, he met the eyes of Dr. Newton, the renowned therapist in Beverley Hills who had ruined his relationship. His life. He couldn’t stop loathing her for it. He took another sip. The chill that ran down his spine made him shiver.

     “For every relationship to work, there should be trust, but it seems that’s the greatest challenge we face today. Trusting our partner,” Dr. Newton’s soft voice echoed in the bar, synchronizing with the noise from the people seated in booths.

     He leered her, zeroing in on her thin lips, and pointed nose, then he moved his eyes to her slender face, leaving them there. Her long blonde hair was tied back into a ponytail. Her skin, perfect. The TV crew must have done a hell of a job to make her appear like a goddess. She wore a pantsuit that probably cost hundreds of dollars.

     It was easy for her to sit on TV and utter bullshit to the world. Because she’d studied some crappy psychology somewhere, she thought she knew everything about the human mind.

     His eyes caught the headline. WHY TODAY’S RELATIONSHIPS FAIL.

     “I always tell my clients that relationships themselves don’t fail us. We fail,” she added.

     At this point, he was fed up with her nonsense. He whipped his eyes to the bartender wiping the countertop. “Could you change that?”

     The bartender looked up at him. “Sure, buddy. Just a sec.” He left the duster on the marble counter, neared the TV, and picked up the remote from the shelf below the counter. He pressed a button. The screen was replaced with a couple of men playing football on a vast field.

      He sighed and took a sip, staring blankly into the dark boozy drink.                           
  
   “I hate that show,” a deep voice said.

     He turned and found himself looking at another lone man with dark scrawny hair.

     “That shit ruined my relationship. My girlfriend left me two days after listening to her crap,” the scrawny-haired man said, gulping the drink and beckoning the bartender.

     “Sorry to hear.”

     The bartender neared him and he asked for a refill.

     “It’s fine. I no longer think about her. She’s in the past now. You look like you’ve had your share of them,” he added.

     That was something he didn’t want to talk about, but hinting at it wouldn’t hurt. Besides, this stranger and him were almost similar. Both had watched their relationship fall into shatters because of those two women.

     “Yeah,” the lone man said.

     “It seems they’ve affected a lot of women with their bullshit. I bet they’re not married.” The scrawny man raised a glass to him. “To resilience.”

     The lone man didn’t want to toast to that. He hadn’t recovered from the heartbreak yet. But it would be rude not to do it. Hesitantly, he picked his glass and clinked with his. “To resilience,” he murmured.

     The pain was still there. It would never go away unless he exacted his revenge. He was going to teach her a lesson—one that she’d never forget.