Anger Management

Couch-Lying and a Prying Toby

"Right!" Toby clapped his hands together. "Let's begin." He gestured for her to have a seat on his old red leather couch. It seemed to be severely out of date and had several scratches and stains on it.

The rest of his office (if she could call it that) was neat and homey. He incorporated dark leather and mahogany desks. The walls were lined with medical and psychological texts and a few novels.

"It's pretty sturdy, you know. I've had it for years." Toby said and Happy made a face. "I can tell."

She looked to the armchair opposite his desk and took a seat there. At least this chair wouldn't break once she sat on it.

Happy had agreed to attend consultations with Toby, or Dr Curtis as his desk plate read, if she didn't have to attend anger management classes. Toby had agreed and so had her father.

"Would you like some tea?" Toby asked. "I have coffee too, if you'd like."

"Coffee, please. Black, unsweetened."

Toby frowned. "Did you know people who take their coffee without sugar tend to be more bitter than those who don't?"

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Happy asked.

"Apparently not," Toby murmured and opened a file in front of him once he had given her her coffee. "So then, Happy, tell me about your life." Toby sat back and watched her.

Happy shifted uncomfortably. "Well, there's not really much to tell. I work at a garage with my dad-" Toby nodded; right, he already knew, "-and I like machines."

"Is that all you have to say about yourself?"

Happy narrowed her eyes. She thought these talks were supposed to be helpful.

"Well, Doc, what do you want to know?"

"Firstly, are you and your father close?" He asked.

Happy sighed. She didn't really know how to answer this question. "When I was two he gave me up for adoption. My mother had recently died and he couldn't take care of me on his own. A few years ago, I looked him up and we reconnected. And yeah, I guess we're pretty close." Throughout her whole monologue Happy had been staring at her hands.

"Hey," Toby whispered, "Look at me." Once she did, he continued. "It's not your fault your father gave you up."

"Why would you think it's my fault?" Happy asked. She had thought that but she'd never said anything about it.

"You see Happy, you work with machines. You study them and work with them and eventually fix them. Same with me. I study people, I work with them, and eventually I fix them. And I will fix you."

Happy blushed. "Do you think I need fixing?" Her words were sharp.

"Oh, I'm sure you're a slightly rusted machine that just needs to be oiled." Toby assured her.

"I am not rusted, thank you very much." Happy snapped.

"Well no, you see, it was a metaphor-"

"I understood it," Happy said. "I just didn't like the insinuation that I was a rusted piece of metal."

Toby grinned. "You have spunk. I like it. I think we'll work quite well together." He stood up and gestured for Happy to do so, too.

She looked at the time and saw that their hour was already up. She hadn't realised how fast the time had gone by.

Happy stood up. "Well I'll see you next week, Happy. Try not to hit anyone until then. If you can manage that, we can put a gold sticker on the front of your file." Toby said with a smile.

Happy turned on her heel and left the room without another word.