American Dragon: Jake Long Season 3

Episode 12: Therapy and Training

Fake. That was all Jake could think described the room, the woman, the entire situation. Fake. A small room with plain, maybe even annoyingly plain faded yellow walls. Pot plants scattered all around, a small wooden desk and chair to the side, two large cushy chairs set facing each other, random paintings that some would call art but he just called splatter and a woman smiling brightly at him. Her lipstick was such a bright shade of red that it acted as a beacon drawing ones gaze to the gaudy colour and was plastered on so thick he could probably scrape it off and make a full stick of lipstick. Her hair was platinum blond but from the mousy brown roots he could tell she dyed it. Her eyes were covered with contacts, not the kind that helped you see but the kind that changed your eye colour. And her fake long, lethal looking nails painted a gross orange colour tapped against the clip board in her lap. She just smiled, also fake he was sure, until he sat down in the chair.

"So, Sugar Cube, how are you feeling?" She asked in a pleasant tone. Jake weighed his options, snark or sarcasm?

"Like if you call me Sugar cube again I'm gonna hurl." He replied teenage snark for the win. Her smile faltered and she wrote something down before looking up.

"Council tells me you've been through a pretty rough experience." She continued. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No not really."

"And why is that?"

"Because I've talked to my parents, my friends and the council about it. I'm officially over that topic."

"How does talking about it make you feel?"

"Oh, I love 20 questions."

"Answer the question please."

"Agitated. Bored. Uncomfortable."

"And why is that?"

"Because I'd rather just forget about it. Do I get to ask a question?"

"I'm sorry what?" She looked up from her notes a little surprised and Jake smirked.

"Well, you've just been firing out question after question. Don't you think it's my turn?"

"Do you even have a relevant question?"

"Depends on what you deem as relevant." Jake leaned back into the chair, it had become a game to him. To see if he could turn the therapy around into something less soul searching.

"Fine. Ask away."

"Why do you do this?" He said. She blinked as if that'd make the question any less odd.

"To help-"

"Bullcrap."

"Excuse me?"

"You have no interest in actually helping me. You're spouting textbook therapy questions and you keep looking at your watch. Haven't got time for a half blood that you're not getting payed for, hmm?"

"How dare you!" She snapped.

"Yeah, sure how dare I. Let's go with that. If you've finished making your little notes can I go now. I have better things to do than sit here and play troubled teen." Jake scoffed. Her eyes practically shot daggers of rage at him.

"Oh and what would that be?"

"Try to stop a pandemic of Tic's from exposing the magical world with no idea who the culprit is. Yeah, my job. More important than yours. See ya later." Jake slammed the door, exhaled and smiled. "Gramps was right, therapy does work. I feel better already."
---

Jake was sitting under an old oak tree when Councillor Blomkov found him. "We just got report from therapist back." He said sitting down across from Jake and handed the boy the paper.