Jessica Williams lives the bad girl life. With two jobs and two best friends, with a little fighting on the side, she's, making her own rules as she goes through life. She's cool and collected in her leather jacket and jeans on the outside, but she...
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I rolled my head back and stared at the dirtied white ceiling. Nothing was more important than listening to the ticking of the clock on the wall to my right and mentally trying to force time to move faster. I was getting tired of weekly memorizing the blemishes and cracks above my head in this shoe box of an office.
"Jessica, why are you here?" Dr. Walker asked.
"I'm forced to be here, like always." I scuffed slightly annoyed at his question.
"You're not forced to be here. You specifically told me not to make a record of our sessions which you forced me to oblige to. Listen, I can't keep prescribing you antidepressants and sleeping medication while not make any progress with you personally. You've hired me as your psychiatrist for the past three months and it was for a reason. If you refuse to open up to me, then I'll have to terminate our contract" He let out a long awaiting sigh and rubbed what was left of his thinning hair.
Dr. Walker wasn't the type of person you'd give a second glance to for the right reason. His aging face, receding hairline and graying mustache reminded you of the type of pedophiles that sat on park benches and watched children play. His fading cheap suit and slightly unruffled shirt indicated the long, underappreciated hours he was forced to work. Being with him as long as I have made me pick up on a few things about his life he probably didn't think I knew. His slightly discoloured ring finger and lack of any family photos meant he went through a nasty divorce. His trophy wife most likely took more out of the settlement than he did, after refusing the idea of a prenup out of "love". He wasn't a very tentative person, so when I stood up out of frustration and started unzipping my leather jacket, pulling it off along with my t-shirt, it caught him by surprise.
He gasped.
Not because I now nonchalantly sat half naked in jeans and a bra on his couch, back in the same position I was in before, but for the first time, he saw the extent of my problems through my scars. My left forearm completely bandaged with a slight red stain seeping from beneath it. My torso had scattered bruising, the majority of it occurring just below my ribs on my right-hand side. There were multiple scars from knife wounds scattered across my body. He understood my busted up lip now, and that under all the make up I was wearing I had a black eye too.
"Okay. Let's talk Larry," I said after a few minutes, looking for the first time in months directly at him.
***
I shut the engine off of my Suzuki Hayabusa and pulled off my helmet. I took a deep breath and tried to do damage control with my hair, tying it into a bun on my head. I was leaning against my bike in the parking lot of the gym I worked at. I didn't care much for it. Riverdale was filled with pretentious stuck up rich kids that only cared about wealth and I was forced to endure it. All they did was was yoga or pilates in this gym. I pulled my box of cigarettes out of my pocket and lit one already feeling at ease. I didn't belong in this town but I stayed for my father and for this god awful gym. It's where I grew up, it's where he showed me how to fight. It's a part of me that I just couldn't let go of yet.
