BREAKING AWAY ➶ BREAKING BAD (JESSE PINKMAN)

1. RUINED

Heavydirtysoul / twenty one pilots

His red eyes shone, but not from the light above them. Jesse's therapist cocked her head.

"Jesse?" She asked. "The hour's almost up and I still have no idea why you're here." They were sitting in her living room, on top of light gray tufted couches adorned with red pillows.

Her voice was commanding, but soft and comforting. Still, his brain wanted him to scream at her, to tell her to shut up, to tell her she would never understand, to tell her-

She sighed. "Jesse, come on now. You haven't responded to one of my questions for forty two minutes. Is it what I'm asking? Do the questions scare you?"

He looked at her for the first time that session. He made deep eye contact and his brain focused in on the details of her face.

"Nothing scares me." He paused and shook his head. "Not after everything I've seen."

Her facial expression turned surprised, but she didn't look the least bit fazed by any implications she might have gotten. "What do you mean?"

His jaw locked and he decided he wasn't going to explain. "Can I go now, Justine?"

The therapist shook her head. "You know the rules. Along with any confessions you may testify to about Walter White, you do therapy three hours a week for six months, and the DEA keeps you out of jail. Do you like the look of handcuffs and metal bars better than your new home? I can call your attorney right now and let him know."

Jesse was sick of this game, but all he did was shake his head no and sit back in the chair with his arms crossed. He stared at the eggshell-white ceiling. The tears making his eyes red spilled, but he sat there, lip quivering, staying silent. He felt like a kid in trouble.

"Jesse, I'm not trying to scare you. I need you to talk to me so that, after these six months, I can recommend that you go back home on light parole. Don't you want that?"

He nodded, eyes closing.

"I do," he croaked, tilting his head to look at the door.

"Okay. Tell me about the things Walt made you do."

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Tell me about the trauma he put you through. Tell me why you're here and not in a prison cell. Why did the judge want you in therapy instead of behind bars?"

Jesse shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it, he wanted to get high. But Saul had taken his weed and the cops had taken his coke. He had nothing.

"Was it even Walter's fault?" He understood perfectly what she was accusing him of. But her voice was so soothing...

"Did you want to help him become Heisenberg?"

His ice blue eyes locked onto her brown ones.

"Listen, that dickhead Mr. White destroyed me." Jesse scoffed. "Yeah. Yeah, before that crusty old bitch came along, I was nothing. I was a nineteen year old junkie. I was fine on my own. I had my own house and lots of friends. I partied just like anyone else my age did. But he roped me into this grand scheme of his, to- to build a drug empire, and I had no idea that I was giving up my twenties. I didn't want all this shit." He sat back again, staring her down.

"Wow," she said quietly, nodding. "But you agreed to help him in this, correct?"

"Jesus. I've had my fair share of interrogations, don't you think?"

A timer beeped. Justine tapped her smart watch and the noise ceased.

She looked down at the notebook in her lap. "Would you like to continue this session, Mr. Pinkman? I think we've made good progress and I don't want to stunt that."

"No. I'd like to get back in bed to, y'know, sleep some more." He shrugged. "I did just get finished running a meth kingpin's lab."

"Okay," she affirmed with a nod. She stood up and offered him her hand. "It was nice meeting you, Jesse. I look forward to our Wednesday meeting and I hope you'll be more open to talking with me then."

Jesse shifted his jaw and looked warily at the outstretched hand. But all he did was shake his head and slam the door behind him.