What is Written

Chapter 4

Scarlett
A knock sounds at the door. I finish filling a few papers for my new client before standing from my chair to welcome him. I'm extremely excited to start working with him, I've never received a case that involves a troubled person, and in my opinion, it's thrilling. I love helping people, especially when they have so much potential. I was told he legally needed counseling, and I'm not a judgmental person, so I head over to the door with a bright smile.

I open the door and give the tall, young man a smile. His hair is quite messy and his clothes are a bit raggedy, but he is cute. My stomach flutters.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Green," I welcome him. He gently shakes my hand, a shy gesture.

I tell him to come in as I walk towards the therapy chairs in the center of the room. I'm slightly nervous, considering this is one of my biggest clients. The first few were children with small cases, like divorced parents and sibling troubles. This is my first, real big client and I'm excited, yet nervous. I don't want to say the wrong thing.

He hesitates at the door, and I smile a bit bigger and warmer to make him feel even more welcome. I tell him to make himself comfortable and take a seat.

"How are you today, Hayden?" I ask him.

"Fine, how are you?" He responds rather quickly.

I smile and tell him I'm doing well, and he nods. It's sort of awkward, and I hope he feels more comfortable as he spends more time with me. I would hate to have a client who isn't comfortable, or feels unwelcome.

He looks at me and furrows his brows. "Did you actually care about how I'm doing? Or did you just ask to be polite, when we both know you really don't give a shit?"

I'm caught off guard by his words. I can tell my mouth hangs partly open. I want to close it but I can't, it's like I'm frozen. I stutter in trying to respond to him.

"Oh, is it because it's your job?" He laughs in my face. This is not what I was expecting. "You're telling me you went to school for- I'm sorry what degree do you have?" He questions my education.

"Masters," I respond, my voice sounding much more quiet and weaker then I intended.

"So you went to school for about six years, spent thousands of dollars on education, just to ask people how they are?" He throws in my face. I know he is a troubled boy, but I wasn't expecting negative commentary from him. I won't let this effect my therapy, though. This is all a mind game that he is playing with me, most troubled people have those intentions.

"This is not up for discussion," I dismiss his interest in talking about my education. "We are here to discuss you, not me."

He throws his hands up in a surrender-like motion, and claims he doesn't like talking about himself. He's building a wall between my mind and his; a common form of defense.

I remind him that he is here, legally, and I can easily arrange it to be very different.

"Now, would you like to talk about how you're doing?" I ask him, trying to drain the tension with a small smile. His eyes focus on my lips, and I wonder what is running through his mind.

"You know what I want to talk about?" He asks me.

"What is it?" I become eager to know.

He positions himself for comfortably in his chair. "I want to talk about why rich snobs like you," He motions to me, "Even care about talking to some bum like me."

What?

"I mean, seriously," he continues, "Do you actually care about me?"

"Hayden-" I start to defend myself, but he cuts me off and adds more fuel to the fire.

"No," he stands from his chair. "Don't give me bullshit that you actually give a fuck about me. You don't. You're only here because it's your job, not because you want to. You're only sitting here because of the money you make and the degrees you've earned in order to make that money. You don't actually care about me."

His words hit me like a bullet, and I try not to show the reaction I'm having. It's a major rule to never show signs of hurt from the words they say to you, because they will dig into your skin and try to make you crack. I won't let that happen.

"That's not true, Hayden-" I deny his words, but I am cut off again.

"You want to talk about truth? How about some prissy girl digging her nose into my life, possibly becoming close with me and forming a connection, only for you say goodbye and never speak to me again after my sessions are over. Or, even better, to deny me and send me right back to prison. It's all bullshit. How about you save your breath and don't bother asking me how I am, when in reality, we both know you couldn't give two shits.

It's not like you would even understand one thing about my life. You're used to having your hair curled and lips glossed every damn day, without a damn wrinkle in your clothes. So please, don't ask me how I am."

He angrily stomps out of the room and the door slams behind him. I sit in my chair in full on shock. He obviously has serious self esteem issues, but I can't wrap my head around why he burst out in anger. I haven't done anything wrong to him, and in my opinion it was very uncalled for, even if he has person problems. I have reviewed his background, and he didn't seem like a person who would be that damaged. They didn't want to give me too much information on him though, because  that's an invasion of privacy and can effect my studying on him while he's in session.

I can see the next nineteen sessions being delightful. I let out a heavy sigh and return to my desk. I'm not even sure if this session counts as one, due to the fact that he was only in here for approximately
10 minutes, when it's supposed to be sixty. I have to review that with my boss, so I write it down on a little post it note and leave it next to my computer to remind me.

So many questions are flowing through my mind. To deny me and send me right back to prison. His words repeat in my head. I wonder why he mentioned prison, and I wonder why he thinks I would be in control of that.