The Conversation

Isaac

May 22nd, 2017

He just confessed to wanting to murder someone. Now, he did say that he did not mean it. Should I take his word for it? The flickering eye movements, occasional heavy breathing, digging his nails into the side of his hand, the twitching of his nose...this man is a liar. He does want to kill. The right thing to do would be to approach legal authorities with this information, have the man further investigated and eventually arrested. The only problem is, he hasn't openly confessed to a murder, or to the decision of committing murder in the future.  Going to the authorities with this information would breach the Client Confidentiality and would strip me of my title and job. But when you know, you know, right?

The man is a sociopath. Some would even go as far as saying he is psychopathic, but he isn't. He's in love. He is able to love, able to feel. It's a pity that he directs his emotion to only one person, leaving the rest in a pit of danger. A psychopath would stare me dead in the eye, this man isn't. He feels the guilt, the pain, all subconsciously. He knows it is wrong, but at the same time is helpless. He doesn't see any other option. The love of his life is cheating on him with another man and his only solution is to remove this man from existence. Albeit a wrong solution, I can understand the man.

What would I do if my significant other was cheating on me? More importantly, what would go through my mind?  Images of me strangling the man, stabbing the man, brutally torturing the man would race through my mind. I wouldn't do any of them, merely because I could not. But, what if I could? Would I do it? Most definitely, and that is exactly the position Darren is currently.

It has been 14 minutes since Darren left my office and I'm sat here with my blank notepad on the edge of my knee, balancing it. Thoughts bouncing in and out of my mind, it's quite rare that I meet a client with such a conflicting personality. On the surface, he appears loving, pleasant, kind.  Of course, anything is possible with a bank balance such as his. A little bit of grooming and you can make anyone presentable, anyone human, even a raging murderous sociopath.

My phone buzzes. 'Dinner with Liz' lights up on the phone screen. Ah, snap. Never imagined that the thoughts of a man would take my mind of a woman. I leap off my chair, grab my car keys and head out the door. I hesitate, it's late in the afternoon, traffic will be high. I turn around, push my door open, and toss the car keys onto the armchair; the underground it will have to be.

London's hot summer air whacks me with a surprise. It's humid, unusual for a city like this. I take off my cardigan and allow the breeze to dry up the sweat that had built up. The underground takes a few minutes for me to reach and it's packed with people. Being a therapist forces me to meet a variety of people every day, so naturally, I should be a people's person. But really, I'm not. Being in a crowd so large nauseates me, yet I push on. Should have just taken the darn car. Liz and I agreed to meet at a quarter to five, leaving me with 20 minutes or so, I should be fine.

I head down the escalators of the stank underground station, place my card on the scanner and walk through, then down more stairs and wait by the side for the metro to arrive. People are scattering around me, children wailing, the "lads" from school enjoying some banter amongst each other, mothers on the phone, businesspeople tapping away at e-mails. It's interesting how some people dislike the mentioning of stereotypes, yet when you look around in the world, they exist everywhere. Of course, there are exceptions, for example, the old chap on the bench with his...

...The metro screeches to a halt and my mind immediately enters into a war state. I see others in my peripheral view gearing up, getting ready, it really is a battle trying to enter the metro and find a seat. I'm pressed against the door as they slide open. The people waiting on the other end push their way through, trying to get out. I hear a few curses being flung at us, after all, we are blocking their way out. But who cares? We all have to get somewhere, and the likelihood of us ever meeting again is near zero. I barge in, slip and weave through the incoming public, apologise unnecessarily as I step on others' toes to make my way to one of the empty seats that caught my eye. I reach it, finally. My legs sing praises as I sit down, I really do need to work on my health, but my ageing body certainly is getting the better of me. At 42 I would say that I'm still doing quite well for myself. I'm no athlete, but I certainly can attract a younger member of the opposite sex.

Liz is wonderful. Short for Elizabeth, but that's a bit mundane, to be honest. So I prefer calling her Liz and she thinks it's cute. We met at a social event of a mutual friend and former client of mine, Adam. He was holding a fundraiser for a charity, and while I'm not one to splash out a £20,000 check, she is. We didn't speak much during the event, but we did catch each other's eyes. Oh lord, did I sink in. Her eyes were the snare and I the prey. Her ocean blues took my breath away, as did her velvety, lush lips. I must admit, her nose is a little crooked, but who doesn't love a personality? Her cheekbones were flush, and the makeup accentuated her details.  Her hair touched the tips of her boney shoulders...

...A woman is staring at me. She's old, why is she staring at me? Oh...she wants my seat. No, she expects me to give up my seat. I look around me, most people sitting down really do deserve to sit, most of them are unable to stand for long periods of time. All except me, really. I look at her one more time, and she smiles. Is she guilt tripping me? I look down at my watch, 3 minutes left until I reach the station, 3 minutes won't hurt the old lady. So I make sure not to look back up in her direction. It's not that I don't care...okay, nevermind, it is that. I really don't care. Plus, I want to sit down. And now I'm trying to justify my actions, and...oh, the metro has come to a stop. I get up, the old woman is standing next to the nearest exit, but I decided to avoid it. Instead, I push my way through inconsiderate people standing in the way towards the other doors, hoping I make it in time before they shut. I do.

I scan my card again on the way out and briskly walk towards the entrance of the underground tunnel. The stairs leave me breathless as I feel a drop of sweat trickle down the spine of my back. Hopefully, it doesn't show. As I reach the stop, I see her. Her smile churns my insides and lights up my day. I forget about all the disturbing talks with my clients, the uncomfortable crowd, the filthy underground ride and most of all, I forget about Darren. She's just like that, she's the centre of everything and everyone. She's special.