all american | lance tucker

ch. 5 • therapy session

"Name?" He asked without looking at me. I rolled my eyes.

"Lance Tucker." I said, smiling to myself. He glanced over his phone to stare at the computer screen.

"You're late." He grumbled. He clicked a button on the screen, then pointed to the waiting area. "Sit."

"Don't tell me what to do." I muttered, heading over to the seats. The second I sat down, I had to get back up again.

"Lance Tucker?"

Well, time to die.

I headed towards the doctor, who led me without a word into her office. She closed and locked the door behind her, then motioned to the couch. "You don't have to lay down like they do in the movies." She joked. I smiled without laughing. She sighed, looking at a clipboard. "I'm assuming your name isn't really Lance Tucker?"

"Can't have people knowing I need therapy." I shrugged. She gave me a disgruntled look.

"You know, therapy isn't a bad thing." She explained, setting the clipboard in her lap. "You just need to open up to the idea."

"I didn't choose to be here, so why should I open up to it?" I sighed, checking the clock. 58 minutes left. She took a deep breath, blinking slowly.

"You're a mother, yes?"
"Yeah."

"Planned pregnancies?"

"Nope. I didn't want kids." I said roughly, not liking the topic.

"Tell me more about you. Give me something to work with." She wasn't begging, but her tone was borderline exasperated.

"My name is Cara Queen. I'm twenty five, I have three daughters and one son, and I suffer from a serious case of not caring." I muttered, crossing my legs. She nodded.

"It says here you suffer from severe anxiety, parasomnia, and IED. I know parasomnia is a genetic thing, but do you think there's a reason you've contracted these conditions?"

"The IED is new. I guess it's not really a problem unless someone is on my case and gets me pissed off. The anxiety is also probably hereditary too, but I don't really know my parents, so it could just be because I have a stressful job." I shrugged.

"Do you ever consider that maybe you could have PTSD? Intermittent Explosive Disorder is a small branch off of PTSD."

"Why would I have PTSD?" I scoffed.

"I don't know. You tell me." She gave me a curious look.

Fuck it, who else was I going to tell?

"My ex beat the shit out of me. Constantly. I guess that's a factor." I sighed. She nodded.

"Do you feel like that issue has been resolved?"

"I guess. He's in jail." I shrugged, fumbling with my hands.

"Have you ever considered suicide, Cara?"

"I don't think we know each other that well yet, doc." I smiled weakly, uncrossing my legs again.

"Please. Call me Monica. Not doc." She looked me over. "You seem like a pretty outgoing person. Would you consider yourself an extrovert?"

"I guess. I mean, I have a lot of friends."

"Do you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

"No boyfriend. I have something close to that, though. And, I got two cops' numbers in the parking lot today. So I guess I could say there is no lack of options." I joked.