Michaelishious - Vol. 2020

Dec. 23rd: Caged (pt. 2)

I slept less than poorly that night. My head kept churning with all the new information I processed yesterday, and I was more tired from trying to sleep than I was when I went to bed. Plans about where to go from here kept being thrown around in my skull like debris in a hurricane. How should I approach my new clients? Should I be cold and professional when I presented myself in order to gain respect, or should I be more down to earth? Maybe they would they walk all over me simply because I was a woman? Or perhaps that actually was an advantage, to get them to open up to a somewhat motherly figure? Would my gender be an issue at all?

I was having five consultations later that day, but neither of them were with the man who really triggered my curiosity. And at 5am I gave up on sleeping and went to take my usual shower. No matter how hard I tried to clear my mind, it was like I was caught in a thick fog. My entire morning routine was made on autopilot, and I didn't really notice I was done before I realized that I was putting away my plate and coffee mug. I'd been too consumed with my thoughts.

About him. Michael Jackson.

He'd refused to talk to any of his previous therapists, so I didn't really expect him to open up to me either. Not without me putting a lot of effort into it, at least. And boy, was I going to.

"First step; make him trust you," I mumbled as I walked to my car. Then I sighed.

"Second step; stop talking to yourself."

I knew that would probably only last an hour. Tops. Mom always told me that I was just like my grandma; busier holding long monologs with myself than to actually talk with other people. I didn't really see a problem with that, though. And I was right. The moment I closed the door to the clinic behind me, I was at it again.

"Let me see... First one at eight. Gavin Seymore. Physical assault, rape, drugs and attempted murder. Twenty eight years old, sentenced to eighteen years, no parole, convicted five years ago."

I looked at my wristwatch and sighed with a smile.

"Plenty of time for a coffee."

Little did I know how badly I needed that...

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

"Damn, you've got a nice rack."

The man had barely taken his seat in front of me, and already proved that he had a mouth bigger than his body. He wasn't especially tall, and he was slender, close to being skinny, and had shaven off all of his hair except for two bushy eyebrows and a tiny goat beard. I noticed that he had a habit of pulling at it, which revealed that he probably was a little nervous by nature. He hid it well, though. With an rude attitude and a cover of inked skin, he acted tougher than an average chihuahua. And his sharp facial features and stinging eyes, completed the image of being a not very trustworthy type of man.

"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Seymore."

"Don't fucking call me that! I'm not like my pathetic excuse for a father," he snapped, and scowled at the officer who secured his handcuffs to a chain connected to a bolt on the floor.

"And why do we need this shit? It's not like I'm gonna do anything crazy. Although I wouldn't mind a little hanky panky, if ya' know what I'm sayin'?"

I shuddered when he wiggled his eyebrows and undressed me with his eyes. Yeah, those chains would definitely stay on until I knew where I had him. But as for now I just ignored his immature outbursts.