therapy sessions {#37}
11:18 A.M.
yucca valley, california
A soft chuckle is heard as the scene fades in. We’re situated inside a dimly lit therapists office. A woman of about sixty sat behind a large oak desk, across from her in a brown leather chair was the hero of our story, one Jalie Thomas. The therapist, we’ll call Ms. Rainey. Why? ‘Cause it says so on her desk, genius. Beside the name plate was a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes. “Tacky… Gotta love it.” Jalie thought, a slow smirk playing across her features. Rainey took one from the pack and offered it to Jalie.
“Do you smoke, Mrs. Thomas?”
“Not often. Well, only when I feel like it. Although I try to stay away from tobacco, at any rate.” answered Jalie. Rainey was calm as she lit her cigarette and placed the pack back on the desk. She settled into her chair and settled a piercing gaze on the young woman in front of her. Jalie was a mess. Her hair fell in tangled waves about her shoulders, and her eyes seemed darkened despite her lack of makeup. Jalie leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, settling her chin on her fingertips.
“I hurt people for a living, Ms. Rainey. My crowbar is my computer. Blood is my ink-pen and my pocket protector is a six foot three, two hundred forty pound man. And my office is any random arena in any part of the world.”
Rainey continued her penetrating gaze. After a moments silence she spoke. “Do you feel that this is a healthy environment for you to be in, given your past history?”
“Here we go again. Isn’t this discrimination? I should sue you. For everything you’re worth. Not that I’d get much…” Jalie said, with little conviction. Rainey disregarded it and waited for her to answer the question.
“I… I happen to think it suits me. And I know what you’re insinuating.”
“What am I insinuating?” Rainey asked bluntly.
“That I murdered my husband.”
“Fiancé.”
“Whatever.”
Rainey raised an eyebrow. Jalie averted her eyes to the stained glass lamp on the desk. Suddenly Rainey knocked it off the desk. It hit the floor and shattered. Jalie didn’t flinch, but stared at her therapist in shock. Rainey stared right back at her with an odd measure of composure. Finally Jalie regained the ability of speech.
“What kind of therapist ARE you?!” she demanded, half in anger, half in awe.
“You need to learn to focus your attention, Mrs. Thomas. I’m here to help you.” She said simply. Jalie slumped back in her chair and stared at her.
&scene.two…
Our scene returned to the rather unlikely setting of the local Wal-Mart parking lot. Jalie’s battered El Camino had just pulled into a handicap space in front of the store. A man with long, black hair and a thin goatee stepped out of the passenger side, slamming the door. He looked like your typical cholo.. White beater, long shorts, and his hair held back with a red bandana. Jalie stepped out of the car and brushed her hair out of her face. She tucked the keys into the pocket of her faded army fatigues and looked at the man across from her. She wore the same white beater and had a small Mexican flag tucked halfway into the back pocket of her pants. The two of them cracked smiles and began to sing, locking arms and prancing their way into the store.
“I like to park, in handi-capped spaces, while handi-capped people make handi-capped faces I’m an asshooooleleoleo…”
The cameras followed them into the cool entrance and Jalie touched fists with the aged man working as the greeter.
“Livin’ well, Frank?” She asked.
“Actually-”
“Excellent.” Jalie interrupted.
She and the man made their way into the store and looked around. Their eyes met and they nodded.
“Usual, Adrian?” asked Jalie.
“You know it.”
He walked off to the back of the store as Jalie turned and headed for the drink stand. She filled two slushie cups and popped straws in them, turning around just in time to see Adrian approaching with a pink unicorn head on a stick. He was holding onto the reins and riding it into a gallop past customer service. A few people waved at him - this was obviously a regular occurrence. Jalie passed him one of the cups and the two wandered off between the aisles.
“So, remind me why I broke up with Kathryn.” Adrian said, as the two of them made their way to sporting goods.
“Well I believe the most prominent reason was because she’s a fucking idiot. Not to mention loose. And, I think the basis was that you didn’t want to date someone that all your friends have had a go with.” Jalie informed him. He didn’t seem entirely satisfied with her answer.
“She wasn’t that easy.”
“Hah! Christ dude, Hobo Nick fucked her - and got tested afterwards.” Jalie chuckled. She handed him the hunting knife she’d been examining. The clerk looked slightly uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Damnit. This is fucking depressing. Maybe the solution is just to slaughter every other guy in the county, so I’ll know she’s faithful.” Adrian wondered aloud, brandishing the knife at the air.
“Well if that’s your solution, you might want to include curious women in that category too. Preacher’s daughter or not, I don’t think Kathryn’s picky.”
The clerk looked at Jalie, dumbfounded.
“Are you guys talking about Kathryn Morris?”
“Why? How do you know her?” Adrian demanded.
The clerk flushed crimson and Jalie burst into a fit of giggles. Adrian gripped the knife a little too much; his eyes studying the clerk for a vulnerable spot. Jalie recognized her own tactic and a scuffle ensued in which she was able to wrest the knife from him. She passed it back to the employee and steered Adrian, unicorn and all, away from the counter.
“So,” Adrian began, with an air of someone desperate to change the subject, “How’s the new therapist shaping up? Seth said it was some sort of obligatory visit after that incident at the airport.”
As if in a flashback, our scene changes to that of the LAX airport. We see Jalie wearing a make-shift turban and chanting at a security guard who was refusing to let her take her boot-knife aboard the plane. The guard pulled out a taser gun and shocked her with it; she went down twitching. Seth rushed forward to her defense and received a shot of electricity as well.
Back to Adrian and Jalie, she frowned slightly and nodded.
“Well, yeah. They’re mandatory anyway but I’ve been skiving off. According to ‘medical experts with far more experience in the field than myself’ I have to attend them regularly if I want to stay out of the Atascadero.
“They had good food, though. I’d pay cash for that shit.” said Adrian.
“They never served food. It was all pills.” Jalie pointed out.
“Like I said, I’d pay cash for that shit.” Adrian added.
The two of them made their way to the toy department. They stood staring at the My Little Pony merchandise beside the display of Adrian’s riding unicorns. She and Jalie were both eyeing a particularly sparkly pony. According to the box it even included extra glitter paints to customize it further. The girl being shorter, she was at better reach of the shelf and grabbed it before Jalie had a chance. She ran; down past the puzzles and through the dolls. Jalie and Adrian chased after her, both of them covering their eyes when they ran through the dolls. An abandoned big-wheel rolled into the aisle and Jalie stumbled into it, crashing to the ground. Adrian pulled hard on the reins of his unicorn and turned to check on her.
“Go!” Jalie begged. “Leave me, just go!”
Adrian heeded her word and took off after the girl. A frantic chase took them through housewares, automotive, and the women’s clothing department. Adrian slowed his pace only for a moment, when they passed the women’s dressing rooms. From around a corner Jalie caught up with them just as Adrian cut the girl off. Abandoning his pony he stepped onto a display of Pepsi products and vaulted through the air; hitting the kid with the force of an NFL linebacker and sending both of them crashing into a stack of Trix cereal. Adrian arose from the rubble gripping the prized My Little Pony. He looked down at the ruins where the girl was stirring and giving him a look that plainly wished him death. Adrian smirked.
“Trix are for kids, bitch!” he proclaimed. The shocked crowd parted as he picked up his pony and found Jalie. He tossed her the pony. She grinned and examined the box.
“Dude… Twenty bucks? Fuck that. I‘ll come back for it later.”
She hid it in the middle of a clothing rack and turned with Adrian to leave.
“Fuckin’ kids nowadays, cuz.” Adrian commented. “Don’t know how to act.”
&discuss.
Oh, the wonders of our world. I look at RWA and I see it thriving. It’s beautiful. In all it’s guts and gold and glory. And talent. Some real talent. But I’d like to actually get to the point here. On Shockwave Seth Dryden and I will face each other - him being the Universal champion. Naturally this should impose some measure of intimidation. But as usual, I am coolly un-phased. As is Dryden, I’m sure, considering he and I have several likenesses. However our lack of notable nerves in the face of this match is attributed to different things. Dryden is a self-serving arrogant bastard. He follows a strict blind faith that leaves no room for failure. Whereas I myself, while I would love to claim such a glamorous reasoning behind my lack of emotion, I am simply disconnected to the business’ whirlpool of ambition and gold. I, in fact, have no ambition. I hold no oaths, no duty to anyone, not even to myself. Some call it laziness. I like to think of it as realism. Expecting the unexpected, so to speak.
After all it’s not in my nature to struggle, or to strive, while I’m already perfectly content in my own world. Rumors are flying that if I can beat Dryden this week, that I’ll be looking at a title opportunity. It’s a long shot, sure, but part of having no ambition is the fact that you have no expectations, either. I am very hard to disappoint. Unless you count that time my uncle lost my eighth birthday gift and got detained while border hopping. But that was a long time ago. I’m going into this match the same way I go into every other one. Blindly - ready for anything, and simply looking to have a good time.
Seth Dryden, being the man he is, has already made some public remarks about the event. Blunt honesty and arrogance is usually his specialty. Nothing much to offend me. My husband, and my brother in law… Well, if they take up an issue with anything said then they can deal with it themselves. I don’t need to baby-sit them. Ridicule is a cop-out.
Dryden, you can make the claims you want… Spout them off, find anyone who’ll listen. I don’t mind. You wanna say you invented the internet? Fine. Take it up with Al Gore. I could care less, really. All this about who we have on our side… Does it even matter? I handle myself without Seth or Cody, you know that full well. I don’t want to get into a third-grade debate about who’s team can kick the other teams ass. Pathetic, man. I’m not interested.
I am way too fuckin’ laid back for this shit dude. I’m not interested in bad blood. Or feuds, or drama. The way I see it, you’re just another opponent. You’re good, I’ll give you that. But at the end of the day I don’t treat this shit any different than any other match. You might have history with my husband, or my brother in law, and that’s fine. That’s between them. You can brag about your back-up all you want, too. But any attempt to get in my head, stir some shit… It’s pointless. By now I’ve heard it all. Doesn’t phase me anymore.
But I want to reiterate one point - make it solid. When we step into the ring… I’m gonna fuck you up. I don’t mean that in a threatening, metaphorical manner. I don’t mean it to sound challenging or intimidating. I am simply stating a fact. And the fact is, that after this match… Win or lose, you’re not gonna walk the same again. Blood? That’s a given. I know you’re no stranger to it and I know you won’t cower from it. That makes me happy. I plan on a fucking brawl. And seeing as you’re an Irishman, I’m sure you can appreciate that.