"Do you want to talk about what happened to Tim?" Sophia's therapist tries to get her to open up about what happened that day. She didn't see Tim's body, but she heard about the state his body was found in.
After a long pause, he tries a different approach. "I know what you went through was traumatic. It'll help to talk about it when you're ready to open up. Victims of sexual assault sometimes blame themselves for what happened."
"Can we change the subject?" Sophia asks while staring out the window.
She takes comfort by feeling the flaws in the chair she's sitting in. Especially the uneven stitching on the side of the gray seat cushion.
She slowly moves her feet back and forth across the velvet carpet, trying to feel its texture despite having shoes on. The therapist sits across from her, taking the occasional sip of water from a glass that sits on a wooden table next to him.
Sophia takes notice every time he taps his notepad with his pen. His blue eyes stare intently at her, but there is also a calmness to them. She turns her head to look at him. She feels as if she could stare into his eyes forever. Something draws her into them, perhaps it's the black ring around his iris. Whatever it might be, she has a sense of overwhelming calmness. It's as if it's going to envelop her whole body in a warm and soothing eternal bliss.
He starts talking again, but all she can focus on is his mouth moving. "Sophia!" She snaps out of it when she hears her name. "What would you like to talk about? Are you still still having problems with your parents?"
Sophia sighs. "We're fine."
He taps his pen on his notepad a few more times. "What about your hobbies? Are you still drawing? It can help you take your mind off of things."
Sophia runs her hand through her hair. She doesn't feel like talking today, but she had to come here because of the appointment she made last week. She thinks of the sunsets that she had been oil painting. The beauty of the colors, the representation of the perfect day ending. But that's never going to happen for her. She paints to give herself something that she can never have.
He sits patiently, waiting for her response. He doesn't push her into talking anymore. He wants her to talk when she feels comfortable.
After about ten minutes, she opens up to him again. "I've been doing some writing as well. I am jotting some of my feelings down in story form to express what I can't talk about."
"And how does that make you feel?"
"It feels like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders!"
"Good." He takes a sip of water. "I would recommend that when you feel comfortable enough, you should try to publish your work online. Indirectly express your feelings to the whole world. Writers do that all the time. As long as you can ignore the negative comments."
"I don't know if I can do that." Sophia takes a deep breath. "But I can imagine what it would feel like."
"Let me put it this way. Writing for yourself is just like talking to yourself. Albeit it's much better than just talking. Writing for an audience can be a scary and daunting task. But you can hide your emotions behind your characters, just like you do when you paint."
The therapist alarms goes off, signaling that the session is over. "Will I see you next week?"
"Yeah..I...We'll see." Sophia stands up and heads towards the door. When she opens it, she glances at the name on the door like she does every time she comes in and out. 'James Murphy PhD.'
Sophia makes her way out of the office. She ignores the receptionist on her way out and gets into her car, slamming the door shut. She turns the car on and places and rests her head on the steering wheel. "What the fuck was that about?"
....
James pulls out his phone and calls a number thst he has on speed dial. It only takes a few rings before they pick up. "It's going to take longer than I thought. Yes, I know... Just give me some more time. I... Fine. I'll be there."
James walks out of his office and tells the receiver that he's taking off for the day. She tries to interject since he has other appointments, but he ignores her and heads out through the front door.
He gets into his gray Ford pickup and turns it on. He takes a moment to calm his nerves when he sees that his hands are visible shaking. "Shit."
As he drives to the outskirts of the city, nearing his destination, he stops at a stop sign to collect his thoughts. He thinks about what's going to happen to him if he doesn't succeed. His life would be over. He won't get what he wants. There's a chance that he'll die. "No. I need to focus. I need to do better." He grips his sterring wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. "I need to do better."
He comes out of his trance when the car behind him honks their horn to signal him to move. "Asshole!"
James pulls up to a small house. It's a guest house that he rarely rents out. It's mostly used for storage these days. Being a landlord never sat well with him.
It consists of two bedrooms and a single bathroom. The kitchen isn't very impressive either, and with no garage, why would anyone want to stay here? Besides, he still has to repaint it. Yellow is an eyesore.
"Hey, James. Wife kick you out of the house again?" His neighbor says while using a hose to water his garden.
"No, I'm just planning some renovations." James says as he gets out of the car. "I don't have time to talk today, Frank." James says right before he reaches the front door of the house.
"Tell her I said hi!"
"Asshole." James whispers underneath his breath as he takes pulls out his house keys and unlocks the door.
Right as James is about to walk into the house, he changes his mind. He isn't going to let it go. He needs to be more assertive. He wants Frank to stay out of his business.
James walks over to the property about ten feet from where Frank is standing. "You fucking my wife, Frank? Is that why you want to say hi to her? I see how you stare at her ass every time she comes here."
Frank doesn't know what to say. He's in shock that James's usual calm demeanor has turned into this. "No. I...."
"Stay out of our business. And stay away from here. I better not see you staring at her again. Otherwise, I'll make you regret it."
James walks away and heads inside the house. He closes the door behind him with a smile. 'Being more assertive feels amazing.'
His smile quickly fades as he realizes what he's just walked into. He takes a few steps forward until he has a good view of the living room. He sees Daren sitting in a chair, waiting for him.
"I don't know what happened. I started to rant at the end. I couldn't stop myself."
Daren stands up in a smooth and quick motion. "I know it's only been two weeks, but I need you to stop FUCKING everything up."
"I know, I need to do better." James doesn't want to anger Daren. All James wants is to be in his pack.
Daren walks over to James and places his hands on his shoulders. James gets lost in Daren golden eyes, but it's short-lived when his brow furrows in anger.
James finds himself being thrown across the room. His body smashes into a glass table, shattering it into pieces. He writhes in pain as large and small glass fragments pierce his hands and forearms.
James clumsily stands up and back away from the mess. He tries pulling out the larger glass fragments from his arm, wincing in the process. More and more blood runs down his arms after he pulls out each piece.