(3)
"...and how does this make you feel Sara?"
Sara glares rebelliously at the man sitting across the desk from her. How could he possibly know what she has been through? Pious bastard, sitting there jotting down God only knows what, to share with God knows who and God knows how often. Sara has no patience for the mandated therapy sessions, and this particular shrink is no exception.
"I feel annoyed."
"Lets discuss your annoyance," he states with distant calm. If the asshole only knew.
"I feel annoyed because I keep going over and over this and nothing is helping."
More scratches on his pad. "Why do you think that is, Sara?"
Sara surveys the source of her annoyance with an air of interest that she doesn't feel. When not sitting behind this cheap fiberboard desk replica he stands about 6' tall, slender build "face it Sara, he's scrawny," she thinks. Burned out overgrown curls give way for an almost half-shaven face, with his pale skin and handlebar moustache he definitely could use some grooming lessons. Carefully, quietly Sara clears her throat and takes a deep breath.
"I think it's possibly because I am avoiding the core of the problem."
Again, like every other therapist she has seen before, he gets that same look. Thoughtful nod, startled by her apparent turnaround in attitude, ready to pounce on JUST WHAT THIS PROBLEM IS, and whisk it away. Sara chuckles inwardly.
"What do you think the core of your problem is,Sara?"
"What indeed," Sara says internally.
"Katherine, mama wants me to talk to this lady," Sara sighed. "I don't want to though, mama says I have to be careful what I tell her."
"Your mama is scared Sara, you have to know that."
"Of what?"
"She's scared you're gonna tell, you know."
"I'm NEVER going to tell. Not that. I can only trust you with that Katherine."
(to be continued...)
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