AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I feel fine,” he said with little emotion.
“I don’t think that you do. I think that it really bothers you and instead of coming in here prepared to talk about it, you leave it to me to set the direction of our sessions, hoping that I don’t talk about what’s really bothering you. I think that you can’t accept what happened. You’re hiding,” Dr. Bryne said, picking up the file and taking a pen out of his pocket.
“Are we really back to this again? Look, let me recap it for you, because I don’t want to sit here for the rest of the hour and go over every little detail with you or go in depth about ‘my feelings’. I was six years old at my grandmother’s house. I had a panic attack over something I can’t even remember and fell down the stairs. I tripped and hit my head against the wall, splitting my head open. I apparently freaked out on the way to the ambulance, probably from my concussion. My biological parents were pricks and decided they no longer wanted me. They signed me over to foster care where I stayed for only a couple of days, because my dad came and took me. He fostered me for two months and then he and my mom adopted me. That’s where I’ve been for the last twenty-four years, happy and healthy.”
“Are you?” He looked up from his folder to gage Tristan’s reaction.
“Making me come here is a huge waste of time,” Tristan pointed out, ignoring the doctor’s question since it was just bullshit. He was fine, more than fine no matter what anyone thought.
“I don’t think it is. You were in a highly traumatic situation, yet you act cool, distant about it,” Dr. Bryne noted, looking thoughtful as he watched Tristan for a reaction.
Tristan closed his eyes, biting back a few choice words as he reminded himself that he had to play nice if he wanted to get this bullshit over with and return to work.
"You’re afraid that if you answer me honestly that you’ll realize there are some serious issues that need to be discussed. Tell me about your previous injuries and the bruises they found on your body the last time that you saw your parents. Seventeen fractures, ninety-three stitches, bruised ribs all before the age of six. Does that sound normal to you?”
“I was an active kid. I don’t know how I got the bruises on my body that day, but no one touched me,” he bit out, hating the fact that the doctor kept bringing this bullshit up. The stubborn man had been trying to analyze him since he was a kid and it was annoying as hell.
“Don’t you find it odd that for the six years that you spent with your natural parents that you had all of those injuries and when you were adopted by Tom, he was the Paramedic that came to help you that day, correct? After he adopted you, the injuries went down considerably and you don’t find anything strange about that?”
“Doc, you know that my dad was the paramedic that helped me that day. You guys have been playing poker every week for the past thirty years. I don’t know what to tell you. I told you the truth and you don’t want to hear it. Yeah, my parents were shitty parents, but they never laid a hand on me,” Tristan said in a bored tone, wondering when the man would just move the f**k on.
“Tristan, how does that make you-” Dr. Bryne started to ask, only to be cut off by the sound of someone knocking on the office door as it was opened. Tristan’s father poked his head inside, still looking pretty much the same as he had that day Tristan met him twenty-four years earlier except for the addition of a few grey hairs and laugh lines. “Sorry, Leonard, but I promised the wife that we’d be home for dinner by six.”
Knowing that even Hank wouldn’t bitch about his mother’s request cutting into his therapy session, Tristan got to his feet and headed for the door. He wasn’t surprised when Dr. Bryne didn’t remind him that they still had over twenty minutes left. The man lived in fear of Tristan’s mother and for damn good reason.
Along with his brother and father, he would happily beat the shit out of anyone that ever made the mistake of making her unhappy.
“Tristan, why don’t you wait in the hall while I speak with your father for a minute,” Dr. Bryne said, probably hoping that bitching to his father would gain Tristan’s cooperation. It wouldn’t, but Tristan didn’t care enough to complain about it.
When his father grabbed his good arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze as if he really needed it, Tristan barely resisted the urge to shrug his hold off. “I’ll be right there,” his father said with that overly understanding smile that seemed to be reserved just for him.
His father was worried about him, but that wasn’t anything new. The man was always worried about him, but at least his father wasn’t as bad as his mother. God, that woman turned worrying into an art form. He was just glad that his father had been able to stop her from tagging along today. She’d only agreed to back off as long his father spoke with the doctor to make sure that he was really okay. If it meant keeping his mother from fretting over him, he’d agree to damn near anything.
He walked into the small hallway that led to the waiting room. Not really paying attention to anyone as he sat down and grabbed a National Geographic magazine. A few minutes later he looked up and noticed a pretty woman sitting across from him, watching him. She gave him a flirty smile that really didn’t interest him, but he was bored and willing to kill a few minutes while he waited for his father.
He was about to ask for her name when his father stepped into the room, looking less than pleased. “Pink bunnies, Tristan?”
Fuck, he really shouldn’t have signed that release form allowing his father to ask questions about his sessions. He looked back at the woman to find her giggling.
“Old Nam’ flashbacks,” Tristan explained, making her laugh harder and not really caring.
He stood up to leave when she reached out to stop him. “Wait,” she said, pressing something into his hand. “I’m Jessica and I would love to hear more about the pink bunnies,” she said coyly, giving him an appreciative look as she ran her eyes over his body.
He gave her a small, barely there nod, quickly forgetting about her as he headed for the exit, wondering if he was about to get another bullshit lecture about taking these mandatory sessions seriously. He followed his father to the old man's black pickup truck and climbed in.
Once they were on the back roads, his father decided that they needed to talk. “So, I hear that you’re not happy about attending therapy.”
Tristan shrugged his good shoulder. “You could say that.”
