Therapeutic Sessions Ch. 02

Therapeutic Sessions - Ch. 02

A Particular Client

I should have named my first story in this series "Vol 1" but since I did not, I really can't change it now. Each in the series is standalone and has nothing to do with characters in the other volumes/ chapters unless otherwise noted.

In two of my other stories, I have a therapist character who ended up with her client. One of them did it by the book. I still got a lot of flack from - I guess - therapist readers. In my life, I've had three therapists, all women, and each started as couples counseling, with two moving on to individual therapy. I ended up having sex with two of them, while still a patient. I'm fully aware of the well-guarded relationship and the oath. Therapists are humans at the end of the day, not better nor worse than anyone else, and susceptible to the same desires and needs.

"It could never happen" comments won't change the fact that for me, at least, two-thirds of therapists are willing to break their oath, just like a loving wife is often willing to break a vow. They are the same thing - exactly. I also understand that my experience isn't the same as many patients and that at least a majority of mental health professionals take their oath seriously.

That's the warning here. If you're triggered by therapists hooking up with a client, don't go any further.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

"That went well," Allison Brown told one of her two newest clients, Dane Emsley. Moments before, they'd witnessed Gloria Emsley, Rob's soon-to-be-ex-wife stand abruptly and vehemently walk out the door, slamming it behind her.

"I did warn you," Allison continued, "that this might happen."

"You did," Dane sighed. "As soon as you started putting her into a corner, just like you said at our one-on-one session."

"It's going to be okay, Dane," Allison consoled softly but professionally. "Let's schedule you for your next session and see if we can make them more consistent. It will do you good to talk to someone, and since you're still on your wife's insurance, it won't cost you an arm and a leg."

"Hey," Dane chuckled nervously. "We still have ten minutes on the clock."

Allison knew exactly what Dane was doing. In fact, it was as normal as any human physical response. Feelings of ultimate failure, uncertainty of the future, concerns for his two small children - the finality of what had happened, and Dane was in shock. His nervousness and the uneven laughing were as normal as a person jumping to their feet after being struck by something suddenly, trying to prove to themselves they could still function.

"No," Allison said smoothly and softly. "I think this is a good place to stop for today. Dane, go home and reflect on what happened. Don't drink alcohol tonight. Just think about what happened here today, and then, if you can, write down your thoughts about it. If your mind allows, write down a few things you want to do as your next steps. I'll see you... day after tomorrow - same time, all right?"

Allison:

Every therapist has those examples that hit close to home. Sometimes, as I'd learned in school, trying to determine why was an exercise in futility. Other times, a therapist knows right away. Today's session was definitely the former. Something about Dane struck me and tugged at my heartstrings. It was clear he was one of the 'good guys,' and he'd suffered a horrible injustice.

Hearing Dane's story, it was difficult not to show my shock and disappointment. Gloria was a piece of work, and she would need years of personal therapy, possibly even intensive psychiatry to make her a healthy person, capable of a happy life amongst the other humans.

Dane had described how they'd married far too young, but Gloria displayed more than ignorant youthfulness. She also displayed narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies. Dane probably didn't even know half of the story. The poor woman had witnessed her own mother's death at the age of eight. It had happened right in front of the family home as a drunk driver jumped the curb and hit her mother on the front lawn.

At fourteen, she 'left' her home with a male friend, moving to Oklahoma, only to find out that she was a quasi-prisoner to the much older boyfriend. After a year, she stole money for a bus ticket home. The way she'd told it, I understood the man, not the boy, had been smart enough to make it seem like she couldn't leave, but careful to not implicate himself in an underage kidnapping.

Dane and she married after dating for eight months, and she hadn't even turned nineteen yet. She got pregnant, and during that time, Dane found out she'd been spending the mortgage payments on things for the newborn, or herself. By the time their daughter was born, Dane had already made plans to sell their mobile home, surrender the brand-new car to the bank, and then move to California to be closer to his family. Unfortunately, that took Gloria far away from hers. With no real support system, it was just a matter of time.

They made it two years, according to Dane. I, of course, believed that was quite naïve on his part. After their son was born, Gloria went back to work, in a supermarket deli, and shortly thereafter hurt her back.

She had insurance, and the chain food store had her checked out, and sent her to a local chiropractor. Two months later, Dane received a call.

Watching him tell it, I almost cried for him. He was only four years older than his wife and was now approaching his twenty-sixth birthday. The chiropractor's receptionist had called. Dane thought it was about a missed appointment until she explained.

"I'm calling to speak with you, Mr. Emsley," she'd told him. "This is my last day at the office. I'm a Christian woman, and I can't stay here, knowing what I know. Mr. Emsley, I'm sorry, but Dr. Burke is having sexual relations with at least a dozen of his patients and your wife is one of them. I'm sorry to spring this on you, but after some soul-searching, I thought you had the right to know."

When Dane confronted her that night, Gloria didn't admit or deny it, she simply told him she didn't want to be married anymore. When he'd asked for more information, she'd shrugged her shoulders despondently. Dane wandered through the next week in a fog, battling the first two stages of grief. Seven days after the confrontation, Gloria left the children, a three-year-old girl and a one-year-old boy with the upstairs neighbor, which he didn't discover until midnight when he came home from work.

Dane had grilled the neighbor, and she finally relented at that late hour. His wife had gone to the club. I watched Dane's expression change from blind rage to controlled anger as he related the facts to me. That night, when she arrived home at one thirty, Dane had her bags packed and told her to get out.

Drunk as Gloria was, she still had the presence of mind to call the cops to help her sort out the children. California laws, like them or not, are very different from most of the nation. The police came, listened to both Dane and Gloria, and then allowed her to take them. Dane told me there was no way she could pass a breathalyzer test, and he planned on suing the city over it.

After several days, Dane was able to convince his wayward wife to meet, so they could discuss the terms of their separation. By then, she'd moved in with what Dane described as a six-foot-four giant of a loser drug addict. Actually, she'd moved into his parents' house, where the giant also lived. He didn't have his place. Two days later, Dane was able to pick up the children for a 'visit.' He told me how badly he'd wished that he had just taken them right then and ran.

Within a week though, something went right for Dane. The new boyfriend's mother had convinced Gloria to clean up her business with Dane and told her she should go to marriage counseling, if for no other reason than to be fair and equitable to the kids. She obviously didn't understand couples therapy, but that proved to work out for both Dane and Gloria.

In my session with Gloria, she said she knew Dane had cheated with her bridesmaid. She never confronted him, but believed he was still seeing other women on the side. So, instead of talking, she'd decided she could step out of the marriage as well. The more Gloria talked that day, the more I realized she had some deep-seated issues, stemming from her childhood, especially trust issues.

Dane never brought up any infidelity on his part, which would be par for the course. He told a different story about his wife, her spending, her indifference, and the challenges that came to light almost right after they gave their vows. I didn't think we'd get past the third session, but my predictions weren't important. Only what was necessary for everyone's well-being was, and as always, I took that challenge.

The first combined session found Gloria railing into Dane. She had a laundry list of his inadequacies. Even the untrained could see she was trying to paint him as the villain. Some of what she'd proposed could have been legit, but from talking to him one-on-one, I was already suspicious of most of what she'd said. She seemed quite proud of herself by the end of that meeting. Dane looked beaten and unable to move. Even his breath seemed labored, as she attacked him with things, he'd had no idea about previously.

In today's meeting, I focused on her actions, asking open questions about what she could improve on in the relationship. We never made it to the end of the session. Gloria repeated her quest to no longer be married and told us both that Dane better get on board with her desires or she'd make sure the kids grew up hating him. With that, she made her big exit.

I felt horrible for Dane. He was most worried about her comment concerning their children, and so was I. He needed some time to clear his head, while I developed some guidance for Dane, so Gloria couldn't make good on her promise. We ended the session after setting up the next few.

I was troubled that night, lost in my thoughts until an unsettled voice broke my stupor.

"Allie!" my husband, Rob's voice brought me back to the living. "Will is trying to ask you about the school fundraiser." He gave me a perplexed look.

My son, Will, was sitting next to me, staring. "I'm sorry, honey," I told him, "Mom had a hard day. I'm listening now."

I hated those times when cases hit me like Dane's did. I hated letting myself become so immersed in my work that it took quality time from my family. It didn't happen often, but when it did...

William, or Will, as he preferred, was our oldest son. This would be his last year of junior high, and he was already getting nervous about being a freshman in high school. Emily was the apple of her father's eye, and she was leaving elementary school to attend the same school from which Will was graduating.

Our family is my pride and joy. Rob was an excellent dad, and both kids not only looked up to him, but they adored him. Rob had earned my adoration too, and hopefully, I, his.

Living in SoCal, we both needed to work to make ends meet. Before the kids were born, we'd discussed what many couples do: should we build some savings, or go with the flow? We were of two minds there, and I was proud of us for talking through a good compromise.

Rob worked in the packaging industry as an engineer. Quite a few of the designs involving your take-out food came from my husband. He worked so hard while I finished my degree program. On top of that, we split the cooking and cleaning duties. Compared to some of my friends and family members, Rob was a saint. I always made sure to let him know how much I appreciated him.

Once I was ready to enter the workforce, via my own practice, Rob supported me in other ways. It took a year before I had enough clients to spread the word of mouth. Rob found a friend to enhance my web presence. After that year, Rob settled into more manageable hours at his job and not long after was promoted to management. So, with a year and a half under my belt, we decided to start our family. I worked until I was eight months along.

My husband was so sweet. He'd rub my feet, even when he came home dragging. He wasn't just a great husband and father; his kindness and selflessness compelled me to be better, a better wife and a better person. Working with patients was more enjoyable because Rob was my partner. I had a more positive outlook, and my overall happiness kept me centered and grounded.

When Emily came along, we became even busier. Some of the luster began to wear off our fairytale lives. Still, we managed as a team. We somehow found extra hours in the day that didn't exist. Once the kids were both in school, we breathed a sigh of relief, but temporarily. Then came the activities and youth sports. Rob coached Will in Little League and basketball. I coached Em in soccer.

Life was good, or so I thought. The year Will entered junior high, Rob's company was bought out in a huge merger. His new management team gave an ultimatum. Travel to their other plants or look for another job. With Rob gone so often, I felt lost. I got myself and the kids through most days, but they missed him almost as much as I did. We'd been in this 'new normal' for just over two years when Dane arrived at my door. Rob and I had been fighting more. He was occasionally indifferent, which was a foreign emotion in our relationship. I worried about what he might be up to on the road, whereas I'd never, ever questioned his commitment and fidelity before. Wallowing at home by myself, I began to have the worst of thoughts and concerns. I begged Rob to find a new job.

I tried to talk to friends. They were no help. Drama leads to drama and the advice I got ranged from hiring someone to check up on my husband when he was away, to me having a little fling of my own to take the edge off. I soon realized that the people I thought were friends, really weren't. That almost made me depressed. Talking to Rob became difficult. I knew the things I said and the questions I asked made me look suspicious and petty. Besides, he'd already answered me a million times over. We trudged along, looking like a super-couple and parents of the year to all around us, while trouble brewed at our doorstep. Things in the bedroom were at an all-time low.

Dane:

He was pretty quick for a slimy fucker. The minute he realized who was at the door to his crappy little office, the door slammed, and the lock engaged. I'd guessed a few other husbands had already paid a visit.

I'd been watching Dr. Albert Cokaine in most of my spare time for two weeks. I'd watch movement in his office and parking lot before I went to work my afternoon shift at the restaurant. Some days, I'd be up early and get a donut at the little bakery next to his strip mall office. I also knew what time the donut shop closed, because the door to his office lobby faced that direction, with a little walkway in between. There was no back door from the prick's office.

The bartender I brought with me was our main guy at the restaurant. He was tall and wiry. Besides working in tandem as a manager and bartender, we had another role. Due to our cheap boss, we also doubled as bouncers. The restaurant was in a popular tourist harbor, which made things interesting. Grubby fishermen, young Cholo gangsters, and well-off couples often collided on any given night in our bar, either listening and dancing to our live music or waiting for a table in the dining room. Those three groups did not mix.

Steve Billings was trained in three martial arts. He could hold his own far better than me. I was a street scrapper, originally from Detroit. The best 'tossers' were movie, TV, or soap opera personalities who traveled up from Hollywood for a long weekend. Steve would play it cool, get his tip and then cut them off. They usually had their entourage with them, some sort of rag-tag security. When the celeb would order us to serve them, things got dicey fast. The fondest memory was that little fucker, Herve Villechaize. His guys were all Samoans - tough bastards. Just before the shit hit the fan, Steve called 911 from behind the bar and told them to hurry.

Steve and I were both beaten bloody during that fight. Those guys had no quit in them. Steve got super-pissed at some point after taking too many hits and started going for knees and ball sacks. To be fair, he was dealing with two of them, while I only had one. When they were all down, Herve's cocky smile disappeared. We dragged him to the emergency exit by the stage, Steve opened the door, and I had the tiny little bitch by one arm and one leg. Twirling him around in a circle twice, I let go, and he flew about ten feet, right out the door and onto the landing. "The plane, boss," indeed!

One swift, hard kick to the doctor's door gained us entry. He was shaking while attempting to use the receptionist's phone to call for help. I had him pinned to that desk by the throat, probably the same desk the nice women had called me from and destroyed my world.

"Fuck my wife, will ya!" My spittle hit him in the face. He was frantically shaking his head. I didn't need him pissing or shitting himself, so I open-hand slapped him across the face, but not hard enough to leave a mark.

"Listen up, you cocksucker," I told him through gritted teeth. "This is my friend, Indiana Jones." That was in case he was stupid enough to file a police report after we left, or at the hospital.

"He is well-trained in three disciplines of martial arts," I informed him still leaning on his chest. "His specialty weapon is the nunchaku. But this..." I moved to one side allowing him to see Steve extending the telescopic ASP Airweight baton.

"That he can wield with precision too," I sneered at the prick. "Tell me, doctor chiropractor, what would a precision strike to say - Lumbar three - do to a man?" He didn't answer, but he was thinking about it.

"Today is your lucky day, asshole," I continued. "Like a game show, you get a choice, which is more than you gave me. Lumbar three. Paralyzed from the waist down - forever. Or door number two. A well-placed strike to your pitiful nut sack. Choose. Ten seconds."

To his credit, he begged, pleaded, threatened retaliation, and jail time for us. That lasted about nine seconds until I started rolling him over on his stomach.

"Door Two! Door TWO!!" he cried out. I kept him rolling as he struggled, perhaps confused that I didn't hear his choice. I used my body to naturally spread his legs open, and then quickly jumped up, sitting on his waist, holding and taking both ankles with me. Almost immediately, there was a 'thr-whack' sound, followed by a blood-curdling scream.

Steve and I had worked this out before coming. "Two minutes - no more," Steve had cautioned. We didn't believe the prick would call the cops. Not because that wouldn't be his first reaction, but he would likely realize how many wives he'd fucked in his office, and not knowing which wife we belonged to, he'd have a long list for the police. He would, however, require medical attention. What Steve and I didn't want was a snoopy neighbor or passer-by preempting the good doctor.

Dipshit rolled back and forth across the reception desk, holding his crotch. The pain was real.

"I've been watching you for some time, fuck nut," I said cooly. Your license plate number, your address, and the names of your family members. I have all that. You talk to the cops or push an investigation, and I start hurting other people. Then I come back and finish you. Capice?"

I didn't mean to say that last part. I'm not Italian, but it sounded more ominous and professional under the circumstances. He only nodded and cried like a pussy. I'd have guessed I wasn't his only problem.