‘Take a seat, Evan. How are you doing?’
‘I dunno, the usual I guess. Constantly blamed for shit. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?’ Evan shifted jumpily in his seat, shifting his bony frame, trying to get comfortable. His eyes maintained contact with his fingers, picking themselves. Preening themselves. Arms folded.
‘Try to put into words how you feel. I’m not blaming you for anything.’ He took a short audible breath. He wouldn’t look at her. He could feel her gentle but probing stare on his face. She was attractive and normal. Clean. She emanated a cool confidence, although it seemed to him something she had learnt, rather than being like that in real life. Maybe that was just another trick, he thought. To trick him into saying things he would get jailed for again.
‘I don’t want to tell you anything, you would hate me for it.’
Marie pursed her lips and tilted her head.
‘Why do you feel that I would judge you? I won’t hate you for anything; I’m here to help you, Evan. You need to learn to trust me. Nothing you say will leave this room.’ Marie leaned forward.
‘Nah, it’s just...I don’t like thinking about the shit in my head, it’s like...just hard to talk without getting a big lump in my throat. I’m so angry at people, they don’t understand me- they just label me this, that and the other. But they don’t give shit what I’ve gone through, you know. They haven’t a fucking idea mate’. The more he spoke the more jumpy he got. He was almost sitting on the edge of his seat.
‘What do you think people label you as?’
‘What do you think? A child molester, a fucking criminal, scumbag, low-life, creep, freak. What don’t I get labelled?’ He looked up at this point, his eyebrows sunken, mouth slightly ajar.
‘Do you think of yourself in these terms?’
‘I do now. When people call you names enough it starts to sink in, you know. It’s like hard not to believe the shit they say. But I’m sick of it. People don’t wanna here the full story.’
‘What people are you referring to?’
‘Don’t play dumb, you know who I mean. The media, my family, Detective Alistair Weaver, that cunt at the milk bar. You know what he said to me? He said they were closed at 3.30pm during the week for dinner. You know why he said that? To keep me away from those school kids that hang around there after school. Who eats dinner at 3.30? That old Asian cunt, I wanted to smash his teeth in so bad. But I didn’t. Ha ha. See I’m getting better, aren’t I Marie?’ He continued cackling; only stopping to give way to a violent coughing fit.
‘Yes, ok. We can finish it here. Think about those terms you spoke of and what they mean to you. We can continue next session.’ Marie slowly lowered herself up, subtly ushering Evan out of the room.
As he swaggered out of the room, she couldn’t help but stare at his legs. They were as overcrowded with tattoos as the prison he had spent the last five years of his life in. She watched him leave, hands on hips, lip under teeth, pulling and pecking. Closing her eyes and letting out a long breath that seemed to have been waiting forever to be released, she walked back into her office, making sure to shut the door firmly. The office still smelt like him- Tobacco, boys’ deodorant and BO. Reaching into her wooden cabinet next to her desk, she pulled out some sandalwood to burn and placed it on her desk. The next patient wasn’t due for another twenty minutes, so she popped half a Zanax and slumped on the couch with her feet dangling over the edge.
‘Fucking cunt’, she muttered under her breath.
