(A young woman sits on a blue armchair with her feet haphazardly on a table in front of her. A pack of cigarettes and a red lighter sit next to her feet.)
You know what's really funny? I honestly couldn't care less. I mean, I know I should be, don't worry, it's not like I'm some kind of cyborg that can't feel or anything but (reaches down, lights a cigarette and takes a long drag)…I dunno. This should be the most horrible, traumatic thing ever to happen to me but I just…can't be bothered. It's like…kind of a relief; if you know what I mean (takes a drag, flicks ash.) I mean, I'm gonna miss them, that's for sure, but somehow that's not even the real issue.
The real issue? How would I know? You're the professional, not me, why don't you take a shot at figuring it out (she suddenly reaches over and stubs out the freshly-lit cigarette. It is left upright on the table).
That is the biggest load of bull I've ever heard. I am not "masking my inner-pain." I just told you, I have no inner-pain.
YES I KNOW THAT'S ABNORMAL, THAT'S WHAT I SEE YOU HERE FOUR TIMES A WEEK FOR. You'd think after the monthly checks I get sent to you here – enough, by the way, to feed an entire third world country – you would get the picture. You are meant to figure out what's wrong with me. Can we get back to me now please? Thank you (she swings her feet off the table).
Why I'm so indifferent? I don't know. I guess it's just that after years and years of being forced to do things I don't want to do, saying things that I don't believe in by these people – yes I do love them despite this, I didn't have much choice though, did I – that I just got sick of it. I mean, everybody's embarrasses them and makes them do "acceptable" things, but mine were just way, way extreme.
How do I feel about that? WE'VE BEEN THROUGH THIS AT LEAST SIXTY FOUR TIMES (she puts a hand to her head and sighs). I am sick of this (she sneers) – you're obviously not a very good listener. Quite ironic, that. How did you manage to get this job? Snagged it by the skin of your teeth, I bet.
I'm NOT lashing out on you as a way to help myself grieve. I'm sick of you. I'll be expecting a complete refund of today's session, thank you.
Oh, and could you pick up a carton of milk on your way home? We're running low, and you know how Janie is. She'll be screaming all night.
(She picks up a jacket and purse hanging from the back of the chair and steps over a pair of outstretched male legs in navy trousers, kisses the man on the cheek and slams the door as she leaves.)