Hamlet's Trip to the Psychiatrist
Disclaimer: I do not own Hamlet.
Note: I was cleaning out my room the other day and I came across this, which I wrote when I first read Hamlet…four and a half years ago. As such, it's probably horrid, but whatever. I was bored.
"I don't belong here," the 25-year-old vice-president of Elsinore Inc. complained.
"That's not what your father says, Hamlet," the psychiatrist reminded him.
Hamlet gritted his teeth. "That…man is NOT my father. He's my uncle."
"He's also your step-father," the psychiatrist pointed out.
"Only because my mother felt the need to go along with this incestuous union," Hamlet spat.
"Your step-father is your biological father's brother and as such is not related to your mother in the slightest," the psychiatrist said sensibly.
"Exactly! My father's brother and my mother! My parents married, making them related and thus she is related to him and thus this new union is incest!" Hamlet proclaimed triumphantly.
"I'm…not quite sure it works like that," the psychiatrist said hesitantly.
"Is does in my world," Hamlet assured her.
"I'm sure it does," she muttered. "Now, do you know why you're here?"
"Because my uncle realized that I know the truth!" Hamlet declared dramatically.
"The truth about what, exactly?" the psychiatrist asked carefully.
"The truth about my uncle murdering my father so he could be CEO of Elsinore Inc. and marry my mother!" Hamlet cried. "I have the pictures to prove it!"
"May I see them?" the psychiatrist asked politely, checking her phone. When Hamlet handed them over, she lit them on fire.
"What was that for?!?!" Hamlet cried outraged.
"Sorry," she apologized. "Your father just doubled my pay."
"Damn him," Hamlet seethed.
"Let's talk about the events surrounding your break with reality so we can get into some of the underlying issues," the psychiatrist suggested.
"I did not break with reality," Hamlet sniped.
"You nearly brought about the deaths of everyone close to you," the psychiatrist countered.
"I was only trying to kill my uncle," Hamlet told her unrepentantly.
"And you are extremely lucky your father convinced the jury that you had broken with reality or you'd have several attempted murders under your belt. And thank God for your friend Horatio, or else you'd have several actual murders to your name," the psychiatrist said bluntly.
"That stupid traitor…" Hamlet muttered.
"He very well may have saved you some serious jail time," the psychiatrist replied. "You should be more grateful. First when you tried to kill one of Elsinore's VP's and the father of your ex-girlfriend by running a sword through him – and I'm not entirely sure why you were carrying a sword around with you in the first place if you weren't planning on attacking someone – and if Horatio hadn't been there to call 911 and stop the bleeding you probably would have succeeded."
"In my defense, I heard a man screaming 'Help!' when I was in my mother's office," Hamlet explained. "I didn't know why they were hiding behind a giant tapestry, but I figured it was either my uncle or a spy."
"Why would your father be hiding behind a giant tapestry?" the psychiatrist asked.
"Why would Polonius?" Hamlet shot back.
"Why were you even carrying a sword in the first place?" the psychiatrist inquired.
"Because…" Hamlet paused. "I don't know; I always do. It's like how some people carry guns."
"You realize that's very strange, right?" the psychiatrist wanted to know.
"You realize I don't care?" Hamlet asked.
"I'm beginning to gather that," the psychiatrist acknowledged. "Although you really should as you have to keep coming in for sessions until I declare that you're cured?"
"Don't you mean until my uncle thinks I'm okay?" Hamlet muttered sullenly.
"That's what I said," the psychiatrist assured him. "Now, let's discuss the reason that you were in your mother's office in the first place. According to witness testimony, you accused your mother of incest and then proceeded to make out with her."
"To be fair," Hamlet said, irritated. "She kissed me to stop me from accusing her of incest. Although since I have a rather unconventional view of incest and everyone can agree that a mother and a son definitely qualifies, that hardly helped her case."
"She also said that you yelled at her for moving on and expected her to spend the rest of her life in mourning for your father?" the psychiatrist asked, checking her notes.
Hamlet nodded. "Is that so unreasonable?"
"You're mother's only 48, Hamlet," the psychiatrist said gently. At Hamlet's blank look, she sighed. "If it had been your mother who had died, would you expect your father to remain single for the rest of his days."
Hamlet squirmed uncomfortable. "Well, no…" he confessed. "But at least I could be reasonably sure that he wouldn't go off and marry my uncle."
"that's quite a double standard you have there," the psychiatrist noted. "And you wonder why Ophelia dumped you…"
Hamlet perked up at this. "You know why Ophelia left me? She wouldn't say but I suspect it is because her father and brother don't like me and told her to."
"Well, they did," the psychiatrist admitted. "But that was mostly because of your blatant sexism and she only listened to them because she was getting tired of putting up with it and they staged an intervention."
Hamlet crossed his arms, annoyed, but didn't respond.
"While we're on the subject of Ophelia, let's discuss her near-drowning, shall we?" the psychiatrist suggested.
"There's nothing to discuss," Hamlet insisted. "She got a little upset and decided to off herself. These things happen."
"Hamlet, you told her that you killed her father, described in extensive detail how you did it, and showed her pictures you took of after the stabbing and before Horatio arrived as well as verbally tore her a new one because she dumped you and told her that she would be doing everyone a favor if she killed herself," the physiatrist said reprovingly.
"So maybe I was a little upset that I failed to kill my uncle and needed to vent…" Hamlet trailed off.
"Venting, I can understand, but you induced your ex into attempting to kill herself," the psychiatrist's voice was still stern.
"If she were a guy she could handle it," Hamlet muttered.
The psychiatrist closed her eyes. "Why?" she murmured. Opening them again, she turned her attention back to her patient. "If Horatio hadn't been on his way back from the hospital to tell you that Polonius was going to live and jumped in to save her, she would have died. I agree that suicide is not the answer, but she was very distraught at the time and her mental trauma was all your fault and what's more, done deliberately to cause her pain. That's the mark of a sick mind, right there."
Hamlet shrugged. "As long as I can have my vengeance, I don't really care."
"I gathered that from the way you attempted to send two old friends of yours to their deaths," the psychiatrist neatly segued into their next topic of discussion.
Hamlet uncrossed his arms just so he could cross them again and scowled. "They are NOT my friends. They were just some classmates of mine who were doing some freelance work with Elsinore."
"And that gives you the right to send them to meet with a mob boss and to tell them you were backing out of whatever deal you were negotiating?" the psychiatrist asked a bit incredulously.
Hamlet shrugged. "They were really annoying. And they survived, so I don't see what the big deal was."
"If Horatio hadn't followed them because he...well…" the psychiatrist trailed off awkwardly.
"Thought they were incompetent fools liable to get in over their heads?" Hamlet suggested helpfully.
"Right," the psychiatrist nodded. "If he hadn't shown up and managed to salvage the deal, there would be two more deaths on your heads."
"It would serve them right for spying on me," Hamlet told her frankly.
The psychiatrist sighed. "Hamlet, they weren't spying on you; your parents just asked them to keep an eye on you as you were acting like a crazy person and kept trying to kill everyone around you."
"Everyone but Horatio," Hamlet muttered darkly. "Because I thought he was my friend. A mistake I will not be repeating."
"Seriously, what's with all this unprovoked hostility towards the guy who saved not only your life but the lives of seven others? Seven others that are close to you, might I add," the psychiatrist pointed out.
"Well some of them I wanted dead, some of them rather deserved to die for their colossal stupidity, AND HE HOOKED UP WITH MY GIRLFRIEND!" Hamlet shouted.
"Your ex-girlfriend," the psychiatrist reminded him. "And after that stunt you pulled with trying to get her to drown herself, there was really no chance of you ever getting back together with her in the first place."
"Maybe not," Hamlet growled. "But it is SO not cool of my best friend to go after my ex like that."
"Maybe not," the psychiatrist admitted. "But since he's a hero now, everyone's okay with it anyway."
"Everyone but me," Hamlet snarled.
"True, but since it was your actions that prompted Horatio to heroism, no one really cares," the psychiatrist said frankly.
"I bet my uncle paid you to say that," Hamlet decided.
The psychiatrist rolled her eyes. "And then your father became so concerned about you that he put sedatives in a drink that he tried to give you at a fencing match you were having with Ophelia's brother, Laertes."
"Lies!" Hamlet cried. "It was poison; when my mother drank it instead, it nearly killed her."
"Ah, that's because she had an allergic reaction to some of the sedatives," the psychiatrist explained. "If Horatio hadn't been around with an EpiPen for his strawberry allergy, she might not have made it. Not to mention if he hadn't called 911 again after you forced your father to drink the rest of the sedative and then stabbed him with that poisoned blade, he wouldn't have made it either."
"Don't even think of blaming that on me," Hamlet warned. "Laertes is the one who dipped his foil in poison."
"True…" the psychiatrist admitted. "He was just really peeved that you tried to kill his family and were acting progressively more unstable."
"Why isn't he facing any jail time for that?" Hamlet demanded.
"Because under the circumstances no one was willing to testify against him and no one could really prove that he knew that the foil was coated in poison when he stabbed you and you stabbed him with it," the psychiatrist answered immediately.
"But he requested that specific foil!" Hamlet burst out. "Not to mention it was sharpened instead of dull as it was supposed to be."
The psychiatrist shrugged. "Circumstantial evidence."
"Of course it is," Hamlet said bitterly.
"We haven't discussed why you felt the need to go after your father in the first place," the psychiatrist reminded him.
Hamlet glared at her. "I went after my uncle because the ghost of my father told me that he had killed him and where to find the pictures."
"What pictures?" the psychiatrist blinked innocently.
"The ones you destroyed," Hamlet gritted his teeth.
"I don't recall…" the psychiatrist trailed off. "But moving on…You think you saw the ghost of your biological father?"
"I KNOW I did and I will not stop until I've had my revenge!" Hamlet declared ominously.
"Right then," the psychiatrist said, looking at the clock. "That's about all the time we have for today. I'll see you this time next week. I think we've made some real progress."
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