Sam bitterly crosses one arm over her other in her lap, tapping the fingers of her left hand on her right right arm beneath it. She's seated next to Carly who sits with her hand folded in her lap, acting like it's a professional meeting, rather than just an initial consultation.
Sam pulls at her hair with her free hand, twisting the locks around her fingers, weaving it between them then slowly pulls her fingers through until she reaches the ends, staring and picking through the split ends, looking for a broken piece to slowly tear apart, watching as the hair split into two, and floated to the floor.
"Sam, stop that!" Carly whispered the warning.
"This is stupid, Carly! Why are we even here?"
"You need the help learning to deal with your emotions!"
"Isn't that what eating is for? Think of all the lonely singles eating on their couch right now." She smirks, finding it amusing.
"Sam, please cooperate today! I only want to help you." Carly begs.
Three light knocks echo on the wooden door as it slowly opens, and an older looking man walks through, the weight of the heavy load of his stomach making the floor shake beneath his husky feet. He carried a clipboard underneath his right arm, and a black pen and highlighter in his left. Slowly, he wheels out his table and chair, setting his clipboard and pen down, and opening the silver laptop that sat upon it. As he lowers his glasses with the small rectangular frames onto his nose, he clicks his pen and stares up at Sam.
He runs through protocol, asking if Sam had a history of violence or self-harm, scratching at his beard with his free hand as he recorded her answers. Sam glared at Carly nervously, without even trying to show it every time a question was asked, looking to Carly for assurance before answering.
"Why, do you have a prison record?" Sam blurts as he quietly types on his computer.
"Sam!" Carly snaps.
"If he gets to ask me questions about my personal life, I have every right to do the same." Sam defends.
"Ms. Puckett, I don't have to disclose that to you." He responds calmly, never looking up.
"Well, my mom has taken me to a lot of sleazy counselors and therapists before so it would be nice to know a little background now before my mom trusts you enough to give you our house key and you take off with our fridge or tv."
Carly nudges Sam with her leg and reaches over, pinching the skin on her forearm and burning her a look.
"Sam, he has a degree on the wall! A legit one!"
"That's what they all tell me." Sam brushes it off.
"I'm sorry, she not too thrilled to be here, but we hope that through therapy, eventually Sam will be able to express her feels more properly." Carly adds apologetically.
"Sam, what scares you? Like for example, when you're anxious, how or what do you feel?"
"Aren't you supposed to tell me that? Don't you think that's why we're here and that's what we want to know?" She replies, snapping her gum in annoyance.
"So you don't want to be here?" He asks.
"No." She replies, irritated.
"On a scale to one to ten…" He begins.
Sam rolls her eyes, looking at Carly in annoyance, gesturing at her as if she couldn't believe this was happening.
"Carls, for real?" Sam looks at Carly in disbelief.
Realizing that this was going to be a long and difficult process, Sam unintentionally being too stubborn to admit she needed help or to even cooperate, Carly grabbed Sam off the couch, dragging her toward the door angrily, more out of frustration that Sam wouldn't accept the help she wanted. Sam needed more than just a friend, more than just a shoulder to cry on. She needed professional help to teach her how to deal with her emotions better than Carly ever could.
"Thanks Dr. Meyer." Carly calls as she drags Sam with her out the door.
Upon returning home, Carly collapses onto the couch next to her brother, laying her head on his lap as she glared up at him, deeply exhaling as she blew the frustrated and overwhelmed air from her hot cheeks.
"How's it going kiddo?" Spencer asked, trying to lighten the mood.
"No such luck today." She sighed, sadly sitting up and leaning on his shoulder.
"What happened? Did she bite him?"
"No.."
"Kick him?" Spencer tries again.
"No." Carly replies annoyed.
"Any bodily or physical harm?" Spencer asks cautiously for reassurance.
"She wouldn't even talk to him! No matter what he asked her she always made it into some sarcastic comeback to avoid the question."
"It was that bad?"
"She asked him if he had a prison record!" She infers, looking at him in disbelief.
"Can you blame her for being paranoid?" Spencer asks.
"Spencer, I just want to help her! Tell me what I can do! She's my best friend and I feel totally useless to her, even though I just want to see her happy!" Carly whimpers concerned.
Spencer turns his body to face Carly, sighing with all seriousness in his eyes.
"Carls, you can't make her talk. It will probably take time to help her put her feelings out there, but right now and actually always has it been difficult for Sam to express her emotions in ways other than violence. So if she clams up, be patient. She'll eventually open up, especially if you give her or the therapists ways that they can communicate in Sam's way of understanding, on her level of communication."
"You mean like letting her punch somethings and such? Like every time she punches a pillow or something, she has to shout how she's feeling!" Carly excitedly exclaims.
"Kind of, but that's just a start. But if Sam doesn't even know how to explain it, you need to start off slow."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know, I'm not a therapist!" He adds incredulously and Carly laughs, leaning into him to hug him.