Another minute of peaceful silence passed. Silence ticked away by the clock on the desk. Silence that allowed Dr. Tucker to rest quietly. Silence that allowed...
Fuck!
...his latest patient to lament her forced detachment from anything remotely alcoholic in nature. Hell, during her short stay in prison, she wasn't allowed anywhere near grapes. Grapes! The young girl mentally scoffed. As if she had the kind of time she'd need to let them ferment.
Then again, prison did give people plenty of time, if nothing else.
She crossed her hands over her abdomen and slowed her breathing. A little trick she'd picked up to help her deal with times like these. Namely, times of alcohol deprivation.
Or times when random fuckers decide to try and write out a back story for her.
"Pop quiz." She said suddenly. To anyone who knew didn't know any better, she almost sounded like a school teacher. "Why am I such an angry bitch?"
Dr. Tucker didn't answer. Not that the girl gave him a chance.
"Seriously. No matter how many I kill, it's all the same. They're all going to pay. Yeah, with their fucking lives."
Anyone who happened to overhear the monologue (if it could be called one) would have wondered why the girl hadn't been institutionalized, or euthanized, yet. Anyone other than Dr. Tucker, that is. The psychologist simply let her continue.
The girl offered a small smile. "Like that? I've been practicing. Gotta have something that gets into the minds of overconfident little shits when they come around." She turned her head to regard Tucker. "And trust me; they do come around.
"You see, I'm in this little organization that calls itself the United Assassins Association. That's 'UAA' for the dipshits out there who prefer their acronyms to actually saying the fucking words. Anyway, they like to rank all the members of their organization with some kind of stupid-ass arbitrary system. They plugged me into their calculators and decided that I'm the second best assassin in the world. Whatever the fuck that means.
"Anyway, every now and then some upstart little spitfuck decides that they want to be the second best in the world and come bug me about it. After a nice little conversation between me, him and my best friend Louis, we decide that it's best that he disappear and not bother anyone else."
Dr. Tucker sat in his chair, unfazed by his patient's words. Little expositions like these were the kinds of things you hear on an alarmingly regular basis, after all.
"I swear to God," She continued. "If another fucktard decides to try and take me down, I'm going to make him, his mother and the entire goddamn town he lived in disappear." More silence passed, allowing the girl to take in more calming breaths. "In nice leather masks. I could use some practice with my swings, anyway."
The good Doctor shifted slightly. This new charge's words were a little...unsettling...to say the least. As much as he may have wanted to do so, he didn't ask a single question. If his years in this profession taught him anything, it was that it was best to let these crazies vent over whatever they needed to vent about.
And this particular crazy had much she needed to vent about.
"So," the girl said. "You're probably wondering how I got here, instead of being fried like a chicken in some stuffy white room. I'll be honest; I have no idea. I guess the pussy in the black robe that heard my case probably thought that since this was my first conviction, I could probably be saved and change my life or some shit. Here's a clue: when you get into my line of work, there's no going back. There's no 'saving', or 'helping', or 'rescuing'. Once you're in, you're in for the whole right down the Highway to Hell.
"But," she continued. "You've gotta look at it this way: we're in the service of helping people. We just don't take the pussy approach of following laws or whatever."
For the first time since the girl entered his office, Dr. Tucker's pen met with paper, tracing red lines across the white parchment.
"We sometimes get paid to do the stupid shit, like getting rid of husbands or wives or flunkies. That crap's hardly worth it sometimes. Other times, we get paid to off political bastards that are running countries in to the ground or some shit. Best example? President Caldwell. Bitch was much too soft about handling the fuck-ups that mess with our beauti-fucking-ful country. Now, we've got Vice President Reed running thing much more smoothly. See how well that worked out?"
The pen stopped scratching the paper. Dr. Tucker would have loved to point out that it was because of VP Reed that places like Santa Destroy even existed, but again, prior experience told him to shut up.
"Anyway, I feel like I have to apologize to you, Doc. I don't normally curse this much. It just kinda slips out whenever I'm stressed. Or go long periods of time without a fucking drink. Whichever comes first."
Dr. Tucker relaxed in his seat a bit. So she was stressed. That meant that there might be a way to calm her down.
"I bet you're wondering how I got here. I mean, other than the obvious-as-fuck legal system. Well..." The girl took a deep breath. "I guess it all started back before I was born, really..."