Bobby Meets His Match- Chapter 22
This chapter is different from the others. No action. I think it reflects how a guy like Bobby would feel about baring his soul. Or not.
Please leave feedback, as I live for it.
The office was just as lush and soothing as the waiting area had been, minus the elevator music. The room was covered in thick carpet, one side had a large desk, the other an easy chair and a, holy shit, an actual fucking couch. There were also a couple of nice lamps and a big window with a nice fourth floor view.
This room was more smothering than the waiting area, although the obvious intent was to make the patient relaxed and calm. It had the opposite effect on Bobby . It made him nervous. This staid, civilized world was totally different from the world he had come from. No one in this world would even understand anything that he'd seen and done in that hellhole.
The psychologist was pretty, blonde, tall, probably late thirties. She had on a suit with pants and high heels. Bobby, being a heterosexual guy, couldn't help but notice her amazing breasts, though she didn't make any obvious effort to emphasize them. Lester would be drooling over her, but Bobby didn't think anyone was as pretty as Cathy. How the hell could this polished, cool, calm woman have any idea what he was feeling. Shit. Some of the stuff he saw was so graphic and crude, he couldn't talk about things like that to a woman. But she was supposed to specialize in helping veterans, so… she just better not expect him to lie on that damn couch.
" You can sit anywhere you feel comfortable," , the psychologist, Dr. Byrnes, said pointing to the two pieces of furniture. Bobby didn't feel comfortable anywhere in this office, but he sat down on the edge of the armchair. He felt his heart racing, the healing wound in his abdomen throbbing as it hadn't in days. Why the hell was he so scared? He'd been scared lots of times in battle when faced with the possibility of death, but somehow the possibility of having to deal with his memories scared him even more.
She gestured to the bulge under his shirt. "I'm sorry, we don't allow weapons in here." What? She already was afraid he was going to flip out and fucking go postal? She already thought he was crazy. Bobby didn't go anywhere without his gun.
"Sorry ma'am, I don't go anywhere without my gun, but if it makes you nervous, I'll unload it. " Fuck. If this lady was spooked by a gun, she's sure as hell going to be spooked by any of the stuff he could say to her. He drew his gun from the holster, keeping it pointed at the ground and quickly popped out the loaded ammo clip and laid it on the table, glad to have a familiar task to calm him. Then he pulled the slide to clear the round from the chamber, and laid the now empty gun, slide open, on the table with the ammo. He placed it in the center of the table directly in front of him, as if just seeing it and knowing he could get to it quickly comforted him.
"Thank –you" she said. Bobby just sat on the edge of the chair, feeling naked and vulnerable without his weapon. For several minutes, the room was perfectly quiet except for the ticking of the clock and the sound of the air conditioner. He didn't talk, he didn't know what to even say. He didn't want to say anything. He waited, in his preternatural silence, and watched the hands on the clock.
It was only a 50 minute session. At first he'd balked at paying $200 for a 50 minute hour, but now he was glad. If he could just sit here and wait for her to say something, he could burn off time. Shit. He was always patient, but now the time couldn't go fast enough.
He got up and went over to the window, favoring his wounded side and trying not to let it show. The window had no lock. THIS he knew, this he felt comfortable talking about. "You know, you should have a lock on this window, anyone could get in there." Ok, he sounded like a fucking moron talking about the damn window, but he'd talk about ANYTHING to use up the time.
"We are on the fourth floor," the doctor said quietly.
Wow. This woman really had no clue about the world of the soldier, did she? Anyone in Special Forces could get in that window without breaking a sweat. If she didn't even realize that, how the hell could she understand things in his world?
" Not hard for someone to climb up here from the ground. And you are only one floor down from the roof. Easy to climb down."
She smiled at him indulgently, like he was a small child. She was patronizing him, shit he hated that.
"I'll keep that in mind," she said.
Dr. Byrnes just waited, staring at him as he sat down again and he felt like a specimen being examined under glass. He usually liked silence, but now it seemed uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, but didn't say a thing. She leafed through the paperwork he had filled out when he first got there.
She was fascinated by this man- this type of man. He clearly did not want to be here. She noticed that as soon as he'd come in, he'd visually assessed the room, a habit of men in combat. Strong men never wanted to admit they had any type of weakness or vulnerability. And now, well, he was trying to talk about the one thing he felt comfortable talking about to avoid the topic he didn't want to talk about. He would clearly rather be anywhere than here. So why was he?
" You kow that whatever we speak about here today is completely confidential. I cannot discuss what you say or what we talk about with anyone, so you can feel comfortable being honest with me. Since you aren't using insurance, no one will need to know you are coming here."
She looked at the dissembled gun on the table. " However, if you threaten to harm yourself, or someone else, I am legally required to notify the authorities and notify the person you threaten to harm. Do you understand that?"
Bobby nodded and hid a wince. What did she think he was some kind of monster? Like he just ran around fucking killing people? He'd never killed anyone that hadn't fucking needed killing. Besides, if he WAS going to kill someone, he sure as fuck wouldn't tell her.
He could already tell this wasn't going to work, and he fought the urge to leave, but he didn't. He had never quit anything in his life and he wasn't going to start now. He had to try this, for Cathy.
"So, Bobby, since you didn't fill in any of the personal information on the forms, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?
Shit. Here we go. What was he supposed to say? "Um, well, ma'am, my name is Bobby Brown and I work for a security company in Trenton."
She smiled and nodded encouragingly like he was a fucking two year old. Bobby hated when people did that. He glanced at his watch. Only 36 more minutes. Why did it seem like forever? Bobby had once been on a recon mission where he had laid on his belly in mud for 28 hours doing recon, and the time hadn't bothered him then. He could have stayed there as long as necessary. So why the hell did 36 minutes feel like forever now?
When he didn't say anything else for a few minutes, she prodded. " So, Bobby , what do you do for the company? I don't see it listed here."
"Um, I am a security expert. I service accounts and I am the company medic." Shit. Bobby drew a slow, deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, as he tried not to go down that path she was trying to drag him, a path he didn't not want to follow.
Dr. Byrnes tried not to smile. A medic. Interesting. And a soldier. And he paid cash for the session. Her secretary had pointed that out to her right away, since it was so unusual. This man was not only closed as a stone, he was incredibly private, almost over so.
"Medic? Did you have training for that? Were you an EMT?" she asked, trying to drag something out of him.
"Yes, ma'am, I have medic training," was all he said.
There was that ma'am again. Was he just being polite, or did he see her as being in a position of authority over him?
"That must be a challenging job, caring for the needs of the whole company."
"Yes, ma'am, it can be," he replied.
"Ok, "Bobby thought, " 25 minutes to go. So far it hadn't been too bad. He could get through this. He'd gotten through BUD/S hadn't he? And this was just as painful for his mind as BUD/S had been for his body. He glanced longingly at the door again, imagining just leaving now. He took a deep breath.
"Bobby, you don't have to call me ma'am. You can call me Dr. Byrnes. According to the forms you filled out, you never feel sad, or angry, or embarrassed, or ashamed or depressed." She smiled, trying to put him at ease. "You must be superhuman then, since all the rest of us feel those things sometimes."
Bobby just looked at her. That wasn't a question, what did she expect him to say? That he tried to avoid feeling those things? That he was afraid if he DID feel those things, they would overwhelm him? He looked again at the clock . 22 minutes, thirty five seconds to go.
Another minute of complete silence. Bobby seemed like he could sit there in silence the whole session. He was going to be one of her more challenging patients. She tried to get him to open up again, but keeping to a topic where he felt safe.
"So, what kinds of things does a medic for a security company do, where did you get your training?"
"Um, I patch up employees who get hurt. Or shot. " He smiled, thinking of Stephanie. "Some of them get hurt a Lot. I make sure the employees all have basic first aid training for when they go into the field."
"It sounds like you spend a lot of your time caring for other people. But you also carry a gun."
"yes, ma,uh Dr. Byrnes. I frequently am in the field responding to security calls, pursuing those who skip out on their bail bonds. I need to be armed."
19minutes, eight seconds. He felt her pulling him down towards the abyss where he didn't want to go. He looked at the door, then his empty gun. He felt himself getting nervous again and stood up, standing by the edge of the armchair. More silence. And more silence. 17 minutes.
"So, Bobby, why did you come today?" she asked, getting to the point finally.
Fuck. Still 15 minutes and 22 seconds to go. His mind was reeling, wanting to answer the question without…
"Um, I came for my girlfriend. Um, I mean, she wanted me to come."
"She wanted you to come? But you didn't want to come."
"No. " 15 minutes. He took a deep breath.
"Why does your girlfriend want you to come?"
Bobby took a deep breath, held it, exhaled slowly.
"She , um, wants me to come because I had a bad dream." More than one. But fuck that, he wasn't going to say that.
"A bad dream? About what?"
Fuck. 12 minutes. Maybe if he spoke S-L-O-W-L-Y he could , oops, run out of time, then he could reassemble his gun, get his ass through that door, and never come back again. He could tell Cathy he went to a shrink, and she'd be happy and he'd never have to come back here again. End of story.
"I had a dream about the war," he said, using the Rangeman specialty of being cryptic.
"The war? You were in the military? " Special forces, she's guess.
"Um, NAVY SEAL. "
"Iraq? Afghanistan?"
10 minutes. Bobby fell back on the old tried and true. " Um, yeah, most of it's classified." Remnants of the dreams he'd had flashed through his mind. H did NOT want to go there.
Silence. More silence.
" How did your girlfriend know you had a dream about the war?" she asked, already knowing the answer. She'd worked with a lot of veterans, and she knew that just because a soldier left the war, that didn't mean the war left the soldier.
Bobby hesitated. "She was um, there when I had a dream and it scared her. " he thought for a moment, then muttered, "I scared her."
"I see," Dr. Byrnes said.
Bobyy hated when shrinks always said"I see" in such a knowing, judgmental way. Always trying to psychoanalyze you.
4 minutes. Bobby just sat, silent. Still silent.
"Did the dream bother you?" she asked.
Bobby shrugged, then decided to use Lester's comment. "Its just a dream. You wake up and it goes away."
Dr. Byrnes looked at him knowingly.
"Well, I know you are not comfortable sharing your thoughts. But I have worked with a number of veterans who have dreams and other combat related issues. I think I can help you if you want to continue to see me."
Bobby shrugged noncommittally. He didn't want to think about coming back. All he could think of was getting the hell out of here. The doctor's phone buzzed, signaling the end of the session.
Bobby gestured towards towards his gun on the table , and Dr. Byrnes nodded. He sat down in front of his gun and grabbed it like a drowning man grabs a life jacket, reloaded it, and put it back in his holster. He could finally breathe a sigh of relief. He felt strong and in control when he was wearing his gun.
Dr. Bynes stood and handed him one of her business cards. " You can make an appointment on your way out. Or just call me."
Bobby took the card, nodded and left the office. No way in hell was he coming back here.
Lester gave Bobby a sideways glance. He knew Bobby had had his shrink appointment this morning, and he was dying to know how it went but you couldn't just fucking ask something like that. It must have sucked, though, because as soon as Bobby had come in to Rangeman, he'd gone straight to the shooting range and emptied several 15 round semi auto clips into the manshaped targets. It was a pistol range, so they couldn't use auto rifles, but Bobby was shooting his pistol rapid fire, obviously working off some stress from the appointment. Fuck. He had good aim, despite firing so quickly, almost all his shots would have been kill shots. When Bobby had spent his initial tension, he'd reloaded his service pistol and come out with Lester to service their accounts.
Finally Les just manned up and asked.
"Dude? Did you actually wind up going to see the shrink?" he asked casually, even though he knew.
"Yeah, but if you fucking tell anyone I'll fucking kill you," Bobby retorted. He knew Les wouldn't ever tell anyone, but he was making sure.
"So, was he like an old guy with a pipe? Did he make you lie on a couch," Lester teased, trying to get Bobby to spill. He admired Bobby for going. Lester knew HE'd never go to a shrink.
'Actually, asshole, it was a woman. She was blonde and stacked, kinda pretty actually. Totally your type."
"Blonde and stacked, and pretty?" What a damn shame. Lester would never even GO to a shrink, let alone date one.
"Are you going to tell Cathy? You know she'd love to hear that," Les asked.
" Probably not. If I tell her I went once, she expect me to go again, and I sure as fuck am not doing that."
Maybe he could tell her he'd gone but didn't think the shrink thing was going to work out. But then he'd feel like a failure to her. Fuck. Today had been hard enough, and he hadn't talked about any of the bad shit. He loved Cathy, but he didn't honestly know if he could do it. Even for her.