Spill Your Guts
Thunder rumbled through the dark clouds as rain pounded against the windows of Dr Laura Hart's office. It drowned out the sound of the outside world, the traffic, and Peter Mercer wished it could drown out his thoughts as well.
He didn’t want to think. Not of the past but without a psychological clearance from this therapist, he couldn't resume active field duty.
He clenched his jaw and groaned inwardly just as she arched a brow at him from across the room, seated elegantly in an executive chair with a tablet and stylus balanced on her lap. She wouldn't stop with the twenty questions until he revealed his deepest, darkest secrets.
“Tell me about the night Fred left,” she said, wiggling the stylus between her fingers, her gaze fixed on him.
Peter frowned. “Why do you keep bringing up Fred? You know most therapists would be thrilled to have a patient who actually shows up. I've been punctual.”
She smiled and nodded. “True but most patients don't spend five sessions avoiding the same question. You are doing it again.”
“I am?” He was tempted to needle her, to get some reaction from her carefully controlled demeanor but he needed that clearance more.
“Yes, you are and I need you to uh,...as you eloquently put it during our last session, spill your guts. Only then can we get to the root of why you went after the fathers of those boys.”
Peter Mercer rose from his chair and crossed to the bookshelf, studying the titles as though they held the answers. He exhaled wearily and turned to look at her. “It was a stormy night and terrible men were after us.”
Laura straightened and nodded, her gaze encouraging him.
“They had shot us in the leg but we ran for our lives. Fred shoved me to the ground behind a dumpster…I was shocked. He warned me not to follow him. 'Save yourself, boy. I can't do this with you anymore.’ He left…ran actually. I never saw him again.”
“What do you think he meant by that statement?” She asked gently.
Simon's gaze drifted to the window where raindrops crawled down the glass. “He was tired of being a father to a pathetic boy, I think. Maybe I was a liability.”
“You don't know that.”
“His disappearance tells me that, doc!” He snapped then regret followed as he rubbed his neck. “I'm sorry…absent fathers don't deserve any kindness from anyone.”
“Could your father have left to protect you? You said those dangerous men never found you.”
Peter hesitated, a furrow between his eyebrows. He shrugged. “Maybe. Still….he should stayed or found me later. I can't…forgive that.” His voice cracked at that point.
Silence settled over the room as Laura leaned back and wrote on her tablet for a moment. The secret was finally out and he seemed able to breathe.
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "spill your guts".
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