Spill Your Guts (2)
The receptionist barely had time to announce Peter Mercer before he pushed through the door into Dr Laura Hart's office three days later. The therapist glanced up from her computer, her eyes wide with concern.
His eyes narrowed at her composed sight behind her desk. He walked towards her, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle throbbed along his neck. He held up a document and Laura sighed.
“You failed me,” he growled through his teeth.
She calmly stood up. “No, I didn't clear you. There's a difference—”
“That's the same thing, doc,” he snapped and started pacing the office. “My team's deploying next week. Do you have any idea what you've done? Someone else is leading the team…I won't be there to have their backs.”
Laura remained silent, studying him which only aggravated him more.
“I spilled my guts as you wanted…I told you about Fred. What more do you want?”
She folded her hands across her chest. “What I want is for you not to sound like a wounded child when you speak about your father. You went after those men like a man settling a score.”
Peter scoffed. “They deserved to die.”
“That was not your choice to make. Your task was to bring the boys home safe.”
“I did bring them back to base safely.”
She nodded. “When you found out their fathers had abandoned them, what did you feel?
Peter stopped pacing and chuckled harshly. “We are doing this again?”
When she stayed silent, he exhaled sharply. “Anger. I wanted to protect the boys.”
“I don't think so.”
Peter frowned. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“No. You became the frightened boy left behind a dumpster thirty years ago.” He froze for a moment, staring at her. The words struck harder than he expected. Then he sank into a cushion chair.
“You don't understand,” he muttered, his gaze on the floor. “I waited for him…every Christmas, birthdays, when I joined the academy,” he laughed bitterly. “I'm still waiting. Isn’t that pathetic?”
“No, it's not,” Laura said gently, shaking her head. “It's human. You've built your life around this wound and it's affecting your work. It's time to heal.”
“What if I can't?” He whispered, still staring at the floor.
“You can and you have to…or else, I can't clear you for active duty.” The room fell silent and he stared out the window. “I can make this easy for you,” she said drawing his gaze back to her.
She held out a file marked ‘classified’ and he took it, his brows furrowed in confusion.
The next morning
Rows of white headstones stretched across Betfort National Cemetery as Peter Mercer and Dr Laura Hart alighted from a black SUV.
The clouds were grey, promising heavy rain anytime. She stood a few feet behind while Peter drew close to a grave, his shoulders slumped and his eyes weary as he read the inscription on the headstone.
Frederick Mercer
Beloved Father and Friend
Forever In Our Hearts
[To be continued]
I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "spill your guts!".
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