No Scars

"Scars? No, I don't have any scars." Lanny Parker picked at a hangnail with his teeth, caught it on the end of his tongue, and spit it off to the side, where it landed on the beige plush carpet next to his chair. "Just scabs."

They'd covered his history already in the last few sessions. Now, it was "get inside Lanny's head" time. Emotional scars. Of course she'd try to dwell on that shit. It was in the guidebook on how to be a boring therapist. He spit another hangnail on the carpet.

He saw the therapist looking at the place where the now virtually invisible hangnail lay, but pretended he didn't notice. She was no concern of his. All he had to do was sit through this, make like he was growing as a person, and be done with it. Penance. The modern day version of a hundred lines. I will not talk back to the judge ever again. I will not take other people's cars without asking first. I will not sell other people's property without making sure to scratch off all the serial numbers. I will report to my parole officer, and visit a court appointed therapist 'til they tell me I am cured of my evil ways.

"Scabs?" she asked. Lanny nodded, and held her gaze when she did finally tear her eyes away from the dead hangnail. He didn't know her name, but he loved her eyes. That, he determined, was the only reason he came to these sessions. Those eyes. Damn, but they were beautiful. Big, wide, like a doe. Only her eyes were this freaky shade of green he'd never seen before except in pictures of Ireland or some place like that. She was older sure, by a couple years at least. She had to be at least late twenties, but holy fuck. Those eyes. Timeless.

"You know what your name is?" Lanny asked, unblinking. He was engaging her in a stare-down. First one to blink was the loser. He wondered if she knew she was even in a contest. She blinked. Lanny smiled a little. He wished she'd won. Those eyes were freakin' awesome.

"Yes, I know my name. Is that troubling you, Leland? Your own name? Is this about your identity?" Ah, the old, too-many-"uncles"-through-momma's-bedroom-door syndrome. Well, didn't she have him pegged? A tiny line ran straight up and down between her eyes when she asked the question, a perfectly plucked eyebrow arched ever so slightly. Concern. Lanny mimicked the look. The therapist leaned forward expectantly, so he caught a scent of her perfume. It smelled expensive.

Lanny laughed out loud and shook his head, his eyes turned toward the ceiling. "No, fuck. This isn't about identity. And it's Lanny. Nobody calls me Leland unless they're charging me with somethin'. You got some charges against me?"

She leaned back, moving that perfumed air again. The concern was gone. He kind of wish he hadn't pissed her off. She thought he was laughing at her, and he had to admit, he was in a way. The Priss. Too bad she didn't have more going for her than great eyes. The lady could use some breast implants, and maybe a less stuffy suit. She matched the beige walls.

"I mean, you know what your name is to me? You are . . ." he stretched it out for effect. He waggled his eyebrows, clucked his tongue in time, and smiled. It was lost on her. She sat like a stone. Nope, shouldn't have pissed her off, he decided. "Yeah-Her. That's your name. Yeah-Her."

"I don't understand." The little line was back.

"When I leave here, I'll go out front, they'll tell me when to come back, and when I get here next week, I'll just go, 'Hey. Leland Parker. I've got an appointment,' and they say 'with whatever your name is.' I can never understand them cause they talk to their appointment books. God forbid they make eye contact with the crazies. And I say, 'Yeah Her.'" Lanny smiled and set to work on paring down another nail with his teeth.

"Clarisse." She stated.

"What?" Lanny said cocking his head to the side in annoyance.

"My name's Cla—"

"No! Fuck lady! I don't want to know your name!" Lanny shook his head, angry now. "Why'd you go and ruin it like that? Fuck."

"Ruin what?" No more concern. Now that little bridge over her nose was crinkled: curiosity.

Lanny shrugged and bit hard on his nail. Spitting it out this time was a very deliberate action meant to piss her off again, but she ignored it. He didn't like her being curious. Hated when people got curious about him. First curiosity, then really getting to know you, then slam!

"Ruin what Lanny?" she reached out as if she'd touch him, then pulled back, instead clasping the top of the clipboard she scrawled on now and then.

Lanny shrugged again. "I don't know. You tell me. You're the expert."

"I'm not here to give you answers Lanny. I'm here to help you find them yourself."

"What fuckin' ever. Is my time up yet?"

"Need to put some distance between us do you?" She asked it in a low voice, but Lanny was sure he heard a trace of smugness in it. He shrugged again.

"If that's what you want to think, sure." He didn't meet her gaze this time. His eyes rest on her lips. She actually had nice lips. Full, and not covered in a shitload of lipstick like a lot of the girls he hung out with. Mind you, the girls he knew had a lot of covering up to do. Harley Bitches he called 'em, even though most had never actually been on a bike. But that's what they were. Harley Bitches: rode hard and put away wet. They didn't wear their make-up like Yeah-Her. All soft and subtle like that. They wanted to stand out, wanted attention. Red lips, belly button rings, nose rings, lip rings. Run a rope through all those rings and a girl could probably tie herself damn good. Yeah-Her just sort of faded into the neutrals of the room. He doubted she went in for that tying up stuff anyway. But tits or no tits, body piercing or not, he could imagine some pretty cool sex games with her. That, he decided, is why I'm here. Screw that court appointed crap. It's all for her.

"Lanny, talk to me."

Wrong thing to say, Lanny thought, looking into her eyes at last. Lanny, talk to me. Lanny, how come we don't do stuff no more? Talk to me, baby. Don't push me away. Fine you asshole, don't come back then. You hear me you son of a bitch? Fuck me and leave? Yeah right! Lanny, fuckin say somethin! Talk to me ya prick!

"Oh, I'm sorry. I think our time is up," Lanny said rising, but this time she did touch him. Her fingers pressed gently against his knee, making the skin underneath his jeans feel suddenly warm where she touched him.

"Another fifteen minutes at least," she said. Lanny rolled his eyes and set to filing another nail with his teeth.

"Fine. We'll talk then. Got something to say?"

"No," she said it so quietly, Lanny stopped chewing on his nail to hear her as she continued, "but you do."

Lanny laughed out loud again, right from his belly. "Wow. What a great therapist you are. You really got to the heart of the matter. Yeah. Yeah, you definitely got me," he hit his fist to his chest, "right fuckin' here with that tearjerker shit. Aren't you fuckin' grand."

Oh that got her, Lanny thought. She's royally pissed now.

"Why do you come here every week?" she asked, her voice back up to a normal level. She leaned forward, heady perfume going crazy on the currents, her arms crossed with her clipboard resting on them.

"Cause it's part of the program! If I don't come here, my p.o. will have my ass so fast, it'll make your goddamn head spin." He slumped down in his seat. It sounded good to him, but he had enough experience with psychiatrists and wannabe psychs like her that he knew she wasn't buying it.

"I don't know," he finally said.

"Fine." She sat back, set her clipboard on the table next to her, and linked her fingers together casually over her knee. "Go then."

"What the fuck? First you tell me to talk, then you tell me to go."

"First you talk about scabs, and names, and try to keep your distance from me by refusing to acknowledge I'm just human enough to have a name. You assess my every move—" she put up a staying hand when Lanny's eyes went wide, "Yes, I'm watching you too. You're chewing on those nails like you haven't eaten in a week—"

"Cause I want a smoke, and you won't let me light up in here. Afraid I'll turn your beige walls more . . . beige or somethin'. I don't fuckin' know."

Silence ensued for several minutes. Lanny broke the silence first.

"Time's up now, right?"

She checked her watch and nodded. "Just another minute or two." She picked up her clipboard again and sighed. "I have a feeling you won't be back."

"Oh yeah? How do you figure that?"

She sighed again as she looked over the notes she'd taken during their meeting. "You're too hard to get close to. I can't help you. There's just too much distance between us. You won't let me in."

Lanny smiled a little, but tried to hide it. Little does she know, he thought. That's just the way I like it. She rose from her chair then, and Lanny followed her lead.

"It was nice meeting you, Lanny. I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

Lanny smiled. "Ah, I'll give you one more shot. See you next week, Yeah-Her." Clarisse, he said to himself.

Once he was gone, Clarisse sighed and sat down to add one final notation to the day's notes. She smiled, and tapped the pen against her lower lip for a moment then set pen to paper.

Requesting extension from judge to continue with this patient.

Basis for request: Scabs, not scars. Implies hope.