Corrupted, page 12
Chapter Eighteen
Power and Revenge
“Michael seemed like quite a guy,” admitted Robertson perched on his desk and Lucy nodded at him in response.
“He really was,” she said, “or so I thought.” She looked at the floor and Robertson observed her carefully.
“So, I take it he broke your heart?” he asked sympathetically. Lucy smiled at him, but it was a smile that did not quite meet her eyes.
“Is that the technical term for its Doc?” she asked. Robertson shrugged his shoulders in response.
“What was the reason he gave?” Lucy shuffled uncomfortably in her chair; she hated thinking about Michael because it reminded her of how stupid she had been in thinking he had genuinely cared about her. Admitting it to herself at the time had been hard, but it was even harder to admit to someone else that you had simply been used.
“Look can we…” began Lucy. Before she could finish the sentence, Robertson cut across her sensing her mood.
“Change the subject…sure,” he replied, “what’s your favourite animal?” Lucy’s mouth dropped open slightly as she raised her eyebrows.
“Are you joking?” she asked cautiously. Robertson held up his hands in surrender.
“Just trying to keep things light,” he said as he jumped off his place on the desk and walked back around to sit in his chair.
“Penguin,” stated Lucy suddenly. Robertson smiled then wrote something down on her file. This seemed to amuse Lucy as she was unsure how it was relevant to her case.
“Why?” questioned Robertson seriously.
“Cute, small and cheeky,” explained Lucy, amused, “plus I love how they are classed as a bird, but can’t fly…it’s like they deliberately defy expectation.” Robertson nodded his head then leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms as if waiting for something.
“Dog,” he stated pointedly, “in case you were wondering.” Lucy smiled as her eyes drifted towards the dog portrait on his wall, trying to block out the awful memory she had first associated it with.
“Why dog?” Robertson appeared lost in thought as he sighed, not making eye contact with her.
“My mum got me a puppy when I was 12,” he started, “right before she introduced me to my new stepdad. Think she thought it would soften the blow.” Lucy nodded and looked around the room, as she considered her next question.
“What kind of puppy was it?” she asked. Robertson caught her looking at his portrait of the dog and shook his head.
“It was a Yorkshire terrier.”
“Did it soften the blow?” Robertson did not answer her question, instead he smiled at her as if waiting for her to say something else; Lucy decided to take the hint. “Favourite snack?” she asked.
“Buffalo chicken wings,” he replied quickly. Lucy smiled in approval.
“They’re good,” she stated, “but not quite as good as chocolate.” Robertson scoffed.
“So predictable,” he offered, “do you have a favourite book?”
“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” she replied. Robertson’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the mention of one of his favourite books, thinking it would be incredibly ironic if it were Lucy’s, given it was about a patient and their psychiatrist. Studying her carefully for a few moments, he suddenly smiled.
“You’re joking,” he surmised. Lucy nodded at him in amusement before slowly standing up and crossing her arms.
“Obviously!” she replied, “it’s actually To kill a Mockingbird.” This time it was Robertson who rolled his eyes, although he was trying to remain calm and professional, he was quickly becoming irritated with his patient’s ability to turn everything into a joke.
“Can’t you be serious for once?” he asked pleadingly.
“Ok fine. It’s Moby Dick,” she said, clearly annoyed, “I love how Ahab’s obsession for revenge and power leads to his own undoing…almost like Macbeth.” She moved around the desk towards Robertson and perched on the side of it which left Robertson feeling bewildered, along with the comparison she had just made.
“You’re comparing Captain Ahab to Lord Macbeth?” he asked in disbelief. He rolled his chair slightly away from Lucy, towards the other side of his desk; she was a little too close for his liking.
“Yeah,” replied Lucy, as if it were obvious, “both characters so consumed by their quest, were spurned to do unspeakable things.” Robertson considered her comments for a few moments before shaking his head at the notion.
“Yeah, but one was on a quest for power,” he argued, “the other on a quest for revenge.”
“Are power and revenge not the same thing?” she asked. “Both mean that you are ultimately trying to gain control of a situation.” Robertson opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again appearing mildly impressed with Lucy’s reasoning.
“I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it quite like that before.” Lucy smiled then jumped off the side of his desk and moved back around to her own chair.
“I studied an awesome course at college as part of my degree,” she said eagerly, “it was called ‘Power and Destruction: Crimes of Passion’. We looked at real life serial killers but also some fictional characters.” Robertson smiled in response glad to see a small spark of passion from his patient at last.
“There were no interesting courses like that when I was at college,” he grumbled. Lucy grinned at him mischievously before she spoke next.
“What when dinosaurs roamed the earth?” she asked. Robertson grimaced, genuinely offended, so much so, that Lucy quickly held up her hands. “I’m kidding,” she stated seriously. “What did you study? Psychology?”
“Yeah” he replied, “but it was combined with criminology.” This time Lucy was the one feeling mildly impressed.
“So, you always knew you wanted to work with criminals?” she asked curiously while observing him carefully. Robertson shuffled slightly on his chair under her watchful gaze.
“Not exactly,” he retorted, as though trying to defend himself. Lucy threw herself back into the chair with considerable force, remembering once more, the injustice of her situation.
“I just can’t believe the irony,” she said bitterly. Robertson raised his eyebrows and looked towards her questioningly.
“What irony?” Lucy held her hands up and gestured around the room as though the answer was blindingly obvious.
“The fact that I have a degree in criminal justice,” she stated with vigour, “and yet am locked up for a crime I didn’t commit.” Robertson grimaced slightly, and Lucy couldn’t tell whether it was because he agreed with her comments or felt bad for her situation.
“Yeah,” he stated suddenly, “…life’s a bitch sometimes!”
“Just like your ex-wife ey?” retorted Lucy with attitude. Then she held out her hand in the air in front of him. “Up top,” she added. Robertson was mildly amused as he leaned over his desk to high five her waiting hand.
“How are things with Remy?” he asked suddenly. Lucy was almost disappointed at the change of topic as she shrugged her shoulders.
“As well as can be expected when you’re both locked up in a nuthouse.” Robertson leaned his elbows on his desk and propped his head up on his hands.
“Don’t think of it as being locked up,” he began, but before he could continue, Lucy cut him off.
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Lucy sarcastically, “so I’ll tell you what? I’ll go to my room pack my things, you get them to open the doors and I’ll be out of here, never to darken your doorway again.” When she had finished speaking, she stared at Robertson with an expression that lay somewhere between amusement and frustration.
“Oh, so tempting,” retorted Robertson passionately. Then he grinned at her and Lucy grinned back.
“Am I the worst patient you ever had?” she enquired daringly.
“I hate to disappoint you,” he muttered, as he leaned towards her, “but you don’t even make the top ten.” Lucy tilted her head for a moment, then she began to smile coyly.
“What if I stood up and tipped your desk over?” she suggested teasingly. Robertson sniggered at the direction in which the conversation was now heading.
“I’d ask you where you got your superhuman strength from,” he stated amused “the desk is bolted down to the floor.” Lucy rolled her eyes and Robertson sighed, one of these days he would start to log down how many times she did that in their sessions.
“Seriously though,” she insisted “What was your worst patient like? What did they do to get under your skin?” Robertson once again had the distinct feeling that Lucy was playing some sort of game with him and he could not decide whether he wanted to participate.
“Not sure it’s a good idea to tell you that,” he said honestly. Lucy sensing what he must be thinking, sighed.
“You really think I’m that scheming?” she asked. Robertson stood up from his chair and moved around the desk eventually coming to perch in his favourite spot on the edge of it.
“I think you have a problem with authority figures or power dynamics in relationships,” he shared honestly. Lucy blinked, but then smiled looking around the room as though searching for something.
“I see no authority figure to speak of,” she retorted sarcastically. Robertson crossed his arms clearly frustrated, beginning to lose his patience.
“Oh, cut the bull crap Lucy,” he said, wearily, “let’s get real!” Lucy was taken aback but shuffled forward slightly in the chair intrigued by what he might say.
“Should I steal myself?” she asked nervously.
“You don’t like anyone having any position of perceived power over you,” he stated, “because it takes you back to every relationship you’ve ever had in which someone with power ultimately hurt you.” Lucy’s mouth dropped open, but then she quickly closed it again as a look of anger materialised on her face.
“Are you trying to make out I’m just some victim?” she snapped. Robertson appeared undeterred by her anger, as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“I think everyone’s a victim of their own mentality,” he offered, as if it were that simple. Lucy shot up out of her chair so fast that Robertson nearly fell off the desk.
“So, it’s my mentality that you’re saying is the problem?” she spat angrily, “well I’ve got news for you Doc, I’m not just some helpless little girl who wandered into your office looking for someone to save her! All my life…I’m the one who’s picked myself up and put back together the pieces of me that were worth saving. Do you know how hard I had to fight to keep going…To not allow myself to just lay down in the dirt and wallow in self-pity?? You can think I’m a murderer! You can think I’m a stubborn battle axe or some deluded arsehole, but don’t ever make out that I’m just another victim in somebody’s else’s shitty story.” As she got to the end of her speech, Lucy realised that in her anger she had moved forward so that her face was mere inches away from Robertson’s own. She thought about taking a step backwards to give him some space, but then quickly brushed that option aside; he might mistake it for a form of weakness. Robertson for his part, although he realised that his patient was dangerously close, decided to stand his ground, he needed her to realise that he was her psychiatrist first and foremost, that all he wanted to do was help her get better.
“If you’re not a victim then why are you so defensive all the time?” he questioned. “What are you defending yourself from?” Lucy balled her hands into fist in a fit of rage and for a moment Robertson thought that she might take a swing at him, but instead she stormed to the opposite side of the room looking deranged.
“Everybody,” she replied bitterly, “all the arseholes of the world. Priests who shove their hands up little girl’s pants, sleazy guys who take advantage…mothers who don’t believe and support their own child! You don’t survive in this world Doc if you don’t learn to toughen up.” Robertson sighed, partly out of relief that he now, once more, had control of his own personal space.
“There is a difference between living and surviving, Lucy.” Lucy began to look more and more unhinged as she paced around the opposite side of the room to Robertson, eventually she moved back towards the desk where he was siting, but this time kept her distance. Lucy then put her hands on her hips and stared at Robertson menacingly.
“You want to get real Doc?” she snapped angrily, “ok let’s get real?? Do you wanna know what I see when I look at you? I see some deluded has been, who is desperate to try and stay relevant in his chosen career. I see someone whose own life is so fucked up that they get a kick from listening to everybody’s else’s problems because it helps them to forget their own. Don’t use your psychiatric bullshit on me, or pretend you’re any better than I am. We’re all just fucked up in our own way, the only difference between you and me is that you got dealt a better hand and I’m stuck in this shit hole.” Robertson blinked at Lucy then put his head his down as if what she had said had greatly affected him. For a moment Lucy felt a small pang of regret, but then when Robertson stood up, his expression was extremely guarded.
“I think our session is done,” he noted seriously. Lucy could tell that he was trying very hard to remain calm, but she didn’t want calm; she wanted a reaction! At least that way she would know that he was like a normal human being.
“Try plural,” spat Lucy, “sessions…I’ll be needing a new psychiatrist.” Robertson’s face remained expressionless.
“I’ll recommend someone new,” he said through gritted teeth and Lucy fled the room unable to trust herself with what she might have said next.
Lucy stormed straight into the recreation room and nearly walked straight into Remy again, she snarled at Remy as if she had no right to be there and quickly threw herself into a chair in the corner. Remy appeared startled by the whole incident, she stood frozen for a moment or two as if debating whether to get out of there as soon as possible. Eventually she seemed to make up her mind and came shuffling over to Lucy.
“Wanna talk?” she asked nervously. Lucy pulled her feet up on to the armchair and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“You said you were working on a plan to get us out of here,” said Lucy, “how’s it coming along?” Remy raised her eyebrows in surprise but nodded.
“Erm yeah,” she replied, “I’ve got one or two really good ideas; I’m just trying to work out a few details.” Lucy suddenly jumped up from her place on the armchair and Remy scrambled backwards in surprise.
“Let me know when it’s fool proof,” said Lucy, through gritted teeth, “I’m in. I don’t want to spend another second in this place,” Then she walked out of the recreation room.
Chapter Nineteen
Bitter Regret
Dear Diary
The doc is a dick! Why does he always try so hard to push my buttons? It’s as if he enjoys tormenting me! I know what I said to him was rather uncalled for, but I can’t stand being made out to be the victim. Not when I’ve worked so hard all my life to be thought of as anything but. We were having such a nice conversation before he started going all psychiatrist on me. I thought we were actually started to develop a good rapport, but then he had to spoil it, I suppose I did make the situation worse though. Anyhow, now I’ve got to go start this whole thing again with a new psychiatrist. I wish I’d have kept my mouth shut now as although the Doc annoys me, he’s by far better than some of the others I’ve had, even if he is an arsehole.
I guess one of the reasons I got so angry is that the Doc has got me talking about Michael a lot lately and it’s bringing up mixed feelings. That part of my life is a reminder of something that made me so happy and yet ultimately made me so fucking angry and sad too. I suppose if I really think about it, I was young and naive when I chose to be a sugar baby as a way of making money, it could have ended up so badly for me. I could have ended up getting stuck with a complete psychopath, but no, I had to end up with Michael which in some ways was even worse. I still can’t believe he’s gone, and I still can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall in love with him.
Lucy
Chapter Twenty
It’s like Riding a Unicycle
“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” says Michael, as he wobbles on the bike he is riding, and I cannot help but laugh at him.
“We’re doing this because not every activity requires spending huge amounts of money,” I offer pointedly. We are cycling through Central Park on a hot sunny day, and I am happily relaxed; the complete opposite of how Michael looks on his bike.
“So, the amount of money I spent on the bikes doesn’t count?” asks Michael in amusement and I sigh. He just doesn’t get it, as much as I love the fancy dinners out or the extremely nice places, he takes me, they also made me feel rather inadequate.
“The difference with a bike is you can use it more than once,” I reply. Michael looks rather horrified.
“Don’t tell me we’ll be doing this again.” I laugh at him. Suddenly he looks determined and starts to pedal faster and I begin to worry; he’s wobbling all over the place. I am about to shout at him to be careful, when he goes around the bend and nearly crashes headlong into a man and his dog. In his effort to avoid them, Michael goes off to track and ends up heading towards a small forest area. I watch in horror as he crashes his bike into a tree and falls off. I cycle as fast I can then jump off my bike and run to him to find that he doesn’t appear to be that hurt. I sigh in relief as he stands up and brushes himself down.
“Maybe we should have opted for stabilisers for you,” I say trying not to laugh. Michael rolls his eyes at me, something which I have not seen him do before.
“I don’t get it,” he utters, “it was so much easier when I was a kid.” I place my hand on his shoulder reassuringly and shrug.
“Well, if you don’t do it enough your brain forgets,” I suggest kindly, “use it or lose it.” He sighs and picks his bike up from next to the tree, looking at it carefully for signs of damage.
