Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
But Hunter just shrugs. A wry note enters his voice as he studies his papers again. “It’s cool. I know enough to wing it, at least for this first chat.”
“You sure?”
“Yup.” He slides the paperwork back into the envelope and drops it on his bag. Then he gets comfortable again. “All right, let’s go.”
As per Andrews’ instructions, I’m not allowed to record the session. But I’m confident in my note-taking abilities. I crunch the last bit of my lollipop between my teeth, swallow the candy, and toss the little stick in the wastebasket.
Once we’re both settled, we start going through the formalities. “So, Mister…?” I wait for him to fill in the rest.
“Sexy.”
“Veto. You can do better than that.”
“Big,” he supplies.
I sigh. “Smith,” I say firmly. “You’re Mr. Smith. First name, um, Damien.”
“Like the devil kid from that horror movie? Veto. It’s bad karma.”
“You’re bad karma,” I mutter. Jesus, it’s taking forever just to record his fake name. At this rate, the project will never get done. “Fine, your first name is Richard, you picky dick.”
He snorts.
“It’s nice to meet you, Dick Smith,” I say sweetly. “I’m Dr. Davis. What brings you here today?”
I half-expect another bullshit line, something about how this Dick needs to be sucked. But he surprises me. “My wife thinks I need therapy.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Ooh, getting right down to it. I love it. “Is that so… And why does she think that?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. She’s the one who needs therapy. She’s always losing her mind over something.”
I jot down his phrasing. “What do you mean by that, losing her mind?”
“She overthinks everything. She bitches all the time. For example, if I’m home late from work, her brain immediately jumps to ‘he’s been screwing around.’” Hunter pauses irritably. “I guess for the sake of full disclosure, I should mention I cheated on her once or twice, and yes, she is aware of this.”
Wow, this is like a soap opera. I’m already invested.
“All right…this cheating you mention.” I make some more notes. “How long ago did it take place? And was it once, or was it twice?”
“The first affair was years ago, the most recent one this year. I was under a lot of stress at work.”
I note that he ignored my question about how many times he’d actually cheated.
“Why do you think you cheated? Is there a particular reason that stands out?”
“It’s hard to feel connected to somebody when they’re constantly complaining and making demands. She fucking drove me to cheat. I mean, what else did she expect would happen if she kept acting like that?”
Ugh, what a prick. He holds his wife responsible for his cheating—
I stop the train of thought, reminding myself that I’m not supposed to be judge. I’m supposed to understand.
If I’m going to be a clinical psychologist, I’m sure I’ll hear thousands of sordid tales of infidelity. I might even need to counsel someone who physically or emotionally abuses their partner. It’s highly likely I’ll encounter patients I despise, or who I might not be able to help.
My job isn’t to condemn them; it’s to hopefully help them reach self-awareness.
“So when you came clean about the affairs, did you and your wife agree to start over? Start fresh?”
Hunter nods. “She accepted responsibility for her part in what happened and agreed to forgive me. That means it’s done, in the past. Her being suspicious of me all the time doesn’t make me want to spend time with her. Trust me, she’s not making it easy to be around her.”
“I imagine so. But can you recognize why she might be behaving this way? Let’s try to put yourself in her position. How do you think you’d react if your wife was unfaithful?”
“She’d never cheat on me,” he says smugly. “I’m the catch in this relationship. She’s definitely punching above her weight class.”
You’re the fucking worst, I want to say.
“I see,” is what I say instead. And now I understand why therapists seem to cling to those two words. It’s code for whatever expletives are ringing in your head.
Hunter and I talk for another twenty minutes about his fictional wife, her nagging, and his infidelity, and I begin to notice a trend in his responses. A complete inability to put himself in her shoes.
Lack of empathy, I write down, and draw a little star around it.
As he finishes another long-winded anecdote that paints his wife as the villain and himself as the innocent victim, I can’t help but be impressed by how he just threw himself headfirst into this assignment. And he’s doing such a solid job, which is…ugh, it’s sexy as hell, if I’m being honest.
I’m about to ask another question when Hunter sits up. “Let’s stop now. I’ve officially tapped out my knowledge about…my condition,” he says vaguely. “Got to do some more research before we keep talking.”