Page 30 of Rock On

“Mr. Bane.” A narrow-faced woman with slicked back dark hair and glasses stuck her head in the door. “The therapist you’ve been assigned to is named Dr. Hirschel. You need to report to Office 70B in precisely seventeen minutes for your intake meeting. After that, you and Dr. Hirschel will work out the best times for your ongoing therapy.”

“Uh, thanks.”

Once I’d told them what I needed, they’d given me a list of options and I’d just checked off everything. I didn’t know what I needed so I figured I’d give it all a try. If I was going to be here anyway, there was no reason not to jump in with both feet. Metaphorically anyway, since I wouldn’t be jumping anywhere with my knee like this. They knew physical therapy was my priority, but I was down to try meditation, group therapy, and whatever else they threw at me.

If I didn’t like it, I didn’t have to go back, and I’d made sure they understood that.

Using my walker, since it was easier on me, I made my way to Office 70B. I knocked and a female voice called for me to come in.

I opened the door and was somewhat surprised to see an attractive woman who was probably in her late thirties sitting behind the desk. She had shoulder-length dark hair and a friendly smile, along with a wedding ring on her left hand.

“Mr. Bane.” She got up and held out her hand. “Allisha Hirschel.”

“Nice to meet you.” I shook her hand.

“Have a seat. How’s the knee?”

I wobbled my hand from side to side. “Not terrible, not great.”

“Well, let me know if you need to change locations to be more comfortable.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll be okay.” I settled into a relaxing looking chair.

“So.” She leaned back and met my gaze. “What can I do for you?”

I chuckled. “Honestly? I have no idea. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.”

She laughed. “Well, I’ve been told I’m intuitive, but I can’t read your mind. Although, to be fair, I know who you are and am aware of some of the bigger traumas in your life.”

“Carter’s death,” I said knowingly.

She nodded. “And your recent motorcycle accident.”

“You saw the video.”

She nodded again.

“Tell me, Doc—and be honest. Does it look like I was trying to hurt myself?”

She hesitated. “No. But you did look like a man who has very few limits and is willing to take unnecessary risks for a thrill.”

Well, that answered that.

I wasn’t a fan of therapy, but this woman was definitely a straight shooter. More than that, she didn’t have to lie to me. I was here for two weeks, no matter what, and with the option to stay longer depending on the progress of my knee. So why would she blow smoke up my ass? Besides, I’d already known the answer. Mostly, I’d been trying to gauge just how honest she would be.

“You don’t look surprised,” she said after a moment.

“No. I’ve watched that damn video dozens of times and the guy on that motorcycle seems like someone else. I didn’t recognize him.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I’ll be honest, Doc, I don’t do well with the typical therapy stuff. Making me come up with the answers just frustrates me.”

“Okay, then let’s try multiple choice. Do you think you feel that way because you’re in denial about your behavior or because you’re embarrassed by it or something else?”

I paused. “Maybe a little of all three?”

“The something else being what? The fear of admitting you have a problem? Fear that you’re somehow broken?”

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