Page 6 of Physical Therapy

He rises from the seat, gaze narrowed. “I guess we both have a lot to learn from these sessions if you think I’m hiding who I truly am.”

“Aren’t you?” I gesture to his state of dress. “You’re clearly corporate, white collar. If you wanted the world to know that you’re naturally over aggressive, then why not pursue a career as a professional boxer? Why not take a blue collar job where you can work your aggression out through manual labor?” I take a second to relish his frustration. “In my professional opinion, Boe, you’re hiding.”

“Have your receptionist schedule our next appointment.” He snatches the jacket from his seat. “She can send the details to my office.”

I nod, turning slightly to acknowledge him as he leaves. He thought he had the upper hand with his arrogance. Yet once he realized it wasn’t the pain from his street brawl to which I referred, all pretenses were lost.

It was the pain from his checkered past, that I referred. Detailed in full on the reverse of the summary between us, yet hidden as well as all shameful secrets are.

Face down. In broad daylight.

**

“He was a lovely surprise,” Molly remarks, a faraway and dreamy look in her eye.

I wave my hand in before her to snap the girl out of her daze. “And he’s here for a reason. Remember that.”

She sighs, opening up her scheduling app. “How messed up is he, though? Because you know I don’t mind a little something to work with.”

I groan, elbows on the front of her reception desk. “You know, sometimes I think you should have got a job at a dog shelter, or the like.”

She laughs. “All I’m saying is that I don’t mind a little sacrifice for the good of waking up to that kind of masterpiece every morning.” Her lips twist while she stares at the computer monitor. “When would you like his next session booked for?”

“Four. Weekly. And in the middle of the morning.” Right when it’ll inconvenience the arrogant ass. A vision of Boe stretched out, naked, in bed flashes in my mind’s eye. “Plus, he’s probably the kind of man who wouldn’t still be there in the morning, Moll.” I push off her desk as she taps in the dates one by one. “If nothing else, working here should teach you which men to avoid, not chase.”

Molly shrugs, her shoulders catching the ends of her perfect blonde bob. “We all have to learn from our own mistakes, E.” She logs out and sends the monitor to sleep. “I’ll catch you tomorrow. Don’t stay too late.”

“I won’t, Mom.” She chuckles as I head for my office. “Have a good night.”

“Night.”

With the door through to reception hitched open, I slide in behind my desk to type out and expand on my notes from the day. I saw eight clients total—Boe being the second to last of those. Yet for reasons I can’t quite pinpoint, I decide to start with his notes first.

There aren’t many.

He didn’t give me much information on him, other than proving my assumptions about his character correct: he overcompensates, uses aggression to hide his fear, and distracts from the real issues at play by keeping busy. He’s attractive—very much so, and he damn well knows it. His charm is yet another way to deflect people from the volatile mess that simmers beneath the surface. If people are blinded by his appeal, then they’re more likely to forgive his indiscretions.

It’s no wonder the man has a career in high-level sales.

Cases like his are pretty simple. In most instances, all that’s required to satisfy the state is a promise from the offender that they won’t repeat the behavior since they now understand the full impact their actions had on the victim or society. Child’s play. I can pull those kinds of empty words out of anybody, and definitely within the mandated two sessions.

Except for Boe. Complicated, concrete wall, Boe.

He shows no intention of admitting remorse. In his mind, he’s clearly done nothing wrong. At least, nothing he feels could have been avoided through an alternate course of action. And the fact he walked out early when I called him out on his charlatan character? Only proves that he’s the type who can’t handle not being the one in control.

Assurances are his life source, which points to insecurity. He trusts no one but himself.

The mind geek inside of me wants to pry a little deeper into his psyche, unravel a few more layers and dissect what I find to know if perhaps there’s more to his story than the usual cliché. He seems reluctant to face up to something, but unlike other clients I’ve had who know what they desperately avoid, he doesn’t even seem to know that he runs from anything at all.

He’s unhappy with himself, but he has no idea why.

I want to open Boe’s eyes a little wider. Turn his focus inward and see what happens. Implode or explode? Only time will tell.

And yes, as I tap his name into Facebook, I have to admit Molly is right. With a face like his, a build made for GQ, and that deep husky voice… a girl has to wonder if his vices would be worth the sacrifice.

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