Page 12 of Untouchable

"Yes. I want another appointment,” Harp says flatly. “That's why I called. And scheduled another appointment."

“Er—but—”

"Kid, if you're not up for it, you can send somebody else. I know it's a long drive."

“No—no—I am—I’m sorry, I’m—” Parker stops. He does want another shot at this. He’d been thinking all week about where he went wrong, and what he could have done to prevent it. And now he’s miraculously been delivered a second chance. He squares his shoulders, still looking up at the silhouette of the mountains. “Yes, I’ll—I’ll see you Thursday, then.”

* * *

Harp doesn't forgetthis time. And he has the sticky notes to prove it: on his mirror, the inside of the front door, the fridge. He's written the time and date in huge letters.

Even so, the day of their appointment seems to get away from him, and he's glad he thought to set an alarm when the thing chimes to let him know he's got an hour before Parker is supposed to arrive. He fritters that last bit of time away, taking a utilitarian shower, sweeping up dog hair, watering indoor plants, and nervously breaking down and butchering what's left of a thawed side of beef for his dinner later on.

Bo announces Parker's arrival fifteen minutes early, perched on the edge of the couch and barking through the window.

Harp scoops up Bo under one arm and steps out onto the front porch to greet Parker.

He's decided he's just not going to think about what happened last time. He's simply decided that it's not going to happen again. They'll start fresh, and this time Harp hasn't forgotten about the appointment. The house is clean, he's not sweaty, and... well there’s nothing he can do to make himself less awkward, but at least he’s done the surface stuff.

"You don't have your, uh..." Harp gestures with his free hand and then pantomimes massaging, squeezing thin air like an idiot. "Your table thing?"

“I wanted to chat for a moment before we got started,” Parker says. He sounds cheerful and Parker displays his same smile from before, plastic and a little pained this time. “Do you have a place we can sit down?”

Harp would rather string himself up than have a "chat" with this kid. Parker has already seen Harp practically naked, seen him blundering around, watched him have an utter freak out after the slightest pain. Does he really need to know anything more about Harp than what's been painfully obvious already?

"Yep. No problem," he lies. They enter and he leads Parker to the table in the kitchen—there's not really a dining room in the cabin but Harp had designed something like a glorified breakfast nook, a large table surrounded by booth-style seating and chairs. Harp pulls out a chair for him and slides into a booth seat. It's not until Harp sits down that he realizes he's still holding onto Bo like a security blanket.

* * *

Parker sits downand takes a deep breath. He’d rehearsed what he wanted to say that morning in the mirror, going over and over his little spiel until he was sure he wouldn’t get tripped up.

“I’m really happy to be here,” Parker says carefully. He can’t quite meet Harp’s gaze, instead staring somewhere above his client’s left eyebrow. “And I’m really glad you wanted to give me another try. I’d like to make sure this time that you have a comfortable, therapeutic experience. Medical massage isn’t always fun but it should be tolerable. Can you tell me a little bit more about the last session?”

"You know what? You don't even have to worry about that. At all. I'm ready this time, so we can just..." Harp shrugs and gestures towards the ceiling.

Parker had expected this. He swallows and continues with his carefully rehearsed speech.

“Mor—Harp,” he said. He lays his hand on the table. “I have to know what’s going on if I want to help you. We can start with different techniques—in fact, we don’t even have to work on the lower body at all. I mean, there’s plenty of—” Parker stops himself, knowing he’s about to go on a rambling tangent about how different parts of the body work together.

Stay on track, Parker,he tells himself.

“Um, the point is, there are lots of options, but I need you to communicate with me so I know what’s gonna work best.”

Harp looks at him flatly, and Parker feels himself quailing, his pulse thrumming in his throat.

"Well if you don't work on the problem, I don't see how it's supposed to get better,” Harp says. “I didn't invite you up here to pick flowers."

Parker tries not to grit his teeth.

“This is all part of the process,” he says, forcing himself to keep smiling. “And with this stuff, you may not see immediate progress. I’d say most of my clients experience some minor relief in the first few sessions, but it takes multiple sessions to really start seeing long-lasting results.”

He squares his shoulders again.

Trust your training, he tells himself.

“So, would you say the pain you experienced during the deep tissue treatment was sharp or dull? And on a scale of 1 to 10, where would you rate it?”

* * *

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