Another day, another dollar. That is, several more dollars, given in a co-pay for another visit to a psychiatrist.
Joe had been going to Dr. Jonathan Fuller for four years now, give or take, and never really felt like he was getting anywhere. The man was kind of a pompous ass. He was condescending and even if he was the expert in what was wrong with Joe, it never felt like he cared what Joe had to say.
Therapy, such as it was, was something Joe felt was bullshit methods that, if they worked, would have helped him a long time ago. How in the world does someone curb violent impulses by simply listening to soothing music? The Sounds of Nature, Vol. 7 wasn't exactly the thing to help him in his situation. Nor were the other tricks that, he figured, meant more for those with anxiety or OCD than what he was dealing with.
Only medication helped to silence the persistent voice in his head, and even that seemed hit or miss depending on the stress of the situation. He knew it was a silly thought to have, but he did, at times, struggle to come up with many jobs more stressful than that of a wrestler.
He sat in the lobby of the doctor's office, trying to get comfortable in a hard plastic chair that was entirely too small for him. He fired off some tweets as he did so, because trolling on Twitter was the way to go these days.
Even the World champion responded, clueless that he was putting on an act most of the time. Pissing people off gets you attention. Attention gets you higher profile matches. More opportunities. More chances to prove yourself. The fact he got booked with two-thirds of the main event of Outlast was proof of that. Or the two top champions in Carnage. Those who mattered knew how much of the real Joe was on Twitter and those didn't matter, didn't matter.
“Joe? Come on back.”
A small sigh escaped his lips, in spite of his best efforts. Luckily it was low enough that he guessed the doctor didn’t hear it.
Another benefit of crafting different masks for himself was that he only let a few, select people know who the real man was inside. Lucy knew. His brother knew. Tempest thought he knew but he was only getting JC. And he would only get JC until he could be trusted. The weird little guy and his cult may have opened his eyes to certain truths, but that didn’t mean they were trustworthy.
He realized he had already made it to the office, lost in thought again. He found himself a more comfortable seat inside.
“So, how are you doing this week?”
“That always seems like a loaded question to me.”
“How so?”
He saw the doctor looking to type something into his computer and felt contempt bubbling inside him.
“Don’t...don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“The note-taking. Don’t do that while I’m in here, like I’m just another task at work.”
“I was only…”
The mask of JC was starting to slip over. Or the mask of Joe was coming off. He was never sure. Either way, he didn’t let that happen.
“It feels disrespectful.”
Fuller nodded, actually listening to him for what seemed like the first time in forever.
“My apologies. Sometimes I tend to get caught up in routine.”
JC held up his hands to signal that it was fine. He then crossed his arms again, which felt the most comfortable for him. He was sure there was some sort of theory about how he was secretly guarding himself, and perhaps that was true, but he didn’t see the harm in that. Being guarded kept you safe.
“Have you been feeling disrespected a lot, lately?”
Jumping right out of the small talk and into more pointed questions. Perhaps this would go better for him than normal.
“You might say that. I’ve hit kind of a lull in my career, and people are insinuating that I’m done. I had to take some...drastic measures to make improvements.”
“You didn’t...hurt anyone...did you?”
JC smiled. It was a reasonably pleasant smile, all things considered. Relapse, giving up his medication and trying to inflict as much violence as possible were all very real dangers. The only reason he found it humorous was that so many people had been asking him this same question lately.
“I’m as clear-headed as I can be, Doc.”
“Then what are these drastic measures you talked about?”
“On the most recent PPV in UGWC, for example, I attacked Lucy from behind.”
“You...attacked your fiancee?”
Fuller didn’t understand wrestling and Joe didn’t have the time or patience to explain it. Instead, he chose his words carefully. He didn’t lie, but he didn’t want to give the wrong impression.
“Yes. I did that. I threw an engagement ring away. I told everyone I needed to ditch her to become successful, because people were claiming I couldn’t get by without her. One even said she was holding me back. They aren’t saying that anymore.”
“But don’t you love her?”
“I do.”
“Then why do it?”
He considered this for a moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked. But unlike his brother asking, he didn’t feel shame in being direct with what he had to say.
“Because it needed to be done in order for me to get what I want.”
“That seems like a very extreme course of action.”
“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think it was the right thing to do.”
“Violence is never the right thing to do, Joe. You are giving me serious doubt that you haven’t relapsed.”
“Doc, remember I’m a pro wrestler. I didn’t hurt her. Not anymore than we usually get hurt. I just made her mad and I made it clear that our pairing was done to everyone watching.”
Fuller nodded again. At least he was being agreeable. That was more than could be said for just about everyone else, who chided him for wanting the best for his fiancee then likewise turned on him the second he did the opposite. When it came right down to it, the UGWC roster was full of cliques and hypocrites. It disgusted him and made him want to prove himself even more, regardless of who he had to go through to get to where he needed to go.
Fuller grabbed a metronome that happened to be on his desk and placed it on the edge nearest Joe. Joe raised an eyebrow skeptically.
“Are you familiar with hypnosis?”
“Only what I’ve seen in the movies.”
Fuller chuckled.
“It’s not at all like that. Think of it as more of a form of meditation. It’s a way to get you into a more relaxed state, so that you’ll open more. I don’t think you’ve been entirely forthcoming with me. I think you’re protecting yourself, or someone else, or something else, and if you’re willing, I’d like to see if we can break through those walls you put up and figure some things out.”
Joe had nothing he really needed to hide. And, he assumed, he was protected from doctor-patient confidentiality that if he did let anything slip about...anything, Fuller couldn’t repeat it. Not unless JC was a threat to anyone. More so than he usually was, anyway.
“So you’re not going to make me cluck like a chicken whenever I hear a ring bell, right?”
“Some people are more susceptible to suggestion while in this state, but no. That kind of thing really isn’t possible, in my experience.”
“I guess I’ve got nothing to lose. Or really anything to hide. Let’s do it.”
“Good. Look at the metronome and just watch it. Take long, slow breaths and let yourself relax.”
Joe didn’t really think this would do anything except maybe make him want to sleep, but he decided to try. The pendulum began to tick back and forth, making a clicking noise as it did so. It annoyed him at first but he tried to push that irritation away. He just watched it. Back and forth. Back and forth. To and fro.
Click.
Click.
Click.
