Backslider

Chapter 1

Therapy

"I wanted to tell you my story
How my life seemed to change in a matter of days
The heavens break I am walking tall
How come change always seems to bring the rain"

-The Verve

"Clearly, Jonathan, you're not going to be able to keep this up," he breathed with a laugh. "It's a self-destructive cycle, really. That's not the technical term, of course, but I'm sure you understand."

Reclined in his chair, a short, stocky and, for the most part, balding man gazed out the window laughing uncomfortably, and was presently staring at the cars whizzing past down below. Silence.

Turning back to the figure sitting across the room, he continued, "Oh, silly me. Of course you do. You're a smart fellow, after all." He laughed. "Well, we both know that, now don't we?"

Silence.

The droning bald man spoke again with an exasperated sigh, "Honestly, though. Are you really happy with this new job of yours? It just doesn't seem to suit you."

At the continuing silence, he lazily flipped through the thin brown folder on his lap and went on to scribble some more nonsense Jonathan could not have made out. That is, he could not have made out the scrawled writing had he bothered to look. Rather, he seemed utterly content to pick at the peeling fabric of the couch.

Unabated, the man drawled, "You have a severe inadequacy complex, I'm going to be honest." His faded, old eyes began to tear up sympathetically, no doubt from years of practice. "I don't blame you for being confused, after all, but this won't do." He sighed heavily. "Blowing things up and all, or whatever it is, I know you don't enjoy it." The now rather irritating fellow noted down more garbage. The figure noted the peeling wallpaper.

Jonathan, a tall, black haired man groaned loudly. "Wowee."

"What's that?"

"You've got me totally figured out, haven't you?"

The fat man made a sound that could only be likened to a sick dying moose being mauled by a panther. Of course, no one in the room recognized the comparison, either because panthers usually don't eat moose or that no one really sticks around to listen when it happens. This is, in many ways, for the same reason one doesn't stick around to document their own death at the hands of the aforementioned panther in the interest of zoology.

"Well..."

Jonathan was bored with this tired affair and decided that now would be a good time to have some fun before leaving. "It's all my mother's fault. She never loved me. Not enough hugs, you see." He left that hanging in the air, but as the doctor gaped, he continued unabated, "You see, I used to be beaten as a boy--locked in my father's desk drawer. I had to survive off paperclips and pushpins for several years." Feeling on a roll, he concluded, "When I got out, it was by accident. Seems dear old Dad sold the desk to some smelly old man. Boy... he was sure shocked to find a naked 6 year-old instead of a more substantial number of pushpins and paperclips. Priceless moment."

"I'm sorry?"

"Right you should be." Jonathan grinned a manic smile only years of practice could bring. The eerie silence was interrupted only by a faint chirrup! from his pocket. Reaching in, but still maintaining the horrific grimace and total eye contact, he withdrew his hand and a thin and shiny slip of metal--a silver cigarette lighter. He flipped open the cover and, in the relative shadow of the bare office, Jonathan's face glowed in it's eerie blue light. As his eyes peered into the dancing fire, he whispered to it intently and then placed the lighter a few inches from his ear, nearly setting his black hair aflame.

"Tell me again, Sam: what I've told you about calling me on this line?" He paused and casually stood and walked to the window. The morning's sunny amber light shadowed his face, reflecting the manic grin now turned back on the disagreeable old man, apparently lost in thought, as though he weren't trying to listen in on the peculiar conversion.

"You really think so? Hmm..." he continued. He also smiled.

"Ah... ahh... no, not yet, but I'll certainly keep that in mind. But I'm afraid you're just going to have to ask--," he replied.

He relocated the lighter to his lips. "No! He scares me too, but... oh, come on..." he hissed to the fire, making an "I'm so sorry" motion with his free hand to the vacant lounging man.

"Sam, look. I'm busy right now," he whispered.

"No, I can't... if you must know..." at this, Jonathan strolled to farthest corner of the room and whispered some more exasperated commands.

He sat and, after a pause, the man asked the inevitable, "Is everything all right?" question.

"Is what all right?"

"Erm... everything?"

"You know what? I'm going to have to go." Jonathan darted around the room, picking up his discarded coat, shoes, and hat.

"What?" he gasped with feigned sadness. "But we were making so much progress!"

"Not so much, actually. To tell you the truth, I don't think I'll be coming back. Ever again," he sighed.

"But... but... your treatment!" the man croaked.

"I think we should just be friends. Besides... our relationship was, of course, purely sexual in nature. I just don't think there's much of a future between us in that case." Jonathan said with a reassuring nod. Brushed away imaginary tears, he reached for the doorknob. "Well, then... Bye!" he exclaimed, darting out the door and down the hallway at a brisk run.

Left in a state of shock, Dr. Tucker was, of course, shocked. Several minutes of open-mouthed gaping was abruptly stopped by Jonathan's sudden return.

Ignoring the remarkable impression of a fish Dr. Tucker was currently acting out, Jonathan grinned, though not quite as manically as before. "So, sorry. Forgot this."

The "this" was the thin folder still resting on the doctor's enormous thighs.

"Ermm..." he began.

"Yes?" Jonathan replied with an innocent smile from the door.

"You can't take that out of here." he concluded, jumping up with a wobble. Jonathan made his way out the door, as Dr. Tucker threatened to call security.

"Really? Oh. Sorry. Well, then let me apologize--" Jonathan began, but with a flick of wrist, pulled a thin foot-long rod of wood from his sleeve. Dr. Tucker went back into his confused stupor.

"Somniferus!" Jonathan exclaimed.

Dr. Tucker fell backwards and narrowly avoided a comfortable landing. Suddenly bug-eyed, Dr. Tucker's eyes quickly crossed and closed. Anyone who walked into the room at that moment might have thought him dead, had it not been for the remarkable volume of his snores. No one walked in. That was a good thing.

"Oh, whoops," Jonathan muttered. Wrong one... I was trying to kill the bastard. "Ah well." Proceeding to pinch the doctor's cheek, Jonathan cooed, "You've got no idea who I am, do you?" The doctor snored his response. "Hm. Well... just to make sure."

He kicked the doctor and, as he started to rouse, Jonathan added, "Roseate!"

Dr. Tucker's sleepy eyes suddenly widened alarmingly, blinked, and looked fearfully around the room. "Mr. Mercier?" he squinted.

"Um, yes?" Jonathan replied charmingly.

"Why are you still here? Is everything all right?" Tucker asked confusedly.

"Everything's fine. I was just on my way out, when you keeled over."

"Oh. But everything's fine now..." he said confidently.

"Yep. Everything's fine. Bye now." Jonathan finished hauntingly. As he left, Dr. Tucker sat staring emptily out the window, muttering to himself with a happy smile on his face. "Everything's fine. Fine, fine, fine..."

Jonathan reached the elevator, and smiled to a businessman as he exited the lift. "Stupid Muggles," he muttered.