Terms and Conditions

I peered at the well-dressed man on the other side of the small table, observing him. I needed to be certain he understood me. Dr Landon nodded sagely, scribbling on the legal pad perched on his knee.

“I understand you, Joshua.”

Satisfied, I leaned back, settling into the creaky chair. I quite liked this room. Dr Landon was a good therapist and a successful one, yes. I, however, often wondered what portion of his success was due to this study in itself. It was small—almost claustrophobic—with thick bound books crammed into shelves lining the walls. There was only one window and it opened to a back alley.

The seclusion of the office was alluring; a minuscule room in a block of flats. Whenever I spoke, I got the peculiar feeling that whatever secrets I spilt rose into the air, circling the ceiling like translucent ghosts. Circling and circling, but never escaping.

The coffee table where he served tea sat in a corner framed by two low wicker chairs. Twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I sat in the chair next to the wall and answered Dr Landon’s piercing questions.

On Tuesdays, he offered chamomile tea and we talked about the future. On Thursdays, we sipped rose tea and spoke about the past.

I liked the constancy; it soothed me. At least, one thing remained unchanged as Dr Landon scooped my brains out.

“You never drew blood?” he asked, our eyes meeting over his square glasses.

I shook my head again. “I never did.”

He pursed his lips, considering. “Why is that? Why didn’t you just take a knife and stab her?”

The words jolted me, and I drew back, promptly horrified at the image forming in my mind. Stab her?

I stared at the prim therapist in front of me with my mouth hanging open until Dr Landon’s stuffy office disappeared. Eleven years ago. High school. Perusing the dusty library shelves for something to read, sitting across from each other in the cafeteria, sitting side by side at the bus stop, our thighs pressed together as if we couldn’t stand an inch of space between us.

Talking endlessly about everything. Dancing together in her room till the sun graced the sky.

Stab her. My hands quivered, palms gripping the armrest, an involuntary rejection of that notion.

“Why would…” I faltered and my voice shook. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Why would I ever stab her? I could…I could never hurt her.”

His response came less than a second later. “But you did.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Joshua, you hurt her.” He held my gaze before dipping his head to flip through his notes. “You pinched her. You slapped the back of her hand.” He flipped a page. “You often tugged on her hair.”

I blinked; my heart drumming away in my ribs. That was different. That was different. “I would never…ever hurt her like that. In such…in such an irreparable way.”

“But you did,” he repeated; his voice full of that professional surety.

Wincing, I pressed the heel of my palms into my eyes, trying to stave off the migraine I could feel budding. “I didn’t hurt her,” I whispered. “I did not. I don’t understand…what you’re saying.”

I heard the soft clink of ceramic as Dr Landon picked up his teacup and sipped his rose tea. Mine lay abandoned on my side of the table, steam swirling lazily up and out of the cup. In the silence that engrossed the office, I could hear the hum of San Prairie’s nightlife; soft, like a car’s engine purring to a start.

The sun was dipping beneath the horizon and the soft thumps of club music reverberated in the air.

Dr Landon returned the cup to its saucer and cleared his throat. I looked up at him. “You told me that she tried to keep in contact with you after high school and that you always disparaged her efforts. Don’t you think you might have hurt her?”

I said nothing.

He continued. “You also told me that you two spent almost every day together. At school. At home. At the library. At the tennis court.” He paused, tilting his head. “Don’t you think the sudden distance would have hurt her? Perhaps in a more irreparable way than outrightly stabbing her with a knife?”

At my continued silence, he added, “You remember, don’t you, what those days were like?”

I remembered. Yes, I remembered. Without any difficulty, I could call up the memory of the smile—bright and unrelenting—that curved her lips whenever she spotted me from afar. I remembered the excited pitter-patter of my heart whenever she stood next to me.

And the terror.

I remembered how my stomach clenched and my knees wobbled with terror whenever she laughed and our eyes met. Fear like nothing I could explain burrowed under my skin and etched itself into my bones.

“Until you reached out and pinched her.” Dr Landon’s quiet voice yanked me out of my memories, and I frowned.

How much had I loose-lipped?

My jaw tightened with shame. It was nothing I wanted to admit but it was the truth. “Yes, it did. It made me feel…like I was in control…of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.” I reached for my cup. The tea was lukewarm, but it soothed my parched throat. The rose scent steadied me, assuring me.

“If…If I didn’t do it,” I stared into the pale liquid, and whispered into the cup, “I felt like I would be…too happy.”

Dr Landon leaned back, studying me with a glint in his eyes. “Why didn’t you want to be happy? Too happy?”

I lowered the cup to the table, disbelief furrowing my brows. The answer was simple. Did he want to hear me say it? “What happens if she leaves me? What if she doesn’t want to be with me anymore?”

“Why would you think that? Was there any sign that she would leave you? That she wouldn’t want to be with you anymore?”

I shrugged. “There wasn’t but… it was inevitable, wasn’t it?”

Yes, she was going to leave me. Yes, it was inevitable. But that didn’t mean I would simply…relinquish control of the situation.

I cannot do that. 

Call me dour but I knew what I was having for dinner two nights from now. I knew what tie would grace my neck next week on Monday. I knew when next I would drop by to see my mum.

Call me rigid but the control I had over my life reassured me. It ensured my success in a world where people often entrusted their choices and emotions to external entities.

But it…stifled me. Some days, I found myself stuck in a timetable of emotions.

Mallory was an aberration; the singular exception. Whenever we were together, my emotions swung wildly, zooming from stupid happiness to bone-rattling fear in a second.

If she was going to leave, then…

“I’d prefer it was on my terms.”