The room was as awkward as Michael could ever imagine that it could be. All fifteen of the participants were sitting in a circle in a sort of silence that made him want to scream just to break it.
As he looked around, he still couldn't bring himself to believe that he was actually there. He couldn't believe that he actually agreed to doing so absurd such as attending an anger management class.
Anger management… What a joke. I don't belong here with these people. They're crazy, not me!
He looked around at all of the other people that were being forced to be there as well as they waited for their instructor to come in.
Why did they think it was a good idea to leave people like us alone in here is beyond me.
There was a guy sitting in front of Michael who, ironically, was in a tie dye shirt yet was twitching and shifting around in his seat as if he were nervous. Michael was beginning to think that maybe he was in the wrong room.
To the left, there were two people—one a guy and one a girl—engaging in quiet conversation. Well… correction, she was talking to him. He instead sat there staring straight ahead, never saying a single word to her and not even seeming as if he were paying any attention to what she was saying.
The girl, on the other hand, would have most thinking that she was having the best conversation in the world, talking and laughing like she was actually interested in whatever the topic was. But Michael could see her true intentions just as clear as he could see the sleeve tattoo riding up her left arm. She was just playing a game with him.
Oh god, how he had seen that so many times before. With himself, of course.
She wanted to get him interested, and to think he was going to score big tonight. Then, unexpectedly for no reason, she would drop him like a rock the very next day. She just wanted to feel superior to guys. Any guy really. Michael figured that maybe someone had done her wrong to make her act that way.
Before Michael could finish analyzing the people, the door to the room creaked open and the instructor emerged in. He was a middle aged man with no real physical qualities that made him stand out. Except his blindingly bright smile that mirrored that of someone who had just won the Nobel Peace Prize. He had a red nametag on that simply read the letter "Quincy" on it. The moment Michael read it, he knew that he would probably never call him that.
Said man took a seat in one of the empty chairs that was practically parallel to where Michael was sitting, and held a clipboard full of papers in his lap. Michael could only hope that those papers were unlined and that he had brought them so he could draw while people talked. That's what therapists did, anyway.
His dark brown eyes looked up through his glasses around the room at everyone and his smile grew (if at all possible). Michael just knew that he wasn't going to like him… not at all.
"Good morning everyone," he started, "As most of you know, my name is Dr. Jones but you may call me Quincy." He looked around the room and Michael could see in his eyes that he was analyzing every single person. He wondered what Quincy saw in him, what secrets his eyes had failed to conceal.
Everyone greeted him with a simultaneous 'good morning,' that sounded like it had been rehearsed far too many times. It made Michael wonder how many of those people saw this guy regularly. In that moment, Michael made a mental note to himself to not become one of those people. He only intended attending the meetings one time and one time only.
"Alright, well, why don't we begin with simple introductions, then. We'll go around the room and say our names and what brought us here," Quincy said, looking around once more before looking down at his clipboard.
No one went against it, no one protested and no one voiced otherwise. Just like that, people were beginning to introduce themselves one by one.
The array of things that people had done to wind up there was interesting, to Michael at least. Some of them were here for getting into fights, some for yelling and screaming at their school or at their respectable jobs. Some would only say that they were ordered there by the police.
Finally, it came down to Michael. What was he going to say? How could he sum up what had happened between him and Leonce into one simple sentence that would make everyone understand? Michael realized then, that there was no way to do such a thing, that they would just have to be there and experience it all like he did to get a good idea of it.
Nonetheless, Michael crossed his arms and said simply, "Michael."
All eyes shifted quizzically on him.
If it had been Leonce there in his replacement, Michael was sure that he would be squirming under all of the stares and sinking in his chair. But it didn't faze Michael the slightest since he had always loved being the center of attention.
"And what brought you here with us today, Michael?" Quincy asked him.
Michael took a deep breath and said just as calmly, "I was provoked." That was all they needed to know. No matter how vague that was, it was the easiest way to get his point across.
Even so, the doctor gave him a confused look. "Provoked?" he asked, then looked around at everyone else. "Well, everyone seems to have given their introduction. We can move onto the individual analysis, now. Michael, why don't we start with you?" he said, and Michael's eyes narrowed on him. "What do you mean by 'provoked'? Who provoked you?"
Now what should I say?
It all came down to the realization that none of them could understand completely, because they weren't there. It all seemed like it was his fault. Always his fault. But that was because they weren't there, and they didn't know.
Michael sighed, "I was provoked, by this kid, so…" he trailed off. He didn't like to think about it, for one reason or another.
He watched as Quincy shuffled through some papers before saying, "This Leonce, right? It says you broke his nose." Michael glared.
Where the hell did he get that information from? Probably from Katherine.
"So?"
"So you were provoked by him. How?" Quincy stared expectantly at Michael and Michael simply stared back, stubbornly. Quincy, figuring that Michael was refusing to answer the question, he decided to ask another.
"A source tells me that Alex was the reason you were so easily provoked."
Michael shuddered. The sound of her name on a stranger's lips still made his heart flutter.
"Yeah, Alex," he said simply.
"You beat her up too, huh?"
Michael nodded, "Sometimes, yeah. So what?"
"Why?" Quincy asked with those dark, knowing eyes looking up at him. They were black, almost like Michael's own eyes. He suddenly got the feeling that he was being undermined, slowly. He felt as if he were being analyzed by him again. It pissed him off, but he tried to hold it back.
"I just told you."
"You told me nothing that could be useful to help you or me. Would you care to explain to me in detail your reason for beating her up? Why do you pick fights with other people? Why do you take your anger out on her?" Michael felt like this was more of an interrogation, than anything.
"What do you you treat her with such undeserving cruelty?" It was surprising that he was just pushing him along, instead of trying to calm him down. He had no idea what would happen if he were to go off on him. When he was blinded by rage, only God knew what would happen.
Michael sighed, trying to calm himself down, "None of your damn business."
The doctor wasn't fazed, and instead looked through his papers again. "Don't you think that's a little… unfair, Michael? To control someone like that? Like they're some mind of animal?"
"No. I don't have any problem with it and she shouldn't either," he said, looking away.
"So, you're telling me that there's nothing wrong with treating a human being like some sort of slave you could just beat up until you are bored with them? There's nothing wrong with constantly hurting someone you obviously care about?" Michael's head perked up in surprise as he felt his heart skip a beat.
"How did you...?"
"It's obvious. If you truly hated her, you wouldn't have been so calm explaining the situation. I would have been able to hear the hatred in your voice. There wasn't hatred, reluctance, or anger when you said her name. There was passion and concern." Michael leaned back in his chair.
One word: Alex. I can say her name over and over again aloud and so many feelings are exposed within that one word, over those two syllables, between four letters. Is my love for her that bold that even complete and utter strangers can see it?
"Treating her as if she were trash isn't going to help either of you. And denying your love for her is out of the question." The doctor concluded, and Michael felt a wave of numbness consume his entire being. He had never once told Alex that he loved her, even though he had tried to tell her that countless times before. He could never say it, only show it, and Michael had came to expect such a thing.
What this guy was saying, though struck him dumb. Maybe… this made sense. Maybe Alex just didn't understand what he was feeling and why he was feeling that way. Maybe she didn't know what he went through as a child to understand why he acted the way he acted.
He suddenly felt bad, and wondered why he hadn't seen that before. He remembered back to the times that he had been beating Alex up. It all started on Alex's first day of school when she had stood up to Michael for Monica in front of the entire student body, humiliating Michael to a level beyond measure. His reputation began to sink on that day...
Maybe that's why he had started to beat her up. Because she had stood up to him. It reminded him of the time when he had stood up to Joseph for Katherine when he was a child and before he could even get his last words out, Joseph beat him to a pulp and nearly knocked his teeth out.
Within that moment his eyes had met Alex's, he had became his father. He had became the bully and she had became his victim. The generation of bullying had only repeated itself.
I understand now.
His eyes drifted down to the floor, and he could feel everyone still staring at him tensely in the silence. He let his gaze rise again to the doctor.
"Tell me how to fix myself, then," he said, putting on his attitude towards him once again to maintain his laid-back demeanor.
The doctor adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose before looking down at the paper again for a minute, then looking up at him, "You need more communication with her. Even if it's hard, you need a better understanding of her and she needs a better understanding of you. That way, you can ration out her actions better and aren't so quick to jump to conclusions."
That makes sense, I guess. I could talk to her, get her to tell me what she's thinking and maybe then… I'd be able to help her out for once, or in the least, understand her better.
Michael didn't say anything more to him, and, as if understanding that he had taken his words into consideration, the doctor moved on to address someone else –doing the same thing to them that he had done to Michael.
But Michael was no longer listening anymore. His mind was elsewhere, revolving all around Alex and what would happen from there on out. What could be changed? What could we accomplished? What were all the possibilities. It all seemed endless to him.
"I was angry today," a female redhead who looked to be a couple of years older than Michael said, "I wanted to talk with Cheryl about how things have been lately. Fix some loose ends, you know. But she just joked around and started to change the subject. She's always like that."
"Remember what I said about 'always', Erin?" Quincy interjected. "Think back to all the times you've talked to your friend. Does she always try to avoid serious conversations?"
Erin's fingers fidgeted, "...I guess not, no. But she's done it before. So I got really mad and started yelling at her. I told her to fuck off and stop wasting my time until she had something smart to say to me."
"Did you try any of the calming techniques?"
Erin began to shift uncomfortably in her chair, "...No... not really..."
Quincy chuckled, "Try next time. It helps."
"Hey." A girl on Michael's left whispered.
She looked to be a bit older than him, around her late teens or early twenties. She tangled golden hair and a halter top complete with a tight miniskirt and high heels.
"What?" Michael muttered back.
She shifted in her chair, leaning a bit towards him. Quincy didn't seem to be looking into their direction.
"This kid cracks me up. She totally makes up half of her stories and then laughs about it with her girlfriend later."
Michael did a double-take. "Her what?"
She grinned. "Yeah, she's totally bad, that Cheryl gal. If her parents found out, they would flip. So, why are you stuck here?"
"...I broke someone's nose."
"Hardcore." She started fishing into one of the pockets of her skirt, leaning more over towards Michael and lifting out of her seat a bit so she could fit her hand into the pocket. She seemed to find what she was after, pulling out a large round lollipop and slowly unwrapping it. The wrapping crackled, but nobody else seemed to notice.
"Why are you talking to me?" Michael snapped.
"You were staring." She did it again, uncrossing and crossing her legs. Michael was at an entirely wrong angle to see up her skirt, but he stared anyway.
"Was not," he shot back.
"I bet you wanted to though."
Michael swallowed hard. She didn't stick the lollipop into her mouth or suck on it, she just licked it, pink tongue darting out to stroke the hard candy in ways that made Michael swallow dryly. He turned his whole body away and amusingly obvious fashion. He wouldn't let her have the satisfaction of getting to him.
"Mr. Jones?" The girl whispered in Michael's direction. "I think I know the root of Michael's anger: sexual frustration. He's horribly repressed. Clearly he would be perfectly fine if he could only get laid by someone."
Michael's jaw clenched, "Shut up. Why are you here, then?"
She popped the lollipop into her mouth and spoke around it. "I just so love being here, that's all. But enough about me. We were supposed to be talking about you, right?"
"I don't want to talk to you," Michael snapped.
"But honey, I think you do." She adjusted her strapless bra, pulling and tucking at the cloth and her breasts, obviously enjoying Michael's discomfort. "See, you're staring again, naughty–"
"Shut the fuck up!" Michael yelled, jumping to his feet.
The entire group turned to stare at him as he stood there, face dark red and staring daggers at the blonde girl who looked entirely too much like a cat who had just gotten the mouse. It took him all of five seconds to realize that he had pulled exactly the wrong move by blowing up in the middle of an anger management class.
Smooth move, Jackson. Smooth move.
"Sit down, Michael, and take a few deep breaths," Quincy said after a moment. "When you're ready, I'd like you to talk about why you're angry."
Michael plopped himself back down into his chair and began to stare fixedly at the floor. The room was silent for awhile.
"No reason," he said.
"Is there really no reason?" Miss Hurst asked.
"Yes."
"You just asked Zari to stop talking. Was she saying something that made you angry?"
He paused, "No."
Quincy sighed. "Why don't you tell us what you two were talking about, Zari?"
Zari pulled the lollipop from her mouth with a pop as the other participants turned to face her, "Well, I had just introduced myself to him when I recognized Michael from my neighborhood, and asked if he would need a ride home today, because I have a car and would give him a lift if he wanted. He said no, so I asked him if his parents were giving him a ride and he said no again. I asked him why not, and..." she lifted her hands in a helpless gesture, lollipop stick threaded through the fingers of one hand.
"I see." Quincy said, gaze shifting over to Michael.
Michael's head whipped around to face Zari. "She's lying!" He snapped.
"Well then, what were you two talking about, Michael?" Quincy tone was patient and angelic. It made Michael want to scream.
He gritted his teeth and fixed his gaze on the floor again.
"Nothing."
Quincy sighed in defeat, "Well alright then. Let's move along then, shall we?"
Michael shot Zari a cold glare, his face scrunched up in a tight scowl. Zari must have been amused because she licked her lollipop and smirked wickedly at him.
When the doctor called the end of the meeting, he said his goodbyes with that sick smile on his face once more, and then left the room. Only then were they permitted to get up and leave.
Michael got up from his seat, feeling like his legs had weights tied to them. Nervousness consumed his entire being and he didn't know what to do about it. Maybe that doctor had left too soon.
Michael followed the line of people out of the meeting room and down into the lobby room, where people sat waiting for either the next meeting, or a meeting with some other kind of doctor.
His eyes scanned the room quickly, until he finally found him, sitting in a chair by the window, his eyes looking out and the lack of expression on his face and eyes that told Michael that his mind was elsewhere.
Michael walked over to him, "Roger."
Said man looked over and rose up to his feet, towering over Michael by two feet at 7'6.
"How did it go?" he asked in a merry voice that Michael hadn't realized he had missed.
Michael stepped closer to him and hugged him tightly, trying to get him to understand without having to use any words. After all, he still had his pride to hold.
Michael felt Roger's dark eyes looking down at him quizzically, "I guess it went quite well?" he assumed, in more of a questioning tone.
Michael gave a small grin, "Shut up, Roger."
It was then that he decided it. Maybe things wouldn't change between him and Alex and maybe their current relationship would eventually go down in flames. But that didn't matter because he still had a chance. Hell, he had all of
the chances in the world. And so long as he had those chances, he knew he would be willing to take them. Because, even if he didn't say it, and even if she never told him that she loved him, so long as she didn't push him too far away, Michael knew that she somehow still cared.
… I never thought I'd learn something like that from that damn class.
"One day," Michael said grinning, "I'm gonna tell her. And when I do, I won't be ashamed. You just wait."
Roger rubbed the back of his head as Michael strode out of the room with a bounce in his step. Roger laughed under his breath in spite of his baby cousin.
"He learned all of that in one session?" he wondered aloud and he laughed once more, "Maybe I ain't wastin' my money after all."
Author's Chapter Notes:
Enjoy peoples!
Chapter End Notes:
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