“Don’t worry about it.”
With a sigh, I looked around. There were only a few other people here. Patients, I guess. And most of them were seniors, one or two college athletes, it looked like. I was the only full-grown man with a boo-booed knee being assisted by his best friend.
Just as I leaned over to whisper to Hansen that I wanted to leave and never come back, my name was called from behind us.
“Korbin Butler?” a middle-aged woman asked. “Come with me please.”
I glanced at Hansen, who smiled and nodded once at me. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
“Thanks, lover,” I grumbled as he helped me stand. Avoiding the curious gazes of the patients around me as I hobbled across the floor and into the back area, I followed the woman out of the waiting-room. We stepped into an office with a desk and computer, a love seat, and a couch.
“I’m Dr. Blake,” the woman said, pointing at the couch. “Please have a seat.”
“A seat?” I looked around the room, confused, looking for an exam bed, but sat down on the couch anyway because my knee was starting to scream at me. “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person,” I said. “Are you here to work on my knee?”
“No,” Dr. Blake said, taking a seat on the love seat across from me. She grabbed a notebook from the desk and flipped it open. “I’m here to work on your mind.”
“My mind?” I repeated. “There’s nothing wrong with my mind.”
Dr. Blake smiled. She had a kind face, a face one might see on an aging grandmother or a nun. But despite all that, I still didn’t understand why I was here, and that annoyed me.
“I think I better go,” I said, struggling to my feet. “This isn’t where I need to be. I’m here for physical therapy.”
Dr. Blake continued to smile, but when she spoke, her tone was deadly serious. “If you intend to go back to work, Mr. Butler, then I would highly suggest you stay for our session.”
“Session?” I repeated. “What in the hell is this? I was supposed to be getting physical therapy on my knee, not a head shrinking session.”
Dr. Blake nodded, as if understanding, and pointed at the couch. “Please, sit, and I can explain.”
Not knowing what else to do, I lowered myself back onto the cushions of the couch and set my crutches aside, folding my arms over my chest to stare at Dr. Blake. “Why am I here?”
“You’re here, Korbin, because as a firefighter who works in such dangerous conditions, it’s a requirement that you have some mental health sessions while you do physical therapy. So I can make sure you’re ready to return to work with a clear mind when the time comes.”
“And what do you think I need to talk about?” I asked. I knew I was pouting, but god damn if I could have been anywhere but here. “Because I know how dangerous the job is. I knew it when I signed up. It’s the reason I’m still single, you know, so I can focus on my job and give one hundred and ten percent.”
“Oh, I see,” Dr. Blake said, nodding her head as I spoke. I hated how cool and collected she was, like no matter what I might say, it was expected. “So now are we playing two truths and a lie?”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “I’m not playing anything.”
“You said you’re single for your job. Is that really why you’re single?”
“I’m sorry, doc, but I’m confused.” Glaring, I leaned forward as the throbbing pain in my knee started back up again. “What does my relationship status have to do with these sessions?”
“Absolutely nothing,” said Dr. Blake. “You’re the one who brought it up. It’s only natural for me to assume that something like that is at the forefront of your mind, even now.”
“It’s not,” I lied, sitting up to fold my arms over my chest again. “I was just making a point about my work. It’s the most important thing in the world to me, and I don’t intend to let it go for anything.”
“I wouldn’t expect to you,” Dr. Blake said patiently. “After all, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To get well enough to go to work?”
Instead of answering, I turned my attention to the big window near the door of the office. The curtains were drawn partway, but every few minutes another employee and patient would pass by the window, oblivious to this nightmare going on inside right now. My nightmare, anyway.
“Give it to me straight, doc,” I said, turning my attention back to the woman in front of me. “How long do I have to keep seeing you?”
“Until you’re cleared to go back to work,” she said, making a note on the paper. “But many of my patients stay longer, because they find the therapy helps them with so much more than a single issue.”
“So, what, do you work for this clinic?”
“I work for the hospital,” she said. “They assign me to patients in different clinics who might need my assistance getting past a physical trauma. For someone like you, a firefighter, physical therapy is helpful, but we also worry about things like PTSD. Do you have any of that, Korbin?”
