“Why are your future kids in thought when you join these calls?”
“I don't want them to grow up seeing my bad temper,” I say the obvious.
“Yeah, but why them? Why don't you want your friends or Sage to see your bad temper? Why the kids?”
“Because they'rekids, they don't need to see that.”
“Does Sage need to see it?”
“No, but that's different. She's an adult, and she understands. Either way, she's another reason I'm here. I don't want her to see how angry I can really get.”
“But why not the kids?” She presses, and her poor listening skills are starting to annoy me.
“I don't want to lose my temper with them.”I'm losing my temper with her.
“Why? Kids can get annoying, I'm sure you'll yell at them sometimes, all parents do.”
“Well, I don't want to.”
“You don't want to yell at them? Why?” She goes on, and I feel my annoyance growing. “Yelling isn't the worst thing and-”
“Killing them is.” I snap, and when her eyes meet mine, she looks satisfied with something. I realize shewantedme to get mad. “What's the point in this shit?” I bite out.
“Do you think you're capable of killing someone?”
“Aren't we all?”
She nods gently as she writes in her notebook, and I hope she picks up on my sarcasm and isn't writing,this man is crazy, make sure to call the cops once you hang up.
“Do you think you're capable of killing your kids, Liam?”
I keep my eyes on her, and my mind goes over all of my episodes. All of the times I tore apart my room in high school, the baseball bats I snapped in half in college, the punching bags I break now… I think of all of that, and then I think of Shanti, and I've been angry around her. I've come home furious multiple times, but every time I entered her presence while I was mad, it just faded.
“No, I don't think I am, but you psychologists think killers are both born and made, so what does that say about me? Am I fucked because my dad's a murderer?”
“Do you think you are?”
“Yeah,” I answer so quickly it scares me. “But I refuse to put Sage through what my dad put my mom through, so I'm here. If you think I'm screwed, though, just let me know now so I can be sure to stay far away from her.”
“We're all capable of killing someone.” She shrugs. “What do you think the root of your anger is?”
I bury my face in my hands as I rub my temples. Her words repeat in my head once before my answer comes to me. “My dad. I hate that I'm like him.”
“Are you though?”
“Well, I'm here, aren't I?”
“Exactly.”
I look up at her, and she isn't writing in her book anymore. Instead, she studies me.
“You're going to tell me to figure it out on my own, aren't you?”
When she smiles, I know that's exactly what she's going to say.
“We're running out of time, so let's discuss some strategies for when you feel you are getting mad. You said the breathing exercise you read about doesn't work, so we can skip it. I want you to verbalize what youwantto do when you're mad and think about the consequences of that. Once you realize how bad it sounds to, let's say, punch someone in the face, you can resort to other things.”
“Like what?” I ask instead of telling her I don't see anything wrong with punching people.
