Post by Rigor Vaine on Oct 23, 2009 19:53:30 GMT -5
Tell me about your day.
What day?
Today, yesterday, any day… Just take your time and tell me about your day.
Are you trying to analyse my actions or my words?
Does that matter?
Does everything have to be a question?
Leaning back into the beige couch pushed up against the cream, unpatterned wall just inches away from the same type of generic rubber plant you would find in any doctors surgery in the World, Rigor Vaine grins from ear to ear at his own response. These sessions were a joke, little more than lip service to a neurotic paranoid woman who just happened to have the best ass he’d ever seen.
Why do you come to these sessions Rigor?
Because my wife seems to think I need the help… Seems to think I need to open up, and let people in.
By people, she means her?
I assume so…
And is there a reason you don’t want to let her in?
This was why he hated shrinks; they always had a way to get to the core. Why the fuck would he want to talk about this shit with some guy he didn’t even know. If he didn’t open up to his wife, why did anyone think for one second he would break down the damn he’d built around 10 years of pain and torture.
Because she’s a means to an end…
This was a lie, despite his bravado he cared for her. She was no means, and the end? Well that’s simple… Death was the end. His plan had always been to die happily married with a wife who was 10 years younger than him.
What end?
What does that matter? You’re focusing on the fact that there’s an end more than the fact that she’s a means to it? Are you sure you’re qualified?
I don’t believe she’s a means to an end, if she was, you would have forced an end already in order to avoid these sessions. So, either you want to be here…
God no…
Or you want to bend to her wishes… That doesn’t sound like a man who wishes to use her as a means to an end.
Rigor presses his tongue between his teeth and his upper lip moving it around his perfectly straight and almost shockingly white teeth. Frustration. A deep seated frustration with this guys ability to read all the right answers from all the wrong reactions. There were two ways to deal with this situation, walk away from it or give in to it. He closes his bright blue eyes for a moment before nodding slightly.
So… Tell me about your day….
The rest of the hour zoomed past pretty quickly as before he realised it, Rigor was on his feet shaking hands with the man with whom he’d had the first real conversation in a long, long time. He knew, of course, that the torrent of notes taken and sheets of paper filled were based on the answers to questions asked and the beginning of an analytical process that could take forever to complete but he felt… Good. Strong.
Standing 6 feet 5 inches tall, Vigor was, as he had been for just 6 months, a professional wrestler. He didn’t have the looks of a wrestler and, despite his impeccably healthy teeth, he had the look of a man who had lived a full life. The irony of the situation was that he’d never drank nor taken drugs yet still, he had a haunted look of a man in his 40’s rather than a 30 year old. Many attributed that to the Eastern European Blood running through his veins… He knew better.
Same time next week Mr. Vaine?
I’ll… I’ll call you.
Closing the door behind him, Vaine run’s his hand over his face as if clearing cobwebs. In truth, he was slipping that mask up again, ensuring that no-one ever knew the truth about him… Nobody except that fucking shrink. Looking around the waiting room, he noticed a distinct difference. Baby blue walls, comfortable patterned seats, tables filled with endless magazines from home to sports. The receptionist had a drawn on smile, unchanging and unyielding. This room was built for lulling the visitors into a false sense of security before entering that generic hell.
Would you like to book your next appointment Mr. Vaine?
No thank you, I’ll call during the week. I may be out of town.
Vacation? Anywhere nice?
The grin was back on his face, the same grin and stare that could either warm or freeze a person’s heart dependent on the intention. At this moment, he recognised the effect it was having as he slid his hand into his pocket to conceal his wedding ring.
No, no… Nothing as pleasant as that… All business. What about you? Any holidays planned?
No, nothing…
Vaine surveys the women in front of her, early 20’s, blond and well manufactured. Nothing was that perfect naturally, he’d got as close as he could to natural perfection with his wife. That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the pleasures of a more sculptured form every once in a while.
That’s a shame, I’m sure you look a picture in a bikini…
Please, Mr. Vaine… I’m engaged.
You think no-body is staring at you on that beach when you walk out in your sassy 2-piece? Do you think they care that you’re married? Or even that they’re married? I don’t think so…
She blushes slightly, her tongue briefly held between her teeth as if stopping herself from speaking. As she opens her mouth, he smiles again and leans forward. That’s enough, he thinks… For now at least.
Your future husband is a very, very lucky man.
He stands back to full height and takes a mint from a dish on the desk. Popping into his mouth, without another thought he brushes out of the room as if gliding. His strides, long and confident, cover a long distance in a much shorter time. Reaching the hall he pushes open the door and pulls his keys out of his pocket and presses the key fob. Amongst the sea of Bentley’s, Mercedes’ and Porsche’s the lights blink on a 1968 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500KR Convertible.
I love being me…
Pulling open the door, Vaine climbs inside and slides his hand along the impeccable leather seats. Leaning back into the seat he closes his eyes, drinking in that feeling of being behind the wheel of one of the best cars he’s ever owned. Firing up the engine he lets it purr for a moment before engaging the roar system, also known as the throttle. Savouring the sound for a moment, he pulls back on the accelerator and puts the car into gear, slowly he manoeuvres out of the somewhat tight spot before slamming his foot back down and speeding into the distance.
After five or ten minutes of coasting through the outskirts of Miami, the speakers roar into life with the often irritating sound of his cell phone ringing. Looking down to the small black Palm Pre by his side, the display reads “Erica”.
Oh for god s…
He breathes a heavy sigh before…
Answer… Hello?
Rigor?
Who did you think you were calling?
I’m just checking, sometimes it’s not you it’s one of your… Friends.
From your hesitation I know you don’t mean friend…
Don’t deconstruct me Vigor… You know I don’t like it.
Don’t speak in riddles. Say what you mean, my employees sometimes answer the phone when I’m busy.
Ok, one of your employees answers the phone.
There’s a brief awkward pause as Vaine waits for his wife to speak, and she looks for a reaction. Looking frustrated, Rigor runs his tongue over his teeth again.
So, what did you want?
I wanted to see how your session went?
Great, my back has been in agony. Dr. Fetler really worked out those knots…
You… You went for a massage, but you were supposed to…
I’m kidding, it was fine.
What did you talk about?
You think I’m going to tell you that? If I wanted to tell you the type of things I discussed in that room I wouldn’t have to pay the fucking Shrink.
I’m sorry I just…
Her voice trails off as the upset begins to well through the phone. Rolling his eyes, he seems to realise his mistake.
I know, I’m sorry. This is why I’m going to therapy right? Work out these issues I have…
Of course, I shouldn’t push… Listen, I was thinking, can we go out to eat tonight? I’ve been in the gym all day and I don’t feel like cooking.
As well as being his wife, Erica was and is the head trainer at his gym in Miami. She wasn’t good, not half as good as some of the guys she worked over; but she was organised, she could delegate and most of all she could suck a watermelon through a straw.
Sure, where do you want to eat?
He could tell she was thinking, her mind whirring, trying to think up somewhere new, somewhere different. Smiling slightly, he realised he didn’t care… As long as there was good wine and plenty of it he would be happy… She did her best work when she was drunk and a few things she wouldn’t normally when she was sober.
Italian?
Nah, I’m not in the mood for Italian… How about Brazilian?
Sure, you make the reservations?
Don’t I always…
We need to make your influence work in our favour every once in a while.
Alright, I’ll make the call.
Ok honey, be careful and I’ll see you at home. I love you.
Bye.
He hung up, knowing full well that right now she would be welling up yet again. He’d never told her he loved her, not in the 2 years since he’d met her. Let’s make something clear, he’d not married her at 18; far from it. He’d spurned her advances for nearly 12 months when his will broke in his office, 6 months later he proposed and a month after that they married. Now, after 6 months into his marriage they were having problems, not intimacy, not with being close but with his inability to say that one little word… Love.
It had been nearly 9 years since he’d said it. 9 years since that day he’d begged and pleaded and said that one little word over and over again to no avail hit had been for nothing he’d still been…
But that was then, this was now… And now that past was starting to break up not only his relationship apart but the women he was in the relationship with. As his speed began to decrease, his mind begins to wander to that delicate young women at home, just waiting for him; knowing that right now he was away, somewhere, doing something that made all the money that made her life so easy but something that could in the end cost them everything. Looking down on his cell phone once more, he flicks through his emails before stopping at a particular email. Job offer. Opening the email he scrolls through the text with that wide grin crossing his face.
Я иду изменить ваше навсегда мира…
Closing the email he tucks the Pre in his pocket and climbs out of the car, 2 large men stood either side of the door nod as he begins walking up the steps towards them.
What day?
Today, yesterday, any day… Just take your time and tell me about your day.
Are you trying to analyse my actions or my words?
Does that matter?
Does everything have to be a question?
Leaning back into the beige couch pushed up against the cream, unpatterned wall just inches away from the same type of generic rubber plant you would find in any doctors surgery in the World, Rigor Vaine grins from ear to ear at his own response. These sessions were a joke, little more than lip service to a neurotic paranoid woman who just happened to have the best ass he’d ever seen.
Why do you come to these sessions Rigor?
Because my wife seems to think I need the help… Seems to think I need to open up, and let people in.
By people, she means her?
I assume so…
And is there a reason you don’t want to let her in?
This was why he hated shrinks; they always had a way to get to the core. Why the fuck would he want to talk about this shit with some guy he didn’t even know. If he didn’t open up to his wife, why did anyone think for one second he would break down the damn he’d built around 10 years of pain and torture.
Because she’s a means to an end…
This was a lie, despite his bravado he cared for her. She was no means, and the end? Well that’s simple… Death was the end. His plan had always been to die happily married with a wife who was 10 years younger than him.
What end?
What does that matter? You’re focusing on the fact that there’s an end more than the fact that she’s a means to it? Are you sure you’re qualified?
I don’t believe she’s a means to an end, if she was, you would have forced an end already in order to avoid these sessions. So, either you want to be here…
God no…
Or you want to bend to her wishes… That doesn’t sound like a man who wishes to use her as a means to an end.
Rigor presses his tongue between his teeth and his upper lip moving it around his perfectly straight and almost shockingly white teeth. Frustration. A deep seated frustration with this guys ability to read all the right answers from all the wrong reactions. There were two ways to deal with this situation, walk away from it or give in to it. He closes his bright blue eyes for a moment before nodding slightly.
So… Tell me about your day….
The rest of the hour zoomed past pretty quickly as before he realised it, Rigor was on his feet shaking hands with the man with whom he’d had the first real conversation in a long, long time. He knew, of course, that the torrent of notes taken and sheets of paper filled were based on the answers to questions asked and the beginning of an analytical process that could take forever to complete but he felt… Good. Strong.
Standing 6 feet 5 inches tall, Vigor was, as he had been for just 6 months, a professional wrestler. He didn’t have the looks of a wrestler and, despite his impeccably healthy teeth, he had the look of a man who had lived a full life. The irony of the situation was that he’d never drank nor taken drugs yet still, he had a haunted look of a man in his 40’s rather than a 30 year old. Many attributed that to the Eastern European Blood running through his veins… He knew better.
Same time next week Mr. Vaine?
I’ll… I’ll call you.
Closing the door behind him, Vaine run’s his hand over his face as if clearing cobwebs. In truth, he was slipping that mask up again, ensuring that no-one ever knew the truth about him… Nobody except that fucking shrink. Looking around the waiting room, he noticed a distinct difference. Baby blue walls, comfortable patterned seats, tables filled with endless magazines from home to sports. The receptionist had a drawn on smile, unchanging and unyielding. This room was built for lulling the visitors into a false sense of security before entering that generic hell.
Would you like to book your next appointment Mr. Vaine?
No thank you, I’ll call during the week. I may be out of town.
Vacation? Anywhere nice?
The grin was back on his face, the same grin and stare that could either warm or freeze a person’s heart dependent on the intention. At this moment, he recognised the effect it was having as he slid his hand into his pocket to conceal his wedding ring.
No, no… Nothing as pleasant as that… All business. What about you? Any holidays planned?
No, nothing…
Vaine surveys the women in front of her, early 20’s, blond and well manufactured. Nothing was that perfect naturally, he’d got as close as he could to natural perfection with his wife. That didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the pleasures of a more sculptured form every once in a while.
That’s a shame, I’m sure you look a picture in a bikini…
Please, Mr. Vaine… I’m engaged.
You think no-body is staring at you on that beach when you walk out in your sassy 2-piece? Do you think they care that you’re married? Or even that they’re married? I don’t think so…
She blushes slightly, her tongue briefly held between her teeth as if stopping herself from speaking. As she opens her mouth, he smiles again and leans forward. That’s enough, he thinks… For now at least.
Your future husband is a very, very lucky man.
He stands back to full height and takes a mint from a dish on the desk. Popping into his mouth, without another thought he brushes out of the room as if gliding. His strides, long and confident, cover a long distance in a much shorter time. Reaching the hall he pushes open the door and pulls his keys out of his pocket and presses the key fob. Amongst the sea of Bentley’s, Mercedes’ and Porsche’s the lights blink on a 1968 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500KR Convertible.
I love being me…
Pulling open the door, Vaine climbs inside and slides his hand along the impeccable leather seats. Leaning back into the seat he closes his eyes, drinking in that feeling of being behind the wheel of one of the best cars he’s ever owned. Firing up the engine he lets it purr for a moment before engaging the roar system, also known as the throttle. Savouring the sound for a moment, he pulls back on the accelerator and puts the car into gear, slowly he manoeuvres out of the somewhat tight spot before slamming his foot back down and speeding into the distance.
After five or ten minutes of coasting through the outskirts of Miami, the speakers roar into life with the often irritating sound of his cell phone ringing. Looking down to the small black Palm Pre by his side, the display reads “Erica”.
Oh for god s…
He breathes a heavy sigh before…
Answer… Hello?
Rigor?
Who did you think you were calling?
I’m just checking, sometimes it’s not you it’s one of your… Friends.
From your hesitation I know you don’t mean friend…
Don’t deconstruct me Vigor… You know I don’t like it.
Don’t speak in riddles. Say what you mean, my employees sometimes answer the phone when I’m busy.
Ok, one of your employees answers the phone.
There’s a brief awkward pause as Vaine waits for his wife to speak, and she looks for a reaction. Looking frustrated, Rigor runs his tongue over his teeth again.
So, what did you want?
I wanted to see how your session went?
Great, my back has been in agony. Dr. Fetler really worked out those knots…
You… You went for a massage, but you were supposed to…
I’m kidding, it was fine.
What did you talk about?
You think I’m going to tell you that? If I wanted to tell you the type of things I discussed in that room I wouldn’t have to pay the fucking Shrink.
I’m sorry I just…
Her voice trails off as the upset begins to well through the phone. Rolling his eyes, he seems to realise his mistake.
I know, I’m sorry. This is why I’m going to therapy right? Work out these issues I have…
Of course, I shouldn’t push… Listen, I was thinking, can we go out to eat tonight? I’ve been in the gym all day and I don’t feel like cooking.
As well as being his wife, Erica was and is the head trainer at his gym in Miami. She wasn’t good, not half as good as some of the guys she worked over; but she was organised, she could delegate and most of all she could suck a watermelon through a straw.
Sure, where do you want to eat?
He could tell she was thinking, her mind whirring, trying to think up somewhere new, somewhere different. Smiling slightly, he realised he didn’t care… As long as there was good wine and plenty of it he would be happy… She did her best work when she was drunk and a few things she wouldn’t normally when she was sober.
Italian?
Nah, I’m not in the mood for Italian… How about Brazilian?
Sure, you make the reservations?
Don’t I always…
We need to make your influence work in our favour every once in a while.
Alright, I’ll make the call.
Ok honey, be careful and I’ll see you at home. I love you.
Bye.
He hung up, knowing full well that right now she would be welling up yet again. He’d never told her he loved her, not in the 2 years since he’d met her. Let’s make something clear, he’d not married her at 18; far from it. He’d spurned her advances for nearly 12 months when his will broke in his office, 6 months later he proposed and a month after that they married. Now, after 6 months into his marriage they were having problems, not intimacy, not with being close but with his inability to say that one little word… Love.
It had been nearly 9 years since he’d said it. 9 years since that day he’d begged and pleaded and said that one little word over and over again to no avail hit had been for nothing he’d still been…
But that was then, this was now… And now that past was starting to break up not only his relationship apart but the women he was in the relationship with. As his speed began to decrease, his mind begins to wander to that delicate young women at home, just waiting for him; knowing that right now he was away, somewhere, doing something that made all the money that made her life so easy but something that could in the end cost them everything. Looking down on his cell phone once more, he flicks through his emails before stopping at a particular email. Job offer. Opening the email he scrolls through the text with that wide grin crossing his face.
Я иду изменить ваше навсегда мира…
Closing the email he tucks the Pre in his pocket and climbs out of the car, 2 large men stood either side of the door nod as he begins walking up the steps towards them.
x2