aking-withoutacrown
Mandatory therapy. That meant he had to go. No choice. It wasn't fair. He didn't do anything wrong. But he guessed there was no way he wouldn't be fucked up after what he went through. That's why you went to therapy, Semple said. They talk to you about your feelings or some shit. And that was supposed to help. And he was the stupid one. Sitting in a little room for an hour and telling some stranger about how daddy loved him too much wasn't going to do jack shit. Hoby had already decided. He was going to do what he was best at. Manipulating people. But what would he manipulate the therapist to do? To think? Sometimes Hoby liked to make people feel sorry for him. Sometimes he liked to make people think he was retarded. What other games could he play? The lying game. That would be fun. Think of the most ridiculous things possible to tell them. The only problem with that was the truth was all the more ridiculous. At the age of eight, Hoby had replaced his mother in almost all the important ways. He cooked, he cleaned. Those were the easy parts. The beatings were hard, but manageable. His father had broken his arm once. Another time a couple of ribs. That was all when he was a kid. There were two parts that were worse than that. One the pet names. Honey. Babe. Like his father thought they were actually married. And the therapists thought Hoby was the one that was fucked up. The worst part though was Hoby couldn't sleep. He'd lay awake at night, fully dressed waiting for it to happen. Usually it happened around two in the morning. But once it was over he couldn't sleep either. He kept thinking his father would come back. He felt like had to stay awake to protect himself. Fucking stupid. Being awake didn't help. Should have got drunk and passed out. Then he wouldn't have had to feel anything. So Granger had drove him to therapy, which was much like the doctor's office. Except doctors gave you pills. Pills that were supposed to make you feel better. Therapists just talked, Semple had informed him. Hoby didn't know that he was supposed to talk to the recptionist. He didn't even know what a receptionist was. He just sat in the waiting room chairs waiting for someone to tell him what to do.Typical. No one told him jack shit.
