"What do you see?"

Strange, incomprehensible images swam before my eyes as Dr Illius held up another card, looking at me expectantly for an answer. All I could think was, "What am I doing here?" 

"These Inkblots help me to understand your condition better," Dr Illius said in her syrupy voice.

Did she just read my mind? After a moment, I deduced from her sanctimonious expression and insistence on those stupid inky cards that telepathy wasn't in her resumé. I was just being paranoid. 

 I looked at the inkblot without really seeing it. My mind had drifted for the umpteenth time. "Why did I give in to Kerry's suggestion of seeking therapy?" Granted, my best friend didn't know what was going on with me; she thought I was just depressed and firmly believed that pouring out any fears, misery, agony, heartbreak or self-pity to a stranger would help. I knew she had my best interests at heart, and honestly, I felt guilty not telling her everything, but I knew it would freak her out, what with Kerry being 'mainstream'. It was no surprise, though, when I received a letter advising me of some therapy sessions, which commenced three weeks ago.

Focusing on my therapist, I then pondered how she was supposedly qualified to understand and help me with my 'condition'. She was, undoubtedly, well-read about mental health issues, with an enviable portfolio of qualifications and a string of letters after her name. But, I could guarantee she hadn't a Scoobie what she was dealing with regarding my specific problem. Plus, it was so much more complicated than just a glitch in my mental health. This whole situation was enforced on me by my parents. "Nothing she does will soothe my broken soul," I lamented.

I didn't doubt CBT worked for some people. But not me. My reality wasn't something the doc would, or could, ever believe. I seriously doubted any medical textbooks covered what was wrong with me, at least not in the true sense. There would be interpretations of my condition, all not even remotely close to the reality. "No, she'd think me fanciful, deluded, tragic, perhaps...and most probably insane," I deduced. 

"Bria! Work with me here." Dr Illius's voice pierced through my reverie, sounding like a headteacher reprimanding a distracted child. 

I hadn't said much in the three one-hour appointments amassed so far. I supposed I wasn't the easiest of clients, but I bet I was the most unique.

I stared at the card again. The swirls and patches of ink seemed to shift and blend as if floating above the paper. "A kite," I said, fabricated, flat, as I sank back into the leather armchair. She asked for an answer, so I gave her one.

"Good." Dr Illius' praise sounded less than impressed. The scratch of her pen nib on paper intensified as she scribbled furiously on her pad. It started to grind on my nerves, making the hairs at my nape stand on end. I was struggling to keep a lid on my oversensitivity.

"Now, let's try this one." She held up yet another blotchy image.

To my surprise, I did see a particular shape, but I had no idea if "a wolf" was what Dr Illius wanted to hear. I couldn't care less, really. All I wanted was to get out of there before I blew a gasket, for then the doc would be left without doubt about my 'problem'—not that I believed I was born with this completely crazy condition, but if it were true, it definitely wouldn't the best way to uncover what was going on with me. 

I watched as she shuffled through the remainder of the inky cards. Inwardly, I groaned. How much longer must this go on? I had better things to do with my time, such as start packing for my move into my own flat. I didn't get the keys for another two weeks, but I wanted everything to be ready. The more I thought about it the more I wanted to get home. 

With yet another card being held up in my face, I decided the therapy was a complete waste of my time. I pushed myself up from the chair, its leather sighing from my weight shifting. 

"For a Lycan, you're not very astute!" Dr Illius said staidly.

I stopped - dead. What did she say? Was I hearing things now? I must have looked dumb,  staring, open-mouthed at her, wholly aghast and uncertain how to reply.

"You thought I was just an ordinary quack, right?" Dr Illius offered jovially enough, though there was a hint of accusation.

"Ex - excuse me?"

She motioned for me to retake my seat. Stunned but equally intrigued, I complied.

Dr Illius put down her pad and the inkblots before relaxing in her chair. Her entire persona seemed changed. She was more casual yet disturbingly superior. 

"Let's not pretend anymore, Bria. This is becoming an expensive exercise for you, and although I know your family has money, I still feel the charade is pointless and completely impractical."

I laughed. Well, it was more of a grunt, really. This therapy was rapidly becoming more bizarre than my 'problem' - if that was at all possible.

"I - don't - understand," I said, drawing each word out at a snail's pace. Rarely was I left speechless or even surprised, but this had definitely caught me off guard.

"Oh, please! You think Kerry's behind this, but your mother authorised these sessions." Dr Illius rose and moved over to the sideboard, where she took out a couple of glasses and a bottle of whisky. She gestured to the drink. I was surprised but readily accepted; I needed some liquid courage. The doc poured a generous measure.

"How do you know about Kerry?" It was the only question I could think of at that time. 

Handing me a glass of the bronze-coloured soother, Dr Illius retook her seat and gracefully sipped her whisky. I waited patiently for her to reply. "Your Mother mentioned that your friend was concerned about you. Ok?"

"Oh!" No surprise there. "She said Kerry was concerned. But not her...not my Mum, right?"

My therapist feigned a look of astonishment. "Of course, she's concerned, Bria. Both your parents are. Would you honestly be sitting here if they weren't?"

Uncertain whether Dr Illius was being truthful, I begrudgingly accepted her answer. I had a long-standing gripe with Mummy dearest that made me whine about her at nearly every opportunity - a habit I really needed to quit. I knew my Dad cared about me though. Sometimes, I figured he was a tortured soul - especially being married to my Mum.

My therapist continued. "Firstly, call me Ruth; I don't particularly like being called Doctor; it's so 'them and us', you know?" She paused long enough for me to offer another befuddled nod. "Now, let's get to the nitty-gritty, shall we? You're a Lycan, that much I know."

"How?" I asked somewhat blandly.

"You were born that way."

Lady Ga-Ga's song came to mind but I batted it from my thoughts. Smart ass! Still, I kept a lid on things and laid it out in layman's terms. "No. I mean, how do you know about such a thing?"

A smirk plucked at Ruth's lips. "I am one, too, Bria."

Well, that I did not expect. My parents, along with some of their friends, had convinced themselves for years that they were all part of a delusional cult, an unnatural mindset, but I'd never for one second thought a bloody therapist would be one of them as well. I wondered if I should've held up the inkblots for her to decipher. 

My lack of response didn't faze Ruth. She carried on as if we were having a perfectly normal conversation. "I'm amazed you haven't picked up on the fact. Lycans are intelligent. However, you may be the exception to the rule." She huffed, amused at her humourless quip, then sipped her whisky before continuing. "We Lycan are normally quick to pick up on things, but you've sat here dumb as a washboard for the past three weeks. Why?"

Having recovered from her shock revelation, I thought, what the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. "Well, I didn't think you'd believe in werewolves," I replied, a bit too snarky, probably.

"Lycan!" Ruth corrected, her voice sharpened again as if chastising a flippant child. So much for not wanting the 'them and us' atmosphere.

Regardless, I wasn't pleased being reprimanded. My mind was now imbued with an odd clarity, perhaps due to the whisky, which burned deliciously as it slid down my throat. "Ain't it the same thing?" My voice was more confident and assured.

With a heavy sigh, Ruth shook her head. "You don't know much about it, do you? Are you even aware of your birthright?"

I took another drink, but nowhere as daintily as the doc; I drained my glass and held it forward for more.

"I take it that means you know nothing?" Ruth said, cocking a perfectly shaped eyebrow before she got up and poured another drink.

"Not exactly," I admitted, biting back the urge to swear. "I've been drip-fed the whole werewolf saga since I was 11 - well, 14, to be more accurate. I'm to be anointed the Heir to Ishtar's Legacy, which I guess you know about too?"

Ruth nodded.

Of course, she would; how did I think otherwise? There I sat, thinking I was some potential supernatural freak who no one would believe, particularly not a £95-an-hour psychotherapist; who fed her clients whisky, no less. However, I reckoned that was a perk for 'special' clients, ones with my particular brand of cytology.

Ruth put down her glass and stood up. "One second." Swiftly, she moved to the door, and I heard her whispering to her secretary in the next room. I guessed she was cancelling all other appointments as this session would be lengthy and in-depth. I took another generous swig. Whisky was not primarily my nectar of choice, but I was quickly adapting to its flavour.

Ruth came back into the room and sat opposite me again. "Well, what do you think so far?" she asked with a knowing smile. Her enquiry sounded ludicrously lame as if I was watching a pantomime and being encouraged in audience participation.

I thought momentarily, trying to come up with a credible but polite answer. "Finding out I'm pivotal to an ancient werewolf colony dictates a unique level of sanity, something I'm starting to think I'm sorely lacking, so I'm unsure what to think." I deliberately emphasised the word werewolf as I knew it irked her. 

Her lips became a thin line, but she didn't correct me this time."Hmm. You're honest, at least," she said, lifting her glass as if making a toast. "To the Heir."

I grunted. Lowering my gaze I stared at the remnants of my whisky coating the glass as I swirled it in my hand.

"You don't seem too enamoured," Ruth commented.

Shifting in my seat, I looked back at the doctor. Upon closer inspection, I saw the wolf-like features hiding beneath her painted eyes and lips. The realisation startled me, for I'd never found that when looking at my parents. They'd always just been Mum and Dad - a bit cookie for their weird religion, but otherwise, they looked normal. I made a mental note to check when I got home. Ruth's eyes held me to ransom. I had yet to answer. "No. I'm not," I said finally.

"Why?"

Considering the substantial cost of the sessions and the fact Ruth understood my problem, I decided I might as well take advantage and unburden myself. "Well, firstly, I'm not a believer." A hint of censure flashed in Ruth's eyes, but I quickly carried on. "I was brought up in the Christian faith..."

"No, you were not," she crooned.

I bit back my annoyance. She asked a question, and I was attempting to answer. I didn't like being countered. Nevertheless, I trudged on. "I meant that my parents allowed me to follow the mainstream faiths from an early age. Yes, they told me about the True Religion as they call it, when I was 11, but I still kept going to Church. Ultimately, I chose to believe in Christ, not Ishtar."

"And now?"

"Now..." I sighed heavily, feeling strangely drained as if the years of keeping my family's secret were finally taking their toll. "I don't know what to believe. I've never seen anyone transform, not even my parents, yet they insist it is something they can do. My mother expected me to have morphed into some beast when I turned 17. Well, guess what? That didn't happen. I don't howl at the moon or crave raw meat or whatever the hell werewolves are meant to do. And now my inauguration into this stupid cult, based on a myth, is two weeks away, and I don't want to be part of it!"

Ruth met my explanation with a tight smile. I could tell she didn't like what she heard.

"Come on, Ruth," I challenged. "You said you liked the fact I was honest. Does that only apply if I say something that you approve?"

Ruth took a moment as if trying to adjust her demeanour. "I did not say I liked your honesty, only that I acknowledged it. Also, do not refer to the True Religion as a cult." Her tone strongly implied she disapproved of my viewpoint. 

But that was where I came into my own. Drawing on my inner resilience, I thought using my pending status might be advantageous no matter how ridiculous it was. It should serve some purpose, after all, surely! "May I remind you that regardless of my beliefs, you are well-paid to be my Shrink. You may share the same beliefs as my parents, but that does not guarantee your services will be retained. Furthermore, a therapist is meant to be impartial and confidential. Perhaps I should look for someone else to help me? Someone less...biased?" I wanted to say crazy, but thought it best not to, considering.

Instantly, Ruth responded to the veiled threat. "Apologies. I - I didn't mean to sound disrespectful."

I was astonished my tactics had proved so effective, but I managed to hide my surprise. It seemed my parents indeed held some weight within the lycanthrope community. At least, I now had an inkling of the importance of my pending title. I made a mental note of the victory for future reference. "Very well. So, do you wish for this session to continue?" I asked, relieved that everything was now out in the open and boundaries were established.

Ruth nodded, hesitant.

"Alright. And, let's cut with the Inkblot crap; we now both know it's irrelevant to my particular 'case'."

"Yes, of course, Bria. Continue, please." Ruth put down her glass and resumed her therapist's poise with a pad and pen in hand.

***

What do you think so far?

Would you be inclined to believe such a tall tale without seeing any evidence?

What's your opinion of Bria? Is she likeable? Unbearable? What? I'd love to hear your opinion.

Word count; 2455

Running Total: 4110