Drum roll, please........
Chapter 7 (everyone thank Lexi for reminding me to post)
“Relax. You seem very nervous.” Kevin sat on the couch, not letting his back rest against it, keeping his hands on his knees.
“I just…I feel weird.” He looked everywhere in the room, except at the woman sitting in the lime green chair across from him, her feet tucked up underneath her, and a pen and notebook in her hands.
“Why?”
“Well,” he began, his knees bouncing. “Frankie wouldn’t shut up about how awesome you are. But Joe said you were a bi.tch.” She co.cked her head to the side in question.
“Don’t you think you should make your own decision about that?”
“I don’t know.” Unable to sit still, he jumped to his feet and began pacing in front of the couch. She pursed her lips and attempted a different approach.
Her eyes followed him as he made the short trip back and forth across her office. “Do you understand why your parents signed you and your brothers up for counseling?”
“Because they care about us.” He suddenly stopped pacing, and reclaimed his spot on the sofa. Again, he couldn’t settle down, choosing to resume his earlier stance, leaning forward.
“Do you?”
“Do I, what?”
“Care about your brothers?” He looked at her, wide-eyed.
“Of course I do. They’re my brothers.”
“Ok, you care about them. But do you like them?”
“Of course. Yeah, we don’t always get along, but I always love them.” Abbey sat her notebook and pen down on the arm of her chair. The nerves he’d been experiencing before had been quickly masked…he had slipped back into his celebrity persona…where everything had to be perfect.
“Kevin, stop for a second. Think about what you’re saying. I’m not a magazine reporter. I won’t sell your file to the tabloids. Just…take a moment to think about your answers. We won’t get anywhere if you refuse to be truthful with me.”
“I love my brothers. But sometimes they irritate me.”
“What about them irritates you?”
“I dunno.” He looked down at his shoes.
“Come on, Kevin. I know you have it in you. Just let it out.” She didn’t know what had compelled her to increase the volume of her voice. Both of her feet slipped out from under her and to the floor. He instantly raised his gaze, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He stood up again and began to pace the small office. After a minute or two of pacing, he stopped in front of her bookshelf and began looking at its contents. “You like to read?” Maybe changing the subject would help relax him a bit.
“All the time. I’ve…never mind.” He sighed and reclaimed his seat on the couch.
“You’ve what?” He wouldn’t make eye-contact with Abbey. She spoke again, smoothing and soothing her voice. “Kevin, what is it?”
“I dunno…I just…I’ve thought about maybe writing my own book.” Finally, his timid eyes met hers. “It’s stupid though. No one wants to read a book by me.” Leaning back, he began to drum his fingertips on his thighs. “I’m a rock star, not a writer.”
“Have you ever written a song?”
“Sure, but that’s different. It’s a three minute collaboration with my brothers, not a three hour read that you’d have on your bookshelf.” Setting her notebook and pen aside, Abbey stood.
“I’ll be right back.” He shrugged and she darted out of the room. His fingers increased their rhythm as his nerves multiplied. Two minutes, or one eternity later, she returned, a spiral notebook, similar to the one she’d been writing in, in her hands.
“Used up a full notebook on me already?” She smiled at his attempt at humor, and resumed her seat across from him.
“No. I give these to patients who need to release emotionally, between sessions. I know you probably have lots of these for song writing.” She held the notebook out towards him. “Think of this one as an idea journal for your book.”
“I don’t know.” He took the notebook, but held it away from him, unsure about it. “What…I just…”
“You know how idea journals work, right?” He nodded, and gave her an almost ‘duh’ facial expression. “Then, use this for your book. If you see something that happens during your day and you think ‘Hey, I could write about that,’ then write it down. If inspiration hits you, write it here. Do the whole outlining, character-creating, plot building, whatever in here.” He rolled his eyes and set the notebook down next to him on the couch.
“I told you I know about idea journals. You really didn’t have to spell it out for me.” A sheepish grin appeared on her face. Suddenly, the clock on her desk chimed. Their time was now up.
“Ok, Kevin. I will see you next week.” He nodded at her, grabbed the notebook, and although he seemed calm enough as he headed for her door, the emotion in his eyes led her to believe that he had to make a conscious effort not to sprint from the room.
