Date: Sun, 20 Nov 2011 21:55:32 GMT
From: "scothadan@netzero.com" <scothadan@netzero.com>
Subject: Pieces of You/Chapter 1

   Copyright 2011 by Dextrousleftie.  Disclaimer: This is a work of
fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work,
unauthorized duplication or use of the characters is prohibited.  Please
contact me at my e-mail address if you have any questions. Also, enjoy the
story. :)


"Honestly, Mrs. Archer, I don't think this is a good idea," Jonas Goldman
said doubtfully.

The woman currently pacing his office snorted elegantly. "Maybe it isn't,"
she conceded dryly, "But it's the only thing I can think of. My son
has...well, I honestly don't know what to tell you about these sudden
changes in his behavior. Last year he was a straight A student, on the
Honor Roll, halfway to his Masters Degree. Clean as a whistle, not a party
boy at all. Even I thought he was a little boring," she went on with a
frustrated wave of her manicured hand. "But now I'd pay anything for the
return of that other boy. His grades have slipped into Cs and Ds, half the
time he doesn't go to class anymore, and when he DOES he's usually hung
over or coming down from whatever drug du jour that he got high on the
night before. The private detective I hired to follow him says that he goes
to the clubs every night, and that he usually leaves with some
indiscriminate male whose name he doesn't even know. I'm worried that he's
having unprotected sex with them, that he'll end up with a venereal disease
or something even worse. Now mind you," she went on, running a hand through
her carefully coiffed hair, "If I thought he was just enjoying himself and
this was his normal behavior, I'd say he was just being like any other
spoiled rich boy who went away to college and cut loose. But this..." real
fear crossed her face, although that wasn't easy since it was stiff from
Botox treatments. "I'm afraid that he's trying to kill himself, just in a
slow and roundabout way. And I want to know why he's doing it. Damn it, I
want my son back!" her voice rang out through his office, and even she
looked faintly surprised by her own vehemence.

"But if he won't acknowledge that he has a problem, and he won't come here
on his own, there's very little that I can do for him," Jonas replied as
gently as he could.

She whirled on him like a tiger. "I'll pay your exorbitant fees, and ten
per cent more," she snarled. "And you do whatever it takes to fix my son. "

"Mrs. Archer," he sighed. But she held up her hand.

"I can make life...very hard for you, Mr. Goldman," she told him. "Believe
me when I say this. All I'm asking is that you try. Please," she added in
restrained desperation, her jaw visibly locked over some heavy emotion.

He rubbed at his forehead with one hand. "Very well. I'm not promising
anything, you understand..."

"I know that. With Julian, I don't expect stellar results. Especially not
now. He's always been stubborn, you know. He gets that from me," she went
on proudly.

"But Mrs. Archer, if Julian doesn't want to see a therapist, how are you
even going to get him to come in for his sessions?" Jonas asked carefully.

Her smile was brittle and hard. He felt the hairs try to rise on the back
of his neck. "Oh, he'll come in," she replied with a steely glint in her
eyes. "I'll see to that."



Jonas paced his office as he waited for his newest client, Julian Archer,
to arrive. He wasn't happy at all about this whole arraignment. He helped
people who wanted to be helped, not those who were forced to come in to see
him by their parents. He doubted that there was anything that he could do
for this young man, not if Julian wouldn't admit that he even had a
problem. While the sudden, drastic changes in his behavior did signal
something very wrong in his universe, a person had to be willing to work
with the therapist to heal themselves. If Julian couldn't or wouldn't do
that, there was nothing that he could do. These sessions would be futile.

He stopped in his pacing when he came to his desk. Reaching out, he picked
up the photograph of himself and Chris at the beach in Maui. That had been
their second anniversary; a tropical vacation where they could rest and
relax together. His arms were around his lover's shoulders, hugging Chris
to him. They were both smiling widely at the camera. The happiness in their
faces was like a punch to the gut for him; after a moment, he laid the
picture face down on his desktop and turned away.

Chris was gone. He kept telling himself that, and he knew that eventually
it would sink in totally. Maybe in five or ten years...it had only been a
year since a drunk driver had claimed the life of the person he'd loved
more than his own, and the pain was still too fresh. Eventually Chris would
fade into memory, a much loved ghost that would haunt the halls of his mind
until the day he died. But now...the only way that he coped was by going to
work. Helping others helped him. Besides, Chris had always said that this
was his calling. His lover had always been extremely proud of him and the
work he did. Being here always made him feel closer to Chris in some odd
way, as though the other man's spirit was hovering in his office watching
over him benevolently.

His lips quirked a little, wryly, at this sentimental thought. But just
then, there was a knock at his door. "Come in," he called, and after a
moment it swung open and a young man came striding into his office with his
head high and a militant light in his eyes.

Julian Archer. Had to be. And a very unhappy young man at the moment, as
Jonas could clearly see. His lips were curled in a visible sneer, and his
brows were lowered over his eyes. He glared at Jonas. "You must be the
shrink my mother is forcing me to see," he snarled.

"I'm Jonas Goldman," the therapist replied calmly. "Although `shrink;' is
not an accurate term in my case. I'm not a psychologist."

The younger man snorted. "So what good are you, then?" he asked snippily.

Jonas smiled serenely. "We'll see," he replied. "Would you please take a
seat?" he pointed at one of the chairs across from his.

Julian stared at the chair, then at him. Jonas could clearly see him
calculating whether he was going to do it or not. But finally he shrugged
and walked over, plopping down in the chair in a graceless heap before
turning that scalpel-like stare back on the therapist. Jonas picked up a
notepad and a pencil and took his own seat, quietly sitting down and
crossing one leg over the other. He moved slowly, taking his own sweet
time, to see how Julian would react. The younger man glowered at him and
drummed long fingers on the arm of his chair, but said nothing.

Jonas settled back in his chair. "Your mother told me a good bit about you
when she came in to make your first appointment," he began.

Julian bared his teeth like an angry dog. "How could she do that? Mother
doesn't know ANYTHING about me!" he spat furiously.

Jonas cocked his head to the side a little. "Doesn't she? Why not?" he
asked.

"Because she never bothers to spend enough time with me to do so," Julian
replied disdainfully. "She's always got better things to do – shopping,
banging her latest boy toy, you name it. Her child never counted high on
her list of important things to attend to. But don't worry, I'm used to it
by now," he added with a careless wave of his hand.

"That's good," the therapist replied. "That you've come to terms with your
mother's neglect. But apparently she's concerned enough this time that..."

"She blackmailed me into coming to see you," Julian interrupted him to say
coldly. "And she's only concerned now because my behavior lately doesn't
reflect well on HER. She's always been able to throw out little things like
`Julian's a straight A student, don't you know', or `Julian's won a
prestigious award', or what have you. She used to be able to wow her
friends with those little snippets, but now she can't. So she has no use
for me anymore. Not that she ever once said to ME: "Congratulations,
Julian, I'm so proud of you," because that would never occur to her," he
went on bitterly.

Jonas considered his words in silence for a moment. "You resent your
mother? Is that why these changes have occurred in your behavior?"

Julian laughed harshly. "It's not that simple, I'm afraid. If I'd resented
her behavior enough to change my ways so drastically, don't you think that
I would have done it years ago? In high school, when I was in my rebellious
teenage years?"

"You have a point," Jonas conceded. He looked the other man over, taking in
Julian Archer's general appearance. The younger man had soft, wavy hair
that had once been the color of ripe wheat, but now was streaked with bold
slashes of some rather hideous dyes. One looked to be puce, another bilious
green. The resentful eyes that glared at him from under strong, well-shaped
brows were a striking grey-green. There was a ring piercing his left brow,
a recent addition if he was any judge. The site was reddened and looked
rather swollen. It seemed to be getting infected. The studs through his
ears looked newer as well. His face was handsome underneath the scowl that
twisted it, and the sullenly set mouth was full and rather pink. Julian was
wearing a torn t-shirt with the logo of a death metal rock band on the
front, and ripped black jeans that looked dirty. His bare arms were on
display so that everyone could see the tattoos that graced both of his
upper arms. One was a coiled serpent, the other a dragon with its wings
spread. A far cry from a quiet, studious, intellectual young man.

Jonas tapped his pencil thoughtfully on his pad. Julian lounged back in his
chair and scratched contemptuously at one cheek with one of his black
painted fingernails. "Just out of curiosity, how did your mother manage to
get you to come in and see me?" Jonas asked after a moment.

Julian's sneer deepened. "The bitch threatened to cut me off without a dime
if I didn't come. With my grades, I'd never be able to get loans to finish
paying for my degree. Besides, I have other...expenses, none of which
Mother will pay for if I don't come in here to see you at least three times
a week. I'd end up on the street in this economy if I tried to get a job to
pay my own way."

"I see," the therapist replied softly. "And how do you feel about that?"

A shrug of the t-shirt clad shoulders. "How do you expect me to feel?
Angry. Very, very angry. Totally pissed off. That's my major emotion at the
moment."

Jonas felt rather weary. What could he do for this angry young man? Julian
didn't want help. He'd been forced to come in. That was not a good basis
for any kind of relationship between them, even a working one. Clearly the
college student resented him and wouldn't listen to anything that he had to
say. He considered his options, then began slowly: "Julian, we have a
problem here. Your mother was not interested in listening when I tried to
tell her that I didn't think that there was much that I could do for you if
you weren't willing to cooperate. Moreover, we'll both be stuck in these
futile sessions for who knows how long to come if you don't try to work
with me at all. I'm simply asking for a little cooperation – enough so
that you can improve a little, anyway. It would get her off both of our
backs if that happened, since I told her outright that I wasn't at all sure
that I could help you in any way. Even a little improvement on your part
might be enough for her to cancel these sessions. So what do you say? Or do
you really want to spend months looking at my face three times a week?"

Julian was silent, thinking over what he'd said. Then the younger man
nodded. "Fine. You've got a point. I don't want to be stuck here
forever. What do you want me to do?"

"Just talk to me a bit. Answer some of my questions at least," Jonas
replied promptly.

Julian's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Okay. But I think I need a little
quid pro quo," he said.

Jonas blinked. "What do you mean?"

Julian's lips lifted in a faint, cold smile. "If I tell you something
personal about myself, you have to reciprocate. Tell me something personal
about YOU."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Jonas remarked doubtfully.

The younger man folded his arms across his chest. "Fine. Then I guess we
both sit here until Doomsday," he said.

The therapist wanted to groan and pull at his hair. `Stubborn' was an
understatement, he thought wryly to himself. "Very well," he said
aloud. "But like you, I'll pick and choose which things that I want to
answer."

"Fair enough," Julian replied with a shrug. "What do you want to know?"

"I'd like you to tell me something about your childhood," Jonas began. "For
example...what about your father? You haven't mentioned him yet, I
noticed."

Julian snorted in disgust. "That's because he's not worth mentioning," he
sneered. Daddy Dearest is off on his fourth honeymoon right now. He goes
through trophy wives like Chiclets. He barely talks to my mother except
through a lawyer when she's trying to get her settlement increased
periodically. And when he dumped her, he dumped me too. I haven't talked to
him since I was nine or so. He seems to think that paying her alimony and
child support for me was enough of a contribution without actually having
to look at his son. My beloved mother was very bitter about that fact, of
course; I heard about my father's perfidy often enough when I was growing
up. Like she was ever there enough to be able to say anything," he went on
scornfully. "I can tell you the birthdays and personal details about a
dozen nannies, but not about my precious mother. And I don't think she'd
remember my birthday, either, if it hadn't left her with stretch marks."

Jonas winced at the bitterness in his voice. "It's hard when our parents
neglect us," he said aloud. "As hard as if they'd abused us."

Julian scowled at him. "What do you know about it?" he snapped.

Jonas sighed. "Well, you wanted quid pro quo. My father was a cold, distant
workaholic who treated me like just another of his possessions. My mother
was more interested in her clubs and watching television than she was in
raising her son. I was an only child, too, and I grew up a latch key
kid. And while the pain of that may not be as bad as a person experiences
that has been hit or molested by their parents, it's bad enough. It leaves
a hollow feeling inside of you, a space that never seems to be filled. You
turn to anyone at all for affection in a desperate need to have someone
actually care about you. Or am I wrong?"

Julian's mouth was set hard. "Maybe quid pro quo wasn't such a good idea,"
he said.

Jonas smiled crookedly. "Yes, but you insisted. So I'm afraid that I'll
have to honor our bargain. Shall we continue?"

The younger man sighed and looked at the ceiling. "I can see that I'm going
to regret every moment of the time I spend here," he said to it.

"Yes, well, at least you won't be able to say that you were bored," Jonas
replied dryly.

"Very true. Then let's get on with it, Doc..."

"I'm not a psychologist, I told you," Jonas said patiently. "I'm a licensed
therapist. You can just call me Jonas."

"Fine. Jonas. Let's get on with it; I do actually have classes to go
to. Even if I don't bother to attend them most of the time anymore."

The therapist figuratively girded his loins. Julian Archer was going to be
very difficult, he could see that. But at the same time, his instincts were
telling him that he might be able to help this man after all. And he always
trusted those instincts, because they'd served him well so far. He'd simply
have to go slowly and carefully, as though he were negotiating a minefield.
Which was a good enough analogy for this situation, anyway.