John the Pushover

"It's not that I'm unhappy with the therapy," John said, his inner conflict causing his voice to squeak, "but something felt, I don't know, wrong all week."

"All week..." Doctor Valentine wrote a note on her note pad, then looked up at John with a stern look. She seemed unhappy, which, in turn, was making John feel unhappy. Normally he wasn't the type of guy to get his self-worth from other people. Well, that's not entirely true. Ally had been the exception. When they had been together, John had tried so very hard to make her feel good, to make her like him. When she dumped him it destroyed him, destroyed who he thought he was.

Why had he lost himself so entirely in that one girl? What was wrong with him that he thought so little of himself, that he would sell who he was, who he thought he was, just to have her affection? Why was he afraid that if she offered, he'd do it all again?

"Yes, er," John stammered, uncomfortable with the silence. Doctor Valentine was obviously the best therapist he could ever have, but he was still just getting to know her. All week he had daydreamed about returning to therapy session, to being around Doctor Valentine, to pleasing her with his progress. This, though, wasn't panning out how he had imagined. "I, um, just felt off all week, like I wasn't really me. Or something. I can't explain it."

Doctor Valentine let out a long, weary sigh. John's heart dropped.

"John," she said in a syrupy tone, "If you're not going to try, then maybe you're not ready for therapy this week."

Doctor Valentine put her pad of paper down on her desk and made to stand up.

"No!" John said, frantically, "I'm ready. I swear I'll do better!"

"Okay," she settled herself again and picked up her paper, "Let's start again. Welcome back, John. How was your week?"

"It was, um, great!" John said, hoping that this was the answer she wanted. A smile curled on Doctor Valentine's lips, making John's heart flutter. This was the fix he needed, "I was a changed man. I don't know what you did last week, but all week I, er, felt wonderful!"

"Any specifics? What was different?"

"It's a little embarrassing, really," John blushed, but now that his therapist was smiling, wanting more, he wanted nothing more than to tell her, "It has to do with women."

"Women?" she scribbled something on her paper, "do tell."

"It's small things, really," John said, still blushing, butterflies in his stomach, "It's just that I had a hard time saying 'no' to them. It was like every time they told me to do something, suggested something, it all sounded like great ideas. Most of the time I ended up following along before I even knew what I was doing. Like this one time at school, Jessica Bruger and her friends were walking down the hallway and passed me. Jessica is hot, so I checked her out. Only she noticed, so she said, "Like what you see, asshole? Why don't you go whack off in the girls' washroom like the pervert you are?"

"And?"

"And I did!" John confessed, "Thankfully nobody was in there, otherwise I would have been in big trouble!"

"Interesting," she scribbled again, "How did that feel?"

"Weird and wrong," John blurted, then corrected himself when he saw a scowl on his therapist's face, "I mean wonderful!"

"Very good," Doctor Valentine smiled once again. She leaned forward, reached into her drawer, and pulled out the music box from the previous week, "You're coming along nicely."

Doctor Valentine opened the box toward John once again. The ballerina, the one John had seen in the box the previous week, the one who had dwelled in his dreams all week, began to dance. Dance and spin and spin and dance and dance and dance and...

SNAP