Court-Appointed Therapist

I sat across the room from her, but it didn't feel like enough space between us.

You don't know me. You don't know my life. I'm not gonna sit here and explain myself to some stranger.

She was pretty, I guess, in an unremarkable way. She sat in a brown leather chair, legs crossed, with a notepad in her lap. She jotted down quick notes with a ballpoint pen she held with slender fingers, one of which flaunted a rock the size of New York City.

How could some skinny bitch with a fiancé possibly understand my misery?

I watched her uncross her legs and then cross them again. Her Steve Madden heels perfectly completed her "boss lady" outfit of pressed slacks and a royal blue blouse. On the side of her desk, I spotted her purse. It was almost identical to the bag I was caught lifting from Louis Vuitton. That dumb bag... the reason I'm here.

Must be nice to have the kind of money to just buy anything you want. I bet she's never been short for cash a day in her life.

I kicked off my shoes and sprawled out on the couch. Might as well get comfy. Gonna be here a while. Across from me was a degree hanging on the wall.

Harvard? I rolled my eyes. Of course. Smart, too. Or maybe daddy bought her way in.

She cleared her throat. I glared at the ceiling. She was waiting for me to answer her question: Why did I do it?

How could a hotshot like her possibly understand why I did what I did. Ha! I'm sure her biggest struggle in life is whether to buy these shoes or those shoes, this watch or that one.

I snorted, thinking about how easy she had it. She asked the question again, unamused. I struggled, trying to think of something to say with enough bite to shut her up.

I looked her straight in the eye, dead serious.

"The truth is..."

I could tell she was pleased that she'd made this breakthrough, getting me to talk. I couldn't wait to take the wind out of her sails.

In the nastiest, most condescending voice I could muster up, I sneered, "My mommy told me never to talk strangers."