Empty: A Short Story

"I feel empty." I said this with finality. I wanted him to know that I didn't plan on improving. "I am empty." I offered this immediately. I wanted him to understand that there was no changing my state of well being or lack thereof. This was a confirmation.
He reclined in his cheap office chair. He always crossed his right leg neatly over his left and I always wondered how a man could do such a thing without posing a threat to his genitals. I then allowed my eyes to drift and gaze upon his crotch, pondering the placement of his genitals in the make-shift vice created by his crossed legs. He shifted slightly in his chair, obviously in response to my shameless ogling.
"Why do you say that?" He exhaled. He always seemed bored with our sessions. Perhaps I wasn't insane enough to be exciting.
"Its what I know to be true." This came on purpose. I wanted him to understand that he can't change what I know. He can only influence what I think. Facts never change.
"How did you come to find that out?" Manipulation. He's a clever little bugger. I paused. I didn't know how to respond. I instead decided to ignore this question. He was placating me.
"Do you like being empty?" He asked while chewing on his pen. What a disgusting habit! I hoped his pens were used exclusively by him. Right then I knew I wouldn't be signing anything.
"I've learned to exist peacefully within the emptiness that consumes me." There. Now he will finally get it. There isn't much room for discussion.
"How?"
Great. He wasn't going to let this go.
I know he is the therapist, but he sure is stupid. He asks, I answer, he prods, I become annoyed. I didn't know how much longer I could endure this game he wanted to play. It wasn't fun for me.
"What I like and what is are two entirely different things." Ha! Try to come back from that one. I even felt myself smirk a little as I often did when I knew that things were going to go my way.
"It may not be." He shrugged while scribbling on his pad and glancing upward over his stupid glasses.
Why do people wear glasses on the tip of their nose and spend their time looking over them instead of through them? He is really simple.
"What does that mean?!" I snapped. I hated his stupid crossed legs, his stupid game and the pointless use of those spectacles that were perched on his nose.
"It means that was maybe you can change what is to what you like." He smiled.
I wanted to leap out of my seat and slap him senseless. I felt a wave of heat come over me as if I submersed myself in a warm bath. How dare he tell me I can change reality. No one can. It is what the hell it is and you learn to exist within it! I hate him. Boy, he was stupid before but now I just hate him.
I decided to ignore him.
Instead I would think of making love to my husband. I will think of all of his kisses and caresses and I will escape in the euphoria of our love making. I'll even let out a passionate sigh so Mr. Dickinavice will become uncomfortable. That will teach him. I hope his glasses slip right off of his stupid nose and he becomes distracted and embarrassed as he gathers himself. All of that for foolishly allowing them to hover above his nostrils. I closed my eyes.
"Myra." He said softly.  I wasn't going to answer, I was already far away in the land of Feel Good.
"Myra!" More urgently. I didn't even part my lids a crack. I was done with him. I was thinking of when my baby would wrap his hands around my neck and...
I felt the firm grip on my arm again. The cold steel made its familiar clicking noise around my wrists. I didn't fight. I didn't do anything. I just smiled and kept my eyes closed. I didn't bother to see him clutching the desk as personnel rushed to his aid. I didn't bother to notice the red rings around his neck. I just let them lead me away again. As I floated I felt a hard object against the ball of my foot and heard a brief snap.
It was then I opened my eyes and stared down at the culprit.
Damned glasses.