Sentenced to Hell

The old clinical psychologist with a grey beard and hair sat on the wooden chair in the room covered in grey stones. He set his papers on the metal table and looked at the young man that sat before him. He had black hair and his black make up had been smudged. His bright orange jumpsuit was fresh, unharmed by dirt or blood. There were large fences at each side of the room, locked, with security guards standing tall with guns in their pockets. Their hands were constantly around them just in case.

The prisoner was looking straight into the eyes of the psychologist. “Alright, Doc. What do you want to hear from me today?”

Doc looked down at his papers. “I want to know the truth about why you’re here. Don’t say you murdered that guy at the bar or pull the same excuse as usual and say you’re here because of the drugs.”

Ronnie threw his head back so his brown eyes were focused on the ceiling that seemed to be caving in on the building. It was possible since the place was built over a hundred years ago and never had construction.

“Who knows what I did wrong. I had just snorted cocaine and drugged up on ecstasy. Crazy shit happens. Perhaps I shot that kid at the bar. Then again, I was doing drugs in a place that cops could easily pick me out.”

Doc wrote a few things down on his paper that had a bunch of forms he had to fill out about the session. Suddenly the black ink in the pen stopped. Even when Doc shook it, it didn’t work. Nor did it work when he licked the tip or tried scribbling it on the paper.

Out of irritation, he threw it across the room and watched as it went through the giant dog crate. He then went in his brown briefcase and picked out another one. He smiled at Ronnie and went back to work.

It was calm in the room, especially for Ronnie who should have had a concert with his band, Escape the Fate, that night. Was this allowed to happen to rock stars? Weren’t they the acceptation to the law? He had fans to love and a brotherhood that should never had broken with the guys in the band.
Monte Money was right when he said that one day all the partying would come to an end and it would end up destroying Escape the Fate. What did Ronnie know, though? All that Monte was, was the Lead guitarist. Same goes for Robert Ortiz, the drummer. He never spoke up, but his death glares said it all.

For years, they had wanted Ronnie and Max Green to stop getting so fucked before and after shows. Max was his best friend and the one who introduced Ronnie to some of the hardest drugs that he had ever tried. As much as Ronnie tried to, he couldn’t hate him. They were closer than brothers if that’s even possible without getting all incestuous.

Doc looked back up at Ronnie. “Tell me a little about your childhood.”

Ronnie sat back in his chair, rolling his eyes and just dying to curse and throw the finger. After all, he was the singer of a very successful band. “I don’t care about my childhood and so I don’t think you’d be so eligibly inclined to know.”

There had been so many patients that the Doc had come in contact with and so he was used to people treating him in such an ungodly manner. “Well then, tell me about your musical group.”

“My band? It’s not mine anymore now is it? I was kicked out by Max Greene!” Ronnie was getting so upset. For three years, he wouldn’t be able to discuss this misinformed decision with them and get back in. His eyes were red as he held back his tears. Escape the Fate was the band that he had formed with Max back in 2004. It was only four years ago and the weeks passed by within minutes.

“Sounds like you’re not on very good terms with him.”

Ronnie was now biting his lip. “We’ve been having some trouble, yeah. May I go back to my cell now? The guys didn’t finish up with having butt sex with me.” Sarcasm was written all over his face and he knew that it would annoy the psychologist. No one dared mess with Ronnie. He was tough looking and everyone knew that he wouldn’t tolerate anyone’s shit.

“Not yet. We haven’t made much progress today. I have to leave here with something.” Doc was now tapping his pen on the table nervously but Ronnie couldn’t exactly tell why.

Ronnie scratched his head. “My God! Can you please stop tapping that damn pen? There’s nothing to say. I told you everything I know. I’m not lying to you.”

The Doc seemed rather reluctant to believe anything that Ronnie was saying but that was his job, to listen to the prisoner. He closed his big book and cleared his desk of everything. He put the papers in his briefcase and put it behind him, folding his hands on the table to show he was listening. “Let’s just talk then.”

It was clear to the Doc that Ronnie didn’t know what to talk about by the way he was looking up at him. His head was just shaking back and forth, his head in his hands.

“You seem upset about something.”

“I don’t think being in jail is a very healthy way of living. I’m going to be here for 18 months. How would you feel?”

Doc took a deep breath. “In training, I had to spend 2 weeks in jail, separated from everyone. It felt like a year and I started to believe I had done something wrong.”

This statement pissed off Ronnie. “And yet you still chose this profession. To watch as an innocent man becomes a criminal to the government.”

By God, Ronnie wanted to stand up, but he knew that if he showed off his frustration, he would have been injected with a needle to calm him down. It wasn’t the needle that he was afraid though. There were plenty of times when he had gotten a tattoo in places that hurt like a bitch. The part that got Ronnie worked up about this idea was not having control over the situation.

“I’m not out to get the good guys nor is my job to kill the bad guys. I’m the psychologist.” The way he stated his profession was extremely arrogant.

Ronnie raised his hand to shake Doc’s hand. “Hi, I’m president, also known as the king as the music scene. Huh, guess you really don’t care about that. Let me ask you, have you ever wondered if you’re doing your job right?”

Doc rose from his chair and picked his brief case up from the floor. “Alright Mr. Radke. I think we’ve had enough for today. Don’t you think so?”

He was gone within a few seconds as Ronnie just sat in his seat, looking out of the bared windows. He then felt handcuffs around his wrists and was forced to stand up. From that point, Ronnie was dragged into his cell with his inmates.