Heartkiller

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

When Ville woke up on Tuesday morning, he was in no mood to make the trek to see his therapist. He had had a rather long week, and there were so many things that had happened which he didn’t want to share. He couldn’t trust himself to control his words nor his actions once he was in the room sitting in the plush chair. It seemed like Dr. Ashbury had this magical ability to uncover the skeletons in his closet, and he wasn’t sure he could contain himself. It had a couple of implications: he could divulge information that he’d rather keep private or he could lash out and become violent like he had last week. At this point, he wasn’t sure which was worse.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He knew that. If he wanted to play the Helldone shows in three weeks, he had to attend the therapist meetings in as much time as per the deal he had made with Seppo. He undoubtedly wanted to be on stage feeding off the energy of the crowd singing his lyrics back to him. The sound of the music, the bright lights in tandem with the melodies, the smoke that added a sense of mystery, the roaring fans… Oh, he missed that. At the mere thought of returning to the stage, his heart skipped a beat. And so, Ville begrudgingly put on a band tee, peacoat, scarf and beanie on the wintery Tuesday morning and took a cab to the psychiatric office. Don’t doubt for a second that he wasn’t cursing the whole way there. Of course he was; some words were in Finnish, others in English and a rare few were just unintelligible urges of disgust.

During the ride, he thought about his last visit during which he had made a dramatic outburst; it was still clear in his mind. He had been on edge, and he had almost revealed something that he hadn’t spoken about in almost a year, and to a complete stranger at that. The lost toddler had unraveled a web of emotions that Ville thought he had neatly packed away. It was a mistake for him to come into the therapist’s office bellowing from the scene in the streets. They were separate, they were disconnected. Unwilling to allow Dr. Ashbury to help him, he was trying to keep his real life a secret, only revealing select aspects to her. It had been working for the past few weeks. The memories he had been telling her were harmless; although he was telling her these things, it wasn’t something that threatened his privacy. He loved talking about Avery. He loved talking about his relationship with her. It was the troubled times that he didn’t feel comfortable mentioning.

It was true that he had agreed to let the therapist help. Almost every week, they would have the same battle for power: she would implore him to tell her something meaningful that could help the situation and that could help his recovery, while he would give her mundane details of his relationship. Occasionally, Ville was so caught up in revelling in the good times with Avery that he felt better after talking about them. That’s all it would ever do, though, as he didn’t have any faith in therapy. He didn’t think therapy was actually a viable solution to escape the misery. After all, it was with a doctor watching over his shoulder that he still fell back into his old habits.

Ville walked into the therapist’s office, swearing to himself to make sure he wouldn’t get to a desperate, moping point again, but he didn’t know what good that might do. He was putty in the hands of his therapist. When he approached the front desk, David, the receptionist, was engrossed in his work. His black rimmed glasses were pushed to the bridge of his nose and he was scrupulously typing away on his keyboard. Click click click. Click click click. It seemed urgent. Ville cleared his throat to subtly get David's attention. When he turned and saw Ville, his eyebrows raised. David was aware of what had happened at the last meeting, and he was sure that Ville had quit therapy for good. He couldn’t believe that the tall Finn was now standing in front of him, punctual for his 2 o’clock appointment.

With a polite smile, he said, "Sorry about that. I didn't hear you come in. Uh, she's available right now for your appointment. Go ahead."

Ville gestured to acknowledge what David said as he walked past the desk and toward the doctor’s office. The door was open, and Jenna Ashbury was poring through some books that were open on her desk. She hadn’t seen him yet, and he half-considered running out the door and back into the streets. He was embarrassed for the way he had behaved at their last meeting. He had been angry, yes, but embarrassed nonetheless. He had thrown a tantrum and behaved like a child. He knew better. Ville shook his head; no, he couldn’t turn back now. At the very least, he owed her an apology, and, despite the disgruntled, hungover state in which he was, he could recognize that he needed to atone for his rudeness. When he knocked on the door to make himself known, Dr. Ashbury glanced up and smiled.

“Good afternoon, Ville! Come in, come in,” she greeted with a bright smile.

“Hello,” he replied and found his way to the familiar plush chair.

“I’ll be right with you. Just give me one moment.” Jenna trailed off as she finished off a note she was making.

"Take your time."

Ville sat down and tapped a beat on his knees with the balls of his palms as he waited. His hands had become a little sweaty as he grew nervous thinking about what the two would talk about today. He was so uncomfortable just to be in this room. Ville looked at the clock and saw that it read 1:55pm. An hour. He only had to make it through one hour. That wasn’t so bad, right?

Dr. Ashbury cleared her throat and stood up. She closed the office door for some privacy. Holding her memo pad and pen, she walked to the chair opposite her patient and settled into the seat. Her short white hair was held back using bobby pins, and she wore pastel blue blouse with a pair of dark dress pants.

“So, how are you?” she asked with her glasses at the tip of her nose.

“I’m… okay. I’m getting there, bit by bit.” he replied, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance. He wasn’t sure how well he was pulling that off. “I, uh… I’m really sorry about last week. I was in a… strange place and little things set me off. I was lashing out at the wrong person… I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Ville," she reassured with a smile. "Believe me when I say that you’re one of my calmer patients, and that I’ve been through much worse. I’ve learned not to take it personally.”

“Mm.” he said to recognize her words.

“Where shall we start today? What do you want to talk about?”

Ville’s gaze flit about the room, avoiding eye contact. “Nothing in particular.”

"What did you do this past week since I've last seen you?" She inquired as she neatly wrote today’s date at the top right corner of the page.

He mulled the question over in his mind. Their last meeting had resurfaced many unresolved feelings and grudges. Everything from that day had made him very moody, and he knew that he could have handled it better. Seeing the toddler as yet another reminder of the transiency of life had triggered a series of bad decisions. What had he done the last week? Hmm. Well, after storming out of your office, I slept with my wife's assistant, who's currently in the middle of a messy split with her husband, because I thought that would make me feel less lonely… which it didn’t. Then, to try and come to terms with what I'd done, I drank myself sick from the guilt and haven’t put the bottle down since. I think the pinnacle moment, though, was when I had a dramatic outburst at my in-laws' apartment over the same fucking thing that’s been infesting my mind every waking moment: the fact that I can’t change what happened to Avery.

It was at that point when he realized how bad this week had been. The juxtaposition of those events ignited a sudden feeling of self-loathing. Fuck, I’ve… I’ve really lost myself again. He realized that he was slowly regressing to the person he was years ago before he had met Avery and when he had been depressed and impulsive. It had been a long time since Ville had been careless of his actions; before rehab, he'd been like a hurricane, destroying any relationships in his path. It was messy, and he didn't think he'd ever become that person again. In these bad moments of the past week, he hadn’t stopped to think about what he was doing, focusing only on the momentary relief the drinking and the sex had brought him.

At the thought of all that he had done, Ville’s face contorted into a look of absolute disgust as though he had just eaten something foul. Ville hadn’t thought about the magnitude of his actions until now, forgetting entirely that he was seated in front of his therapist, who noticed his every movement. Her eyes were studying his disposition and his posture, everything from the nervous tendency to pick at his calluses to his unsteady breathing. She was quick to notice the disappointment and aversion that colored his countenance.

“What was that? What were you just thinking about?” Dr. Ashbury blurted out.

Ville refocused on the present and became alarmed by her question. He panicked that she would somehow figure out what he had done, but he tried his best to relax and to brush it off. With an aloof tone, he replied, “Hmm? Oh, nothing.”

"Ville..." She warned.

He hesitated and changed the subject. His voice remained weak and his tone was hesitant. “I suppose you spoke to my manager recently, seeing as I received a very stern call from him about what happened last week. Did he speak to you after that at all?”

“Yes, he called back to say something about a concert in a few weeks… He said that whether or not that concert remains scheduled is contingent upon your attendance to these next therapy meetings. It looks like you’re expected to be on the best of behavior.”

“Yeah,” Ville agreed with a nervous smile. “Yeah, that is what it looks like.”

“Now, what’s on your mind? You’re visibly perplexed, and you can’t just chalk it up to some New York hubbub bothering you like you tried to do last time.” she cocked an eyebrow, inviting him to admit the truth. “What happened?”

“Uh… well, nothing specific really.” He lied. “It wasn’t a great week, that’s all.”

Dr. Ashbury set her pen on the pad of paper. Since Day One, he had been able to shrug by with ambiguous answers regarding his well-being, which weren’t helping him at all, and it was clear that he wasn’t likely to continue therapy after the concert he had lined up. Without an incentive to continue his sessions, Ville would be left to grieve by himself, and Dr. Ashbury was deeply unsettled at the thought. She wanted to help him, but she didn’t have much time. The two needed some substance to work with if there was any chance to recover his lost memories--and, more importantly, to help Ville move on--and his one-word responses weren’t providing much kindling for the conversation. She had gone easy on him last time and had accepted his disillusioned responses. The sessions were progressively becoming dramatic, and she was going to push him. Today she was prepared to grill him to get to the heart of the issue. Last week, she had figured out where it hurt; now she just had to push enough for him to tell her everything.

“When I say that you need to attend these meetings, I mean that you need to actively participate in a discussion. It’s not enough to show your face, give me empty, meaningless responses, and make shifty gazes. I want to help you. Why won’t you let me?” she asked, almost pleading him for mercy.

He huffed and looked back at what he had done over the past few days. It was clear that she wouldn’t let him sit here and try his usual games to evade her questions. Dr. Ashbury seemed determined to keep him focused on the conversation and on his recovery, and he had to think fast. There was no part of him that wanted to divulge everything he had done over the past few days; he was far too embarrassed to talk about sleeping with another woman. More than that, Dr. Ashbury wouldn’t be very happy at the idea of him drinking again. He decided to feed her a morsel of the gossip and hopefully that would be enough. Hopefully they could move past this conversation so that he could recount another memory for her. Before long, it would be time for him to leave, and he just needed to stall until then.

Ville opened his mouth and reluctantly answered, “I visited Ave’s parents this weekend, and uh, well… let’s just say things didn’t go as well as one could have hoped.”

"What happened?"

"We were talking about… life, and how things were going… Easton would talk about the new direction his company was taking after he had retired. Grace would… she’d be really excited about something that happened at work, a really tough surgery or whatever. While they were speaking, I couldn’t help but think about Ave and how she and I would have been like that someday. You know, she… she and I would be sitting at the dinner table talking to our children and their spouses…. about their careers, their dreams, their hopes. The whole time I was at my in-laws… Fuck, not just then, but ever since the day I met her, Avery has always been on my mind.”

Ville balked and Dr. Ashbury gave him the time he needed. He looked down at the floor before resorting to burying his face in his hands. His mouth fell agape, and it took a few more seconds before he could work up the nerve to finish explaining what had happened.

“Anyway, at some point, I couldn’t take it anymore... and I felt so overwhelmed, like I’d been cheated by life or something. I couldn’t deal with listening to such a... happy couple tell me about their lives without thinking about how Avery and I would have been when we got to their age. She and I deserved that, and she's been robbed of her life too early. Anyway... My in-laws were speaking, and I… I don’t know what came over me--I guess I got so caught up in my delusions, I don't know, but--I got so fucking fed up that I shoved my plate off the table. The ceramic plate shattered into pieces when it hit the floor obviously, and I don’t know much of what happened after that because I blacked out.... I don't even know how I could lose control of myself like that." He muttered to himself and continued. "The next thing I know, I’m sitting on the sofa with Avery’s mother beside me trying to calm me down. It was all kinda... surreal.”

Dr. Ashbury blew out some air to express her astonishment. “Um... How did your in-laws react when the dust settled?”

His hands fell to his side again, and he continued, “They were… more than understanding. That’s just the kind of people they are, really, but I… I felt so guilty. They were trying to get me to stay and talk about what was wrong, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t bear to stay there any longer when I'd thrown a fucking tantrum like some sort of child, so I excused myself and left. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately--tantrums, I mean--and it’s not… it’s not my best face. I just can’t do this anymore. I can’t fucking let this misery continue to fester within me.”

“Have you spoken to them since?”

“No.”

Dr. Ashbury waited, eyeing him suspiciously. Something about the story didn’t seem right. He sounded genuinely upset and embarrassed, but his body was telling a different story. He had his arms crossed over his chest, he was shifting around uneasily in his seat, and he was avoiding eye contact. It was very defensive behavior, and she suspected that there was more to the story than what Ville had told her.

“I think it’s a good thing to release your emotions like this. You need an escape, and you can’t bottle things up forever; it’ll ruin you." Testing the waters, she offered, "I’d rather it be something like this than to have you... I don't know, start drinking again or something.”

“Yeah… yeah, me too.” he said, a hint of regret dripping from his words.

“I know you feel embarrassed about this, but it was with your family. They’re going through the same thing. They understand and they’re there to help you.” she reasoned.

“I know that they’re understanding about it, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about having done that.” he countered.

“What would you rather have done?”

“I don’t know. I wish I could have controlled myself long enough to get home and release my emotions all in the confines of our apartment.” Ville sighed. “It’s embarrassing. Easton and Grace… they were understanding, sure, but they weren’t empathetic. They haven’t gone through what I’ve gone through these past few weeks.”

“Avery was their daughter.” she deadpanned. "They're grieving just like you are."

“Yeah, but it’s not the same. I've been sick to my stomach and fallen into such a... a depression, almost. It's become the same routine everyday and I'm torturing myself with what I do and what I think. I'm paralyzed and left unable to move on with my life.... I mean, fuck, I don't even know if I want to move on. I'm always thinking about Ave... Day in and day out, I'm still as lovestruck as I was the day I met her, and it's excruciating not to be with her…” He paused. “So, you know, yeah, her parents are dealing with a loss, but you would have never guessed it by the way they were behaving. They were so convincing that everything was fine. They were able to put up this front and make it seem like they were okay… even if they weren’t really okay. I--I can’t do that. I’m not good at that.”

“So what if you aren’t? Why do you need to pretend like everything is okay?”

“Because… it’s better that way for everybody involved. I wish I could fake it… it would make it seem like I’ve moved on, and that way, everybody else can, too.”

Dr. Ashbury frowned. She didn’t understand why Ville was under the impression that he had to convince everybody that losing a spouse wasn’t the most traumatic, heart-wrenching moment of his life. She felt that he was allowed to grieve and to cope; it would be surprising if he didn’t.

“What makes you feel like you can’t grieve? What is it about this process of dealing with a loss that you don’t think you’re… allowed to do?”

Ville leaned back in his chair and eyed his therapist, sizing her up. She was sitting in her seat evaluating his life as a mere spectator. She didn't understand. Maybe she never would. Sulking in his seat, he replied, “It’s not that I don't think I’m allowed to do it.”

“Then?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m--I’m being ridiculous. Let’s move on.”

“Ville, let me help you. Please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He narrowed his eyes. She seemed to be determined to get an answer out of him. Usually, he could get away with a simple answer, but today it wasn’t enough. There was a lot he had given her already; he wasn't planning to talk about what had happened this past week at all. Ville smirked. It was just as he'd predicted: he'd ended up telling her things he never intended to discuss. He wasn't sure what was making her push him even more, though. Why wasn't it enough?

“Why are you being so persistent today?” he asked.

Dr. Ashbury bit her lip. “I’m your therapist. It’s my job to push your limits and to test you in order to help you glean some truth.”

“I don’t believe you. I've already told you plenty today... Things far out of my comfort zone.” He cocked an eyebrow and challenged, “I’ll explain if you do. Tell me why you’re so persistent to get me to open up.”

“Our relationship doesn’t work quite like that.”

“Well, I have no problem staying silent for the rest of the session. You can make me come to therapy, but you can’t exactly force me to speak, you know.”

She huffed a sigh, unhappy to oblige. “I have a deadline, don't I? I doubt you'll be coming in after that concert your manager mentioned, so I don't have much time to help… We’ve been getting by so far, but it’s not exactly helping you. I'm just trying to make use of the valuable time we have left... I want to help you, Ville. I don't have some sinister ulterior motive like you believe I do.” She leaned forward in her seat, ready to hang onto every word he uttered. “Your turn. What makes you feel like you can’t grieve?”

He groaned and looked out the window behind her desk, trying to avoid eye contact. “Grieving isn’t the problem, not for me. It’s the perception… When I’m pretending… you know, when I’m going about my daily duties without having a nervous breakdown or without snapping for something very minor… when I’m able to feign a sense of sanity basically, nobody is concerned about what I’m doing behind closed doors. They believe everything is fine. They can stop worrying about me.”

“Why is it so important to you that people not worry about you?”

Ville bit his lip. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”

“Ville, I’m just trying to understand what you’re thinking. In here, you’re so very clear that you’re grieving, you’ve made it a point to emphasize that to me, but for some reason you don’t want other people to know. You’ve never seemed like the type to care what other people think about you. Avery was the only person whose opinion mattered… Now, you’re telling me that you want to cover all that up so that people don’t worry, which I… I mean, I don’t understand that. They’re worrying about you because they care. Why is that so bad?”

“It’s not about the grieving at all. I just don’t want people to bother themselves with me… I guess--I don’t know. Part of the reason is that I don’t want to diminish their happiness because of my emotions or my loss. It's personal for me, it's not their headache. The more prevalent part, though, is because I can take care of myself. I am an adult…” Ville huffed. He was knee-deep in his tale, trying to convince his therapist and everybody else that he was fine. Not paying attention to what he was actually saying, and without realizing whom he was speaking to, he continued, “I know my limits and I can take care of myself; I don’t want everybody to worry about me. When I was depressed all those years ago, everybody was like… walking on eggshells around me, and it was so uncomfortable. I’m a fucking human being and I was depressed… I’m not some psycho. When I drink, I know how much is too much, but… everybody else just fixates on the fact that I’ve started to drink again, and they don’t realize that I know better. I’m not an animal, and I’ve learned to deal with my addiction. I’m better about my drinking now.”

There was a silence. Dr. Ashbury noticed that he had reached for the bottle again, and she wanted to ask him about the circumstances of it. She was inching forward in her set, hanging onto his every word. However, he had just explained that people tend to focus only on the fact that he’s drinking, and she didn’t want to make that mistake. She thought about how to approach the situation, but Ville quickly realized what he’d admitted.

“Fuck,” Ville muttered to himself. “I was trying not to tell you about that... I suppose now you’re going to ask me a bunch of questions about it.”

She shrugged her shoulders with a pained expression on her face. Dr. Ashbury pitied him so much. After having such a rocky journey finding someone to love and overcoming depression, all while in the public eye and making music, his story had taken such an unfortunate turn, leaving him unable to resist his vices any longer. It was what she had been trying to prevent.

“Can you blame me?”

He sighed and muttered under his breath, “I guess not… Alright, let’s get it over with.”

The therapist sat back in her seat with a stunned expression. Slowly, she clarified, “You’re going to be forthcoming?”

He scratched the back of his head. “Whatever. I mean, what have I got to lose? I’m at rock bottom now, and telling you… well, fuck. I didn’t want to tell you about it, especially considering the fact that you’re probably going to run off to Seppo and report your findings. What can I do now? I don’t suppose there’s any way you’re going to forget what I said, hmm?”

Dr. Ashbury shook her head ‘no.’

“Yeah, exactly.” Ville rolled his eyes. “I figured as much.”

Still rattled by his recent openness, she carefully asked the first question. “...When did this start?”

“Just this past week, so not very long.” Ville replied and buckled his hands over his chest.

“Umm, okay.” She remarked cautiously. She was still taken aback by his lackadaisical attitude, which seemed to be the opposite of his behavior earlier in the hour. He was no longer careful and calculative about what he said. She was surprised at how quickly he had changed his demeanor. She wrote down ‘Drinking again’ in capital letters on the next line of her notebook. As a side note, she jotted down the words ‘defensive, careful’ and drew an arrow before scribbling ‘diplomatic, open.’ It was something for her to consider. Dr. Ashbury looked up at him again, “How often? How much do you drink?”

“Almost everyday and… um, I don’t know. I don’t drink enough to pass out or hurt myself, but… I drink enough to forget.” Ville smiled. “It’s enough to make it count.”

“Forget what?”

“Forget what I did to Avery,” he said, as though it were obvious.

Dr. Ashbury furrowed her eyebrows, clearly confused as to what he was talking about. In the past few weeks, he had detailed a lot of important events in his life with Avery. From vacations to breakups, there had been so many memories that Ville had painted for her. There were none, however, in which Ville had hurt his wife. What did he regret? What had he done to her?

“What are you talking about?”

Viole shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You said you would be forthcoming."

"Yeah, but not about this."

With a stern, authoritative voice, she countered his reluctance. "You have to let me help you."

He avoided eye contact, unable to witness the disappointment he expected from her. “I... I can't," he said as though it hurt to utter the words.

"Why?"

"Because I was an idiot and I was irresponsible." He said, looking at his hand and twirling his wedding ring.

"I'm not going to force you to share. You've been very open this session, and I can understand if you wanna keep things private. But you've done that--been private, I mean--these past weeks, and you said it yourself that it hasn't been helpful. Why don't we try it my way now?" She saw the reluctance in his eyes, and she continued, “It couldn’t possibly make things worse, right? Even if I can’t provide an answer to your problems, at the very least, talking it out with me can be a cathartic coping mechanism.”

He sighed and looked down at his wedding band again. He didn’t even think himself worthy of wearing it anymore. He had betrayed his wife. It was despicable.

"I slept with her assistant last week, and… it wasn’t my best moment, but I was low. I was… I was so fucking low. I know I shouldn’t have done that, but it happened, and now drinking is my way of dealing with that.” Ville rambled.

“Slept with her assistant? As in… “

“As in, sexual relations, yes.” He confirmed. “I’m fine.”

“You most certainly are not fine. Do you hear yourself? Do you realize what you just said?”

Ville looked down at his hands. “I’m certainly not proud of it. I know what I did…” he shrugged helplessly and replied with a weak voice, “What can I do about it now?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m so confused. The man who walked in here the first day 7 weeks ago… he wouldn’t have done anything that you just said you did.”

“Pfft. You don’t know half the man I was, how can you be so sure about that?”

“Because the man who walked in here that day… sure, he was broken as you are now, but he was determined to find an answer. He wanted to find out the truth. And you… Ville, you’re drinking, you’re sleeping with another woman… I know you still love your wife, and I don’t doubt that… But how could you bring yourself to do any of these things?”

“It’s not like I’ve done these things and… I don’t know, moseyed about my life or anything like that as if nothing has changed. What I’ve done… it’s deeply affected me. It’s eating away at my conscience. I’m in a shitty place, and it’s made me do shitty things. Why do you think I’m so hurt? Why do you think I’m so upset? That’s why I’m drinking.” his voice dropped to a whisper and he looked down at the floor, twirling his ring around his finger. "I'm ashamed."

“Do you really think that drinking is going to solve anything?”

“No, I know that it’s not going to solve anything…” he looked away and brushed his locks behind his ear. “It’ll help long enough for me to figure my life out. You know… bring me some false peace. What else can I do?” he asked and shrugged his shoulders. His eyes glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind her desk. Ten more minutes. “I can’t go back and change my actions. I’m left for my sins to haunt me.”

“You can be proactive about your healing, and you can be cognizant of your actions. You can’t let these things tear you down, not after how far you’ve come since rehab.” He didn’t reply. He played with his hands and hung his head, deep in thought, but he didn’t meet her eyes nor did he respond. “Ville… do you hear me?”

With his eyebrow cocked, he muttered. “I’m careful. I know what I’m doing. Besides… if I were to ruin myself, if I were to drink myself dead… would that really be so bad?”

“What about your parents? Would you really want them to go through what Avery’s parents are going through now? Grieve the loss of their child?”

“They’ve got a spare.” Ville said heartlessly. “My brother Jesse… he’s a good kid.”

Dr. Ashbury bore her eyes through him. She had no words of consolation left within her to offer him. Every method, every single thing she’d been taught in all her years were no match for the resistance she faced against Ville. He didn’t want help. She watched him hold his wedding band gingerly between his fingers. He was giving up, and despite the stubborn attitude she faced, Jenna Ashbury wasn’t going to give up on him. She only hoped that her meeting with Dr. Moore, the Valos’ general physician, the next day would provide something for her to use. Hopefully, Dr. Moore would be able to provide the missing pieces which Ville seemed to be keeping from her.