Ted stepped out of the cold January air and into the pleasant, warm office. Clutching his bucket, he peeked around the corner and into his therapist’s office, and saw her quietly reading at her desk. Sensing his presence, she looked up from her computer.
“Oh, hey there! Was the traffic bad?”
Ted licked his lips, and let himself into the cozy little room. He sat squarely in the middle of the love-seat opposite her, setting the bucket on his lap. She came out from behind the desk and sat on the chair in front of him.
“Sorry about that. Always seems to rain when we have appointments, doesn’t it?”
Ted gingerly pawed at the fried chicken at the top of the bucket. He decided on a plump wing, and dug it out from between a thigh and breast.
“So, how’s your week been?”
Ted greedily tore into the wing. The tender, savory meat was intoxicating to him. Flakes of the warm, crispy skin flew off as he ate.
“That’s good! I’m happy to hear you’ve been spending more time with her. She’s a positive, supportive influence.”
Ted smacked loudly as he ate. He had a singular purpose at that moment, and that was to get all of this delicious chicken inside of him.
“I understand why you feel that way. It’s hard to trust when you’ve been hurt so many times before in the same situation.”
Nearly half of the fried chicken had now fallen to Ted’s voracious assault. The flimsy paper bucket was now torn and battered. Discarded chicken bones littered the floor.
“Well, do you think maybe you feel that way because of… Fear?”
Ted looked sadly at the bottom of the ravaged bucket. He licked his greasy fingers, relishing the taste.
“Well, it looks like we’re out of time.”