Hey, everyone! Quick, quick intro now. I know nothing about anyone or anything. 18 or up, openminded only. Title comes from Stone Temple Pilots, and I don't own them or their drug habit. Thanks for reading!
Remembering Petticoat Lane Part Seven: "He wasn't happy on the day that he met her"
There was one curve on the way to the psychiatrist's office that had always absolutely fascinated Lance every single time he drove past it. It was at the end of a good straightaway, and it was a fast, sharp turn. If someone were to miss it, they would barrel into a hard cement brick wall that, at this point in time, was covered in the dried, dead remains of climbing ficus vines. At the right speed, it would be instant death. If he lead-footed it, it would be sure to work. He slowly, almost subconsciously started to speed up. Faster, and faster he climbed until he was just about at the point of no return--
"LANCE!"
Shit! He had all but forgotten JC was in the car until that moment. He swerved the car sharply, and just so very barely maintained control of the vehicle, and kept it on the curb. A cold sweat poured through him, not only at the though of what he'd been about to do, but at the idea that he could have taken Josh with him.
"What the fuck did you think you were doing, Lance?!?"
"I'm sorry, JC.. I guess my mind isn't on the road." A Truer lie was never spoken. his mind was completely on the road, just not in the capacity it probably should have been. The Florida DMV tended to frown upon the use of their highways as suicide tools.
"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?"
"No. I'm fine."
"Alright. Whatever."
Great. First he contimplated vehicular suicide/homicide, and now Josh was mad at him. Add to that the fact he was going somewhere that he -really- didn't want to be to talk to someone who he had no desire to know, and this was just shaping up to be a -wonderful- day. They finally arrived at the psychologist's office (3 minutes early! Nearly killing yourself on a straightaway did have it's advantages, after all...), and made their way into the sterile-seeming, tense feeling room.The other guys filtered in one-by-one, each one muttering about the hour of the morning, or certain members of the Jive management. They didn't have long to gripe, though. Soon, a long-legged brown haired 20-something walked into the waiting room. "Dr. Johnson will see the first patient now. She said that you'd already know who that was?"
Lance, who had been silently watching and daydreaming in the back corner of the room, rose to his feet in a way that could only be described as a walking bundle of nerves. He didn't speak-- almost couldn't, he just nodded at the receptionist. The perky college kid seemed uneffected by his somber mood, she chattered all the way into the Doctor's main patient room. It was a pretty standard room, to Lance's eye. It had a selection of different chairs and thing, presumably so that the patients would feel at home. There were other sort of unusual things lying around. Books, pamplets,
pads of papers, big crayons, dolls.. it all vaguely reminded him of photoshoot props. his eyes slowly fell on the figure that was seated on an overstuffed easychair, situated in the center of the room. She was about 40, with light hair, and a solid, average build. She was the type of woman that he would normally meet when kids drug their loving mothers to a concert and a meet-and-greet. She had a sense of warmth and comfort coming from her, but even that couldn't belay the butterflies in his stomach. She looked up from the files she was looking over to give him a nice, motherly smile. God. She reminded him of his mommy.
"You must be the little injured lamb. Lance Bass, correct?" That desturbed him.. how could she know his name? She looked at the expression on his face, and smiled again. "Don't worry, my daughter's a fan. I stole on of your albums to kind of get a feel for you. I recognized you from your picture ." He relaxed visibly when she said that, and even managed a small smile back at her. "My name is Kathleen Johnson, and, as I suppose you've learned, I've been hired to be your shrink. Go ahead and have a seat, I just want to start with a few questions." He sat down in the seat next to her, stiffly, but carefully. "First things first, Lance. How are you doing today?"
"I've been better."
"Nervous about meeting me?"
"I guess you could say that." It seemed kind of silly now, that he was nervous about meeting someone who was just like his.. mom. God, he missed his mommy. "It's been a rough week, too."
"I bet it has. What exactly has been going on?"
"I'm having nightmares, about my past. I've sort of been.. unstable for awhile."
"Emotionally unstable, or physically?"
"I guess you could say both. I feel like I can't control my emotions anymore. I'm getting in a lot of fights and that kind of thing. Cried a lot more then I should, too. Physically, well.. the life of a touring artist doesn't really provide for a lot of stability."
"That's one of the very reasons I suggested that management bring you home for this. Otherwise, I doubt we could have made much progress. What sort of things are you having nightmares about, Lance?" He paused, and looked away from her. He didn't think he could do this, go through with this. He liked her, but there was no way he could trust her. "Lance, you do understand that, under doctor/client privilage, nothing leaves this room?"
"Yes, I understand that."
"Then you understand that whatever you tell me won't go any further then that door over there, right?"
"I do."
"Then why don't you tell me what happened?"
"Because everything's changed every time I've said it. I don't think I can take that much more change. I'm -here- because I told people."
"I promise that nothing will change, except, maybe I'll be able to help make things a little better."
"I.. I just can't not now."
"Okay. Maybe later, then."
The rest of the session went much the same way, both for Lance and the other guys. No one was eager to open up, but they all seemed to like the doctor well enough to not argue about seeing her again. Lance obviously had the most appointments for the longest time, but she alao had goup sessions planned for them to work through other difficulties that had been popping up. All in all, it went rather smoothly.
At least until JC and Lance drove home (with JC at the wheel this time) to find a strange, white rental car in the driveway. Lance hopped out, and went to the door, followed closely by JC.
"Do you know who it could be?"
"Not a clue..." It wasn't until he had wrestled the door open, and walked into his kitchen that the bomb hit. Sitting at his dining room table, with a cup of coffee, was Diane Bass.
"Mom?!?"