Controlling or Coercive Behaviour. Part 1

In an office down town…

Janie waited patiently for her appointment. She stared at a copy of Vogue magazine but she saw nothing. She felt a huge void filled with butterflies in her stomach and seriously considered abandoning her quest to find help.

A phone rang, the receptionist answered it. She smiled at Janie, “Dr Richardson will see you now,” she said sweetly, “Through the door, second on the right.”

Janie obeyed instantly, she placed the magazine back on the rack and opened the door. A nonde*********** corridor, second door, she thought. She knocked.

“Come in,” Dr Richardson ordered.

“Hello, I’m Janie,” she ventured.

“Right, so your boyfriend exhibits controlling or coercive behaviour does he?” Dr Richardson asked brusquely

“Yes, Dr Richardson,” she agreed, “He tells me what to wear, he checks up on me, he cut up my credit cards, he only allows me pocket money.”

“So he cares about you huh?” he asked.

“Yes, Dr Richardson,” she agreed, “I guess.”

“You would rather he didn’t give a fuck if you went out looking like a tart or like some deluded senior citizen?” he asked.

“No, Dr Richardson,” she demurred, “It’s not like that. It’s more than that.”

“Right, did he approve that outfit you’re wearing?” he asked.

“No, Dr Richardson,” she confessed.

“So where the fuck’s the problem,” he asked, “Except you look like some female hobo whore who just raided the discount rack at the charity store?”

“But Dr Richardson,” she protested, “They said on TV that women like me should get help.”

“That’s right, and you come to the right place,” he agreed.

“But Dr Richardson,” she protested, “You just keep undermining me.”

“I’m helping you bitch,” he replied, “How often you get laid?”

“Dr Richardson, that’s none of your business!” she snapped.

“What, every night, nearly every night, when he can’t find anyone else to fuck or afford a whore, when?” Dr Richardson asked.

“Er, Dr Richardson, I don’t know, when he feels like it I guess?” she stuttered.

“So you don’t come on to him?” he asked, “Serve dinner wearing just an apron with a dildo and a butt plug up inside you?”

“Dr Richardson!” she squealed in protest, “Of course not!”.

“Well why he fuck not?” he asked.

“Dr Richardson, That’s disgusting!” she protested.

“Well no wonder he gets pissed,” he sighed, “I’m surprised he’s still with you.”

“Er, Dr Richardson, he left, last week, he walked out, we had a row.” she said.

“Right,” he replied, “How’d you piss him off?”

“I wanted to see my mom, Dr Richardson,” she said, “She’s in Wyoming.”

“Why don’t she come and see you?” he asked.

“That’s what Ben said, Dr Richardson, I said she can’t afford it,” she said, “He said do face time.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” he admitted, “What the fuck’s wrong with it?”

“Dr Richardson, She’s my mom.” she snapped.

“Stop the fuck calling me Dr Richardson, every ten minutes, call me ‘Sir’ OK bitch?” he suggested.

“Er Dr Richardson, er Sir, I think we’re finished here, you’re the rudest most overbearing pompous, unfeeling misogynistic, er, is that even a word,.” she said losing her track.

“Yeah right, thing is bitch you need my help real bad,” he agreed, “Now you go wait in the closet over there while I consult with a colleague.”

“But Dr Richardson!” she protested.

“Get In the closet now bitch, now!” he ordered.

Tears welled in her eyes.

“And stop crying,” he added, “Your stupid mascara will run all down your stupid ugly weasel face.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she blustered.

“Red door bitch.