# Chapter 2: A Different Kind of Pain

Alex unlocked his front door and stepped inside his empty house. He flipped on the lights, illuminating the sparse living room that doubled as his therapy space. The pillows Cynthia had thrown at him still lay on the floor where they'd fallen. He picked them up and arranged them neatly on the couch before heading to the kitchen.

He opened the refrigerator and stared at its meager contents. A half-empty carton of milk. Some apples. Leftover takeout from two days ago. He closed it without taking anything.

Sleep wouldn't come easily tonight. James's innocent question had stirred up memories Alex worked hard to keep buried. He walked to his bedroom and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Then he returned to the living room and sat at his desk.

His laptop screen glowed in the dim room as he pulled up his client schedule for tomorrow. Only one appointment: James Carter, 10:00 AM. Premium package. First-time client.

Alex clicked on the intake form. James Carter, 42, accountant. Married for fifteen years to Rebecca Carter. No children. No prior therapy experience. No history of violence or aggression. The form included a section for "Reason for Seeking Services." James had written simply: "Need to let something out."

Alex frowned. Premium package clients usually had more specific grievances. They came in with rage, with trauma, with years of repressed emotions that had festered into something toxic. This James Carter sounded... ordinary.

He closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair. Outside his window, the streetlight cast long shadows across his living room. Alex sat motionless in the half-dark for a long time.

Sleep didn't come until after 3 AM.

---

The morning arrived too soon. Alex woke at 6:30, his body automatically responding to his alarm despite the short night. He followed his usual routine: protein shake, shower, gym clothes. By 7:00, he was at the boxing gym three blocks from his house.

"Early today, Doc," the owner, Frank, called out as Alex entered.

"Always am," Alex replied, dropping his bag in a locker.

"Saw you working that heavy bag yesterday. You looking to compete or something?"

Alex shook his head as he wrapped his hands. "Just staying in shape."

"In shape for what? You look like you could go ten rounds with a heavyweight."

"For work," Alex said simply.

Frank raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. He'd known Alex long enough to recognize when a conversation was over.

Alex spent the next hour on his usual regimen. Speed bag, heavy bag, core work. He pushed himself harder than normal, working until sweat soaked through his shirt and his muscles burned with fatigue. Physical pain was simpler than the other kind. Cleaner.

By 9:30, he was back home, showered, and dressed in his session clothes. Dark slacks. White button-down shirt. Professional, but nothing he would mind getting blood on if necessary.

He prepared the room meticulously. Removed anything breakable or valuable. Set out a box of tissues. Filled a glass of water for his client. Then he sat in his chair and waited.

James Carter arrived precisely at 10:00 AM. The doorbell rang once, a hesitant sound.

Alex opened the door to find a slight man with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses. James wore a buttoned-up dress shirt despite it being Saturday, and he clutched a briefcase as if it contained state secrets rather than accounting papers.

"Dr. Bailey?" James asked, his voice soft.

"Alex is fine. Come in, Mr. Carter."

"James, please." He stepped inside, looking around nervously. "I... um... this is my first time doing something like this."

"I gathered," Alex said. "Please, have a seat."

James perched on the edge of the couch, still holding his briefcase. His knuckles were white.

"Before we begin," Alex said, "I need to confirm you understand what you've signed up for. The premium package allows for verbal and physical expression of negative emotions. You may say anything to me except racial slurs or homophobic language. You may physically express your emotions, including hitting me, though weapons are not permitted."

James nodded rapidly. "Yes, I read all the paperwork. Signed the waiver."

"Good. I should warn you that most clients find this experience intense. If at any point you want to stop, just say 'red light,' and we'll end the session immediately."

"Okay," James whispered.

"One last thing," Alex continued. "Everything that happens in this room stays in this room. I don't judge. I don't remember. I'm here to help you process whatever you need to process."

James nodded again, but he looked terrified.

"So," Alex leaned back in his chair. "What brings you here today, James?"

James set his briefcase down carefully beside the couch. "I... I don't know where to start."

"Start anywhere," Alex said. "What made you seek out my specific services?"

"My therapist recommended you," James said. "I've been seeing Dr. Chen for anxiety, but she thought your approach might help with... something specific."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Sarah Chen referred you?"

"Yes. She said your methods are unconventional but effective."

Interesting. Sarah wasn't usually so quick to refer clients to him. She must have seen something in James that conventional therapy couldn't touch.

"What's the 'something specific,' James?"

James looked down at his hands. "I'm angry," he said so quietly Alex had to strain to hear. "I don't know how to handle it."

"Most people who come to me are angry," Alex said. "That's normal."

"Not for me," James replied. "I'm not an angry person. I've never raised my voice at work. I've never yelled at my wife. I've never even sent food back at a restaurant when they got my order wrong."

"Everyone gets angry," Alex said. "It's a basic human emotion."

"I don't," James insisted. "I can't. My father..." He trailed off.

"Your father?"

"He had a temper. A bad one. He would explode over the smallest things. Broken dish, bad grade, wrong look. I promised myself I would never be like him."

Alex nodded. "So you suppressed your anger. Buried it."

"I controlled it," James corrected. "I managed it."

"Until now," Alex said. "What changed?"

James's hands twisted in his lap. "Rebecca. My wife."

"What about her?"

"She's having an affair," James said, his voice flat.

"I see," Alex said. "And that makes you angry."

"It should, shouldn't it?" James looked up, genuinely confused. "Normal people get angry when their spouse cheats. But I can't... I can't access that feeling. I just feel numb."

"How did you find out?"

"Text messages. She left her phone unlocked. It was with her coworker, David. They've been sleeping together for six months."

"Did you confront her?"

James shook his head. "No. I pretended I didn't see. I've been pretending for three weeks now."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what to do with these feelings," James said. "I don't know how to be angry. Dr. Chen thinks that's why I'm having panic attacks. The anger has to go somewhere, so it's manifesting as anxiety."

Alex studied the man before him. James Carter was a pressure cooker with no release valve. A lifetime of suppressed emotions, now faced with the ultimate betrayal. No wonder Sarah had sent him.

"What do you want from our session today, James?"

"I want to feel something," James said. "Anything besides this... heaviness in my chest. Dr. Chen thinks if I can express the anger in a safe environment, it might help."

"It might," Alex agreed. "But you need to be willing to let go. To let yourself feel what you've been avoiding."

"I'll try," James said.

"Let's start simple," Alex suggested. "Say something negative about me."

James blinked. "Like what?"

"Anything. Call me a name."

James shifted uncomfortably. "I... I don't know you well enough to insult you."

"That's the point. I'm not a person to you right now. I'm a vessel for your emotions."

"Okay," James took a deep breath. "You're... not very nice."

Alex almost laughed. "You can do better than that."

"You're... rude."

"Come on, James. You paid five thousand dollars for this session. Get your money's worth."

"You're an asshole," James said, barely above a whisper.

"Louder."

"You're an asshole," James repeated, his voice slightly stronger.

"What else?"

"You're... you're..." James struggled. "You're not good at your job."

This was going to be harder than Alex thought. James couldn't even manage basic insults. How was he supposed to process his wife's betrayal?

"Stand up," Alex instructed.

James stood, looking uncertain.

"Hit me," Alex said.

"What?"

"Hit me. That's what you paid for, isn't it? The premium package. Physical expression."

"I don't think I can," James said.

"Try."

James made a weak fist and tapped Alex on the shoulder, more a pat than a punch.

"That's not a hit," Alex said. "Hit me like you mean it."

James tried again, putting slightly more force behind it. Alex barely felt it.

"You're not even trying," Alex said. "Is this how you approach everything in life? Halfheartedly? No wonder your wife is sleeping with someone else."

James froze. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," Alex said. "Rebecca is fucking her coworker because you're too weak to satisfy her. Too weak to even get angry about it."

"Stop," James whispered.

"Why? Because it hurts to hear the truth? That you're a doormat? That she laughs about you with her lover?"

"That's not true," James said, but his voice shook.

"Isn't it? What do you think they talk about in bed? 'Poor James, he doesn't suspect a thing. He's too pathetic to confront me.'"

"Stop it," James said, louder now.

"No wonder she chose David. I bet he knows how to take what he wants. Not like you, always following the rules, always being the good boy."

"Shut up," James said, his face flushing.

"Make me," Alex challenged. "Or can't you do that either? Just like you can't confront your cheating wife. Just like you can't express a simple emotion without paying someone else to pull it out of you."

Something shifted in James's eyes. A spark that hadn't been there before.

"They're probably together right now," Alex continued. "While you're here, wasting your money on therapy you're too scared to even participate in. What kind of man—"

James lunged forward suddenly, his fist connecting with Alex's jaw. The blow was clumsy but fueled by genuine rage. Alex barely moved.

"That's it," Alex encouraged. "Again."

James hit him again, harder this time. Then again. And again. His glasses slid down his nose as he swung wildly, landing blows on Alex's chest, shoulders, face.

"She's laughing at you," Alex said, provoking him further. "They both are."

James roared and tackled Alex, knocking him to the floor. The accountant was surprisingly strong in his fury, pinning Alex down as he pummeled him. Tears streamed down James's face as he hit Alex over and over.

"I hate her!" James screamed. "I hate them both!"

Alex took the blows without resistance. James's punches hurt, but not significantly. Alex had taken worse in training. Still, he'd need ice for the bruises later.

"All those nights she said she was working late," James shouted between punches. "All those weekends at 'conferences'! I believed her! I trusted her!"

His punches began to slow as fatigue set in. The initial burst of adrenaline was wearing off.

"Fifteen years," James gasped. "Fifteen years of my life!"

Alex saw James's energy flagging and decided to push him one last time. "And what are you going to do about it? Nothing. Because you're a coward."

James found a second wind, grabbing Alex by the shirt and slamming him against the floor. "I am not a coward!"

"Prove it," Alex said. "Tell her you know. Tell her it's over."

"I will!" James shouted. "I'll tell her tonight!"

His punches had become weak, more symbolic than harmful. James collapsed beside Alex on the floor, breathing heavily. His glasses had fallen off during the assault, and his normally neat hair stuck up in wild tufts.

They lay there in silence for several minutes, the only sound their ragged breathing. Finally, James spoke.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to... I've never hit anyone before."

"That's what the session is for," Alex said, sitting up slowly. "How do you feel?"

James considered this. "Tired. Sore." He paused. "Lighter."

"The anger?"

"Still there," James admitted. "But different now. Like I can see it clearly instead of it suffocating me."

Alex nodded. "That's normal. Anger isn't something to get rid of. It's information. It tells you when a boundary has been crossed."

"Rebecca crossed a big one," James said quietly.

"Yes."

"I'm going to confront her," James decided. "Tonight. I'm going to tell her I know, and that I want a divorce."

"Good," Alex said. "That's a healthy response to betrayal."

James stood up shakily and retrieved his glasses from where they'd fallen. He put them on, then looked at Alex with horror as he realized the extent of what he'd done.

"Your face," he said. "I'm so sorry."

Alex touched his cheek. It was tender, probably starting to bruise. "Don't worry about it. Occupational hazard."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not much," Alex lied. His ribs ached where James had landed several solid blows, and his jaw throbbed.

James looked mortified. "I can't believe I did that."

"I can," Alex said. "That anger has been inside you your whole life. You just finally let it out."

"I feel... I don't know how to describe it."

"Authentic," Alex suggested. "You feel authentic."

James nodded slowly. "Yes. That's it exactly." He checked his watch. "Our hour is almost up."

"Take your time," Alex said. "No one after you today."

James retrieved his briefcase from beside the couch. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Dr. Chen was right. This helped."

"I'm glad," Alex said.

"Will I... need another session?"

Alex considered this. "That depends on what happens with Rebecca. Call me if you feel that pressure building again."

"I will," James promised. He reached for his wallet. "The payment—"

"It's been processed," Alex assured him. "The card you gave when you booked."

James nodded. He seemed reluctant to leave, as if unsure how to return to normal life after such an experience.

"One more thing," Alex said. "What happens in this room stays in this room. The anger you felt, the things you said and did—they're between us. When you talk to Rebecca, stay calm. Be clear about what you know and what you want. No need to escalate."

"I understand," James said. "I don't want to be like my father."

"You're not," Alex assured him. "Expressing anger in a controlled environment is nothing like taking it out on the people you love."

James nodded gratefully. "Thank you again, Dr. Bailey."

"Good luck tonight," Alex said, showing him to the door.

After James left, Alex locked the door behind him and went to the bathroom to assess the damage. His face in the mirror looked worse than it felt—a bruise forming on his left cheek, a small cut near his eyebrow. His ribs would be sore tomorrow, but nothing was broken.

He went to the kitchen and made an ice pack, then returned to the living room. The cushions on the couch were disheveled from their struggle. Alex straightened them mechanically, restoring order to the room.

Then he sat in his chair, holding the ice pack to his face, and remained completely still for twenty minutes. His mind was as blank as his expression.

Finally, he stood and walked to the center of the room. His gaze swept across the space, lingering briefly on the couch where countless clients had unleashed their pain. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes drifted to the door in the hallway. The door that led to the basement.

"Time," he said, the word barely audible.

Something changed in his eyes then—a darkness that hadn't been there a moment before. Something ancient and predatory that didn't belong in a human face.