The Hypno-Therapist

This is a story that involves hypnotism, but in the sense that it can unlock memories. It is not a mind-control story. Two adults come together and become vulnerable. That was the intention.

---

Her eyeliner is black, and her outfit is laced with that and purple. She has shorts on and her legs are covered by black fishnets. She lives up to her name, Lavender. She's a pale girl with an unassuming smile. Her brown eyes stare hard ahead. Her straight black hair is covering her shoulders.

I sit down in front of her. In that motion, I peek at her cleavage. I can only think she's showing off. It's front and center and, in my mind, further forward than her Goth aesthetic, though that's also there.

"How are you?" I stick a hand out.

She responds with hers. "Good."

I raise an eyebrow. "If that were true, I don't think you would be here."

She sighs. "It's the polite thing to say."

"I know, but going forward, we need to be honest with each other."

"Why?"

"This process is about our spirits melding together."

"That sounds romantic."

"It is intimate. You have to be ready to give yourself over to me--if you pull back at any time the whole thing could fall apart."

"Really?"

I measure my words. "It's a house of cards. One emotion follows the other, and one spiritual bond the next. There's a floodgate holding you back from success." I lean forward. "I can get you there, if you let me."

"What's stopping me?"

I sit back. "I don't know yet. We have to talk. We have to get close--physically and spiritually."

"Physically?"

"Don't worry, nothing crazy." I ran a hand through my hair. We'll only ever go as far as you want. We might only hold hands."

Her shoulders dropped--they had been tense. "Oh. Good."

"It starts here." I put both my hands on the table. "Then we take it to the backroom. That's where the real magic happens."

"Magic?"

"You came to a hypnotist. You had to expect magic, right?" We look at each other. I glance at her cleavage. Her tits are popping up.

"Yes."

I looked across the table and gestured downward.

"The tools of my trade." I place my hand on top of an old gold-plated pocket watch. I present it to her. "Cliche, I know, but the classics are classic for a reason."

"That's okay."

"Over there is the incense I'll start to burn."

She looks at it.

"The lighter next to it... Is essential. It's how we'll keep you tethered to the world--and keep you from drifting away."

"Teh--tethered?"

"As opposed to other hypnotists that risk your soul to being taken by spirits--I do the occasional grounding. I bring you back to reality."

"By... Burning me?"

I smile. "You get it."

"Okay, then what?"

"The flow state is essential. I'll stand next to you and we'll get close. I need to be inside your body."

"Inside...?"

"Our spirits have to join together. Otherwise, how can I enact any change in your ego--your id?"

"How do you do that?"

"Remember, this is a process where we have to trust each other. I'll sit next to you and hold your hand and whatever else is necessary."

This satisfies her. But she looks past me to the door.

"That leads to a very important room. I can only let you see that once you're in the flow state. I've set up the room to be receptive to the spirit world. It'll calm and soothe, and with enough pressure and awareness, we can change you."

"That... Sounds so great."

"I agree." I pick up the pocket watch by its chain. "First, you have to focus."

Lavender puts her hands on her knees. She leans forward and looks into my eyes.

"Close," I say. "But look at the watch."

She blushes.

I raise the pocket watch to the right and let it swing. Lavender is tuned in. She has seen this behavior a million times in the movies or on TV. But she has never seen the real deal.

"You're here to change, aren't you?"

She's silent.

"Lavender, I need you to respond."

She shakes her head, "Yes."

"Thank you, but that was too much movement. You need to fall into the flow."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry--be better."

She is frustrated.

"You're here to change?" I repeat.

"Yes."

"Good. Tell me how. What do you need?"

"I can't seem to have a good relationship. I fly from relationship to relationship, and before I know it, it's over. We always end in an explosion."

"What are the moments before like?"

Her eyes are tracing the path of the pocket watch. Moments before it finishes swinging, I give it a lift. I lose Lavender. She falls back into the trance after a moment.

"They're... Sweet. We are in love. We are talking. The moment is ours, and it could be anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything." She repeats.

"You have high expectations."

"I do."

"Who do you think is to blame?"

"I'm starting to think it could be me."

"Why?"

"I'm the constant variable."

"Do you believe that?"

She blinks her eyes a few times. "Yes."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't."

"You don't believe you're the problem--and yet you're here."

"I'm here."

"You don't believe in hypnotism, do you?"

Her head turns first to my left, then to my right.

"You thought this would be easy, didn't you?" I drop the pocket watch.

She gasps and takes a deep gulp of air. Her head falls onto the table. She continues to gasp.

"What the fuck?" She spits out. "What was that?"

"Hypnotism."

She places a hand on the edge of the table and lifts her head to look at me.

"I knew you didn't believe."

"How?"

"Your spirit was resisting."

She looks upset. Lavender did not move from her seat.

"Now you've seen how powerful hypnotism is. Haven't you?" I didn't wait for an answer. "You need to give yourself over to the process--the whole process." I wait a moment. "Are you really here to fix your relationships?"

"Yes."

"Then you need to recognize that relationships--fights, problems, they all exist on a spectrum of behavior. There is no you or them; there is only each other. In any given moment, your spirits are interacting and in a battle for control. You like control, don't you?"

"I don't know."

"Look at you."

"What?"

"This goth chic?" She looks confused. "This is your control over how the world sees you."

"Everybody has an aesthetic."

"You build it every day."

"Are you just going to tell me to stop wearing makeup?"

I laugh. "Control itself isn't bad. We need to control our destiny, but you don't even want to admit you want it."

"I don't."

"And yet you're resisting."

"You're wrong. I want to be loved."

"That requires sacrificing parts of yourself." We stare at each other. I place my hand on the pocket watch. "Give yourself to the process. Trust that I am here to change you for the better."

Her head is downward cast as she laughs. "This is so fucking intense."

"It has to be. Now sit up and look at me."

I lifted the pocket watch up into the air and let it swing. "Focus."

"I am."

"Good. Tell me about your relationship. Let me inside your head."

Lavender's shoulders go even lower, and her eyes stare into the pocket watch. She is lost in her own world. I keep it swinging. Her words come out of her in a metronome. I stare at the back of the watch. I can see my reflection, but soon it turns into hers. We lock eyes.

I am inside her--and she is inside me. She's given in, but she's yet to give me everything.

---

The bar lights are low, and the music is loud enough to muffle self-esteem. There is the jeering sound of chronic alcoholism lingering in the air, and I am suffocated by inadequacy.

That's my first impression of the bar.

My second impression remains much the same, but across the bar, I spot a guy who looks like somebody I could love.

He's tall with blonde hair and striking blue eyes. I only look at him ten times, then ten after that. He's nothing like the men I profess to want, but two drinks in, he has become the only man I could ever want.

I don't talk to him; that's a fool's game. He doesn't talk to me either.

I keep waiting for him as I'm talking to Shannon. She's chatting about the book we've been reading by Shirley Jackson.

"The gothic undertones are basically overtones, and Merricat is sympathetic in her casual madness."

I turn my head to look at him as I take another drink. "Her madness only met by the madness of the mob. She's deserving," I reply. "But she will never get any just punishment."

There's a pause in the conversation as she digests my words. Shannon loves words and symbols. I do, too, but right now, the only symbol is that I feel inadequate, and I hope that the man across the bar can fix me.

I see he's talking to a blonde bimbo--he's deserving of her.

I know I am what many nerds on the internet would call a dream girl. The Goth girlfriend who could stomp on their faces and spit in their mouths, but I am not a fetish. And still, that's how they treat me.

The blondie across the bar can't be any better. He can hardly be thought to be different. He's an attractive King. He can have any girl he wants and dispose of them as easily. I don't want to believe I'm disposable, but I know I am.

I could disappear as quickly as a spritz of Lavender perfume.

"He's looked at you a few times," Shannon said.

I turn back to her. "He did?"

She nods. I can't believe her, won't. Why am I so attracted to a walking stereotype of attraction?

"He's probably scared off by the laser stare-down you're giving him."

"I am not--"

She laughs in my face.

I frown. "I am not."

"Go ask him."

"What?"

"If he's noticed you staring into his deep blue marina trench eyes."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I can't."

"You won't. Then you'll mope for the next week and be picked up by another loser you think isn't hot enough for you--"

"--They aren't."

Shannon shrugged. "Are--aren't, I don't care. You'll whine and moan and dump them, and then what?"

"They deserved it."

She rolls her eyes. "Did you finish Hill House?"

I shake my head. "Lost the copy."

"I can loan you mine." She looked down at her phone. "One more drink, and let's go."

We drink the drink--a Moscow Mule for me and a Piña Colada for her. We start leaving, and that's when he walks up to us and hands me a business card.

"For your graphic design needs."

I look down at the card and then at him.

He pushes it toward me again. "If you ever need anything designed, I'm your guy."

Shannon came to my rescue. She snatches the card up. "I'll make sure she calls."

He's already walking away. "Make sure she does. The name's Matthew, extension 5. Leave a message any time."

He disappears around the corner. A big boy tackles him with a side hug outside. They walk into a taxi and drive away.

Shannon hands me the card. "What did I tell you?"

I stare at the card. "Nothing."

She rolls her eyes.

---

The pocket watch stops swinging. I fall forward and gasp deeply as it clatters across the table.

I can see Lavender's feet shaking, and she's breathing deeply.

"This fucking sucks." She says.

"Trust the process."

"The process is kind of bullshit."

"We need to get deeper."

"How many tries does this shit take?"

"It's an art, not a science."

"Thanks for the cliche."

"We need to get closer."

She sighs. "How?"

I flattened the back of my hand towards her and pulled it back. "Distance. I was able to peer into the memory with you--but our time is limited."

"So what? You hold my fucking hand?"

"We start there."

She spits out these words, "Start?"

"We go as deep as we need to."

"This will make me better?"

"It will make you malleable to the final hypnotism."

"I'm not even being hypnotized yet?"

I shake my head. "This is only the start."

"Look," She pauses, trying to remember my name. "Henry?" She looks at me for confirmation she said the right name. "This is a lot."

"It always is."

"I didn't even--I have Wiccan friends, and they always told me magic was real... But this? They'd cast shitty curses that probably did nothing. At the very least, with questionable results, but just now, you were in my fucking head!" She ponders this. "We have to finish this... This is incredible."

I walk across the room and grab a stand for the pocket watch to swing on. Lavender inspects it.

"Why didn't you start with this."

I sigh. "I think we're past questions. The intricacies of the ritual only become more complicated--"

"--Who figured this out--"

"And the longer we wait before trances, the less likely we'll be to return to the state."

"That's the last question--why this thing now?"

"The pocket watch linked to you, and I used the watch as a portal. The link is now weak but recoverable. If we continue contact, our spirits can delve deeper into memories."

"Who discovered this shit?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"He was a WWE World Champion."

"What?" She explodes into laughter. "Really?"

"No."

I place a chair beside her and set the pocket watch chain on the stand.

"Hold my hand."

Our fingers interlace. Her hand is delicate and cold. We sit next to each other. I press my shoulder to hers. She looks over at me and nods.

I set the pocket watch to swing. We both stare at it. She grips my hand tighter.

"Don't be scared."

"Who said I was scared?"

"What happened next?" I asked about her memory.

"I called him. We dated." Her voice fell to that all too familiar monotonous drone.

"Where did it go wrong?"

"Everywhere."

"Let me in."

"Only as much as I can."

---

The grass hugs my feet with every step. The sky is big and blue, and the trees are smiling with each gust of the wind.

I am the same, but the world is different. It feels different. I never did understand if things ever really changed... Or if only I do.

The straw basket is hitting my hips, and the red blanket is warm against my side. I look around the park and try to find the perfect spot. A distance far enough away from strangers but close enough to the gorgeous view of the beach below.

I look around, and suddenly, I am satisfied that I found it. I set everything on the ground. I arrange the basket and the food inside in an aesthetically pleasing manner. I sit down, and I wait.

Thirty minutes pass. I start to check my phone. There's no text or missed call. There is an empty gravity well of feeling that I am starting to sink into.

I check the thread. Sunday at noon. The messages are clear. I had told him and he had replied with a thumbs up. I thought it was a pathetic response. One to be regaled to a slut or some other pathetic girl, not me. But here I was waiting on a thumbs-up boy.

I wait another hour before texting him.

"Hey, are you coming?"

I stand up and pace. The grass is stinging my feet now. Everything feels duller, and I feel an acid bile rising in my throat.

I clench my fists and look at the stupid food on the blanket. I can hardly think about eating it now. But I imagine I eat it all, and as he shows up, I'll tell him he was too late for the food. It would be hopeful posturing.

I kick the bag of bread, and it goes flying. The bag bursts open, and I scream. I grip my black hair and cover my face. I am making myself small.

I walk every step of the way to every single loaf of bread that has flown as butterflies do. I pick them up and put them in the trash.

I hurriedly walk to the blanket and use it to wrap all the food together. I turn it into a homeless train hopper sack and throw it over my shoulder. Every step feels heavy, and the grass still stings. Using both hands I push it down into the overflowing trash can.

I grab my phone, and I text him,

"If you think we're ever talking again, forget it."

Matthew came over to my house later that night. I let him in the door, and he cornered me in the hallway. He kissed me and pulled me into the bedroom. I was letting him fuck me like I was just any other slut.

---

Our hands were sweaty. Neither of us let go. Lavender was gasping. Her black hair covered her face like in the memory.

I put my hand on her back. "It's okay."

"I let him use me."

"We've all been used."

She turns her head but doesn't speak. She lets go of my hand and covers her face. I cover her with my body--a hand on each of her shoulders.

"We have to keep going."

"Why?"

"This is what you wanted."

"I'm not sure if I do."

"Losing control is scary."

"Walking out gives me control."

"It gives him control." I counter.

She comes up for air. Her mascara is smeared across her face. She looks beautiful in a broken sort of way.

"That was a time he hurt you. When did you hurt him?"

She shook me off her shoulders. "I never hurt him."

"You're lying to me again."

"I never hurt him." She sniffles.

"Then why aren't you with him?"

There was a pregnant pause. "He loves useless whores."

"That's the simple answer."

"It's the only answer."

"Good answers are never simple."

"What are you, some fucking philosopher?"

"I'm the hypnotist you hired."

"For fucking what..." She mutters as she puts her head in the palm of her hands.

"To help you."

"You can't bring Matthew back."

"Do you want him back?"

She lets out a massive sob, and it explodes with her answer, "No!"

"Show me."

"How?"

"We need to get closer. But you might not like it."

"Huh?"

I grabbed her mascara-streaked face and looked into her eyes. "I need you to kiss me."

Her eyes dart. She doesn't pull away.

"That's how we get closer."

"We... Kiss?"

"Do I have to explain this one?"

"It might help."

I kiss her forehead. "How does that feel?"

"Warm."

"There is nothing more intimate than sharing a kiss, is there?"

"I can think of something."

"I'm only asking for us to kiss."

"Okay."

I smile. "We're almost done with the clock."

I let go of her face. She looks at the clock and the stand. It's dormant.

"We have to go into the back room."

She looks past me at the black-colored door.

"What happens--"

"The deep hypnotism we've been trying to reach." I take her face and turn it to me. "Kiss me."

Lavender pushes her mascara-streaked face into mine. Her red lipstick feels. Our mouths open. She lets me in. Our tongues touch, and my hand falls on the small of her back. She pulls away and puts her cheek to mine, whispering in my ear:

"Help fix me."

"Only I can."

Her lips taste like roses and she smells like lavender. She is a holistic personification of an aesthetic. She's Goth, she is flowers, she is gorgeous, and she's begging for me to fix her. I can do nothing but guide her through her miseries.

Our foreheads bump together. We looked at each other. She wipes away a tear.

"We have to go deeper."

"I know."

I set the pocket watch to swing. I kiss her and grab her hand.

"Look into the watch, Lavender. What do you see?"

"I see the night after I found out he fucked Shannon."

"She was your friend."

"Was."

"What else?"

"I was waiting for him." Her voice deepens. "I waited and waited--he was probably out fucking her that same night."

"Stand up." I pick up the pocket watch. Her eyes stay transfixed. "Follow me."

I stumble into the black door. Lavender's eyes never break away from the pocket watch. I am enveloped in blue light. A slow hum drum of sound fills my ears. The ceiling is filled with rotating lights and shapes. The entire color spectrum is represented, and the sound starts to shake my body--and soul.

"Lie down on the bed."

I have to be quick. I place the pocket watch onto another stand and push a button. The stand itself will swing the pocket watch periodically. A projection of the watch fills the ceiling. The shapes cross over and through the light.

I lie next to Lavender. I grab her hand.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

I straddle her and grip her face. I kiss her and put my cheek to hers. I kiss down her neck and to her cleavage, then kiss the top of her breasts. I take a deep breath.