He's six feet and two hundred pounds of pure muscle. Professional looking tattoos all over his bare arms, sharp looking dimples in both cheeks which turn out to be cheek piercings.
I've always been an adrenaline junkie. Stealing, drugs, piercings, violence.
He's been to prison sixteen times, once for deadly assault.
I feel powerful when I hit people.
He keeps running out anxiously to check on his infant kid.
My biggest fear is hitting my daughter. She's the only person I've never hit.
He's charming. I've learnt with experience that its a red flag.
Everything I value is here. My wife, my daughter, my work.
He recently put his wife in the hospital and ended up in jail.
I want to be fixed, fast.
He has no insurance.
We troll the four-dollar lists for the cheapest medicines. I don't trust him, yet a drug screen would cost him too much. We learn all about medication profiles, side effects, drug studies. Yet so often it boils down to one question.
Is it too expensive?
We nix my first choice, a safe but expensive medicine especially useful with aggression and pick an old, cheap one.
One more question, doc. Why me?
I give him the standard story about genetics and environment. Satisfied, he leaves. I finish up and walk home, torn between despair at the cards we are dealt and thankful that it wasn't me in his shoes.
*All identifiers changed to protect privacy*