Free Pitbull: He plays hard on the field...He plays harder off it. by Sam Silvetti

interpreted as criticism, you automatically turned the tables. You wanted to speak about me instead."
    Jack leaned forward in his seat, his shoulders bulging. "I'm not defensive," he said, "go on, ask me something, I'll answer honestly."
    "Do you like yourself?"
    "What?"
    "Do you like yourself?" I repeated.
    Jack pushed himself back into the chair. "What's there not to like?"
    "So you do like yourself?"
    Jack gave me the same look that I saw on a lot of clients faces — exasperation.
    "Of course I do."
    "So you like fighting both on and off the field? You like drinking more than any professional sportsman should? You like womanising?"
    Jack's mouth widened as he smiled. "The womanising thing again? I think this is about you, Emily. You're ashamed of yourself."
    I took a deep breath. "Definitely defensive," I said, scribbling an abstract shape in my book. I knew I'd made a mistake seeing Jack as a client. I was trying to be impartial, but his words were having an effect on me. I wasn't ashamed of what I'd done with him, but I was regretting it more and more as I spoke to him.
    "Enough with the defensive shit," he spat, his face clouding over.
    "Quick to anger… you have a problem with anger, don't you?"
    I'd never felt less professional. I knew I was goading him, and I didn't know why. I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to admit them to myself.
    Jack voiced them for me. "You know, Emily. The way you're speaking to me makes me think you've got a soft spot for me," he said, with a raised eyebrow. "Just tell me if that's the case, I'll bend you over your desk and fuck you if you like?"
    Hearing him use that word thrilled and shocked me in equal measure. Not the word itself, but the meaning , and the fact that he probably meant it. If I'd have agreed, he would have gone through with it. He would have bent me over my desk and fucked me. I hoped that it wasn't only the fact that Sandra was in the room next door, that made me refuse him with a sarcastic laugh and a flick of my hair.
    "I can assure you that that's not going to happen," I scoffed, with a little less conviction in my voice than I would have liked. "I don't have a soft spot for you, Jack, I pity you. There's a vast difference."
    "Is this how you speak to all your patients?" said Jack, "because if it is, I have to tell you that you're an absolutely shit psychologist, and if it's not then I… what's the thing they say in the films?" He looked at the ceiling as he thought, his forehead furrowed and his eyes narrowing. "I refer you to my previous comment," he said, triumphantly.
    "Which one?"
    "The fact that you've got a soft spot for me," he said, looking pleased with himself.
    The childish banter was getting us nowhere. I tried to imagine Jack as a stranger that I'd never met before, just a man who needed to talk.
    "Let's try something different," I said, with a softer tone in my voice. "Why do you like playing rugby? What drives you to play the game?"
    The question had the effect I'd desired. He actually paused and considered his answer, his mouth opening to speak a few times, but closing just as quickly as he weighed up his response.
    "It makes me feel calm," he said, finally. "And free."
    "How can such a rough game make you feel calm?" I said, crossing my legs.
    Jack licked his lips and his eyes searched for an answer. "I feel less angry on the pitch than I do off it," he said, "I can focus my anger on something."
    "So you do have an anger issue of sorts?" I said, "do you know why you feel so angry?"
    "I didn't say that, did I? I didn't say I had an issue, I said I feel angry sometimes."
    I looked down at my notebook. "You said, 'I can focus my anger on something else.' What anger, Jack? Why are you angry? You told me on the phone that you had a fight in the gym. Nothing says anger like a grown man fighting in a gym."
    Jacks face darkened and he stood up. "Do you know what, Emily? Fuck you, and fuck the Budbury fucking Bears. It's a stupid name for a club anyway,