Are You Satisfied? by Joy Borst

Are You Satisfied? BY JOY BORST

Expectations. What is expected of me? To be successful. To be worthy. To be the best. What do I expect of me? Does it match? What do I want? Does it even matter? What is my purpose? What am I supposed to be? Who am I supposed to be? A doctor. A lawyer. A success. A success. A good, little boy. A well behaved, good, little boy. Make them all proud. Make them all love you.

Make them.

Make them adore you.

Make them know.

I am perfection. I am worthy I am brilliant I am the best I am god I am I am I am

A fucking mess.

I wonder why people should not know about that. What is so wrong with being a mess? I didn’t sign up to be born in this world, in this family with these expectations, to be born the way I was born. I never asked for it, so who are they to demand certain results from me? Aren’t they just fucking delusional? Mommy, daddy, do I deserve the name Atteberry? Are you proud to have me as your son? Mommy, daddy, look at my position. I did destroy people on the way, but it is the end result that matters, right? Look at my grades, aren’t they perfect? I want to destroy myself, but at least I’m achieving something, right?

It is all one fucking joke.

-0-

“Who decides when something is perfect anyways, right?” “Don’t we decide for ourselves, doctor Atteberry?” “So you’re saying that we raise the bar in the fucking sky ourselves? Why did we start doing that? When did we start doing that? Say, Heather, is this a human flaw or a flaw created by society?” “I don’t know, doctor.” “Fine. Let me ask you something else, Heather… When would you call something perfect?” Silence. A moment of hesitation. An answer.

“When I am satisfied?” “Are you satisfied, Heather? You’ve a steady job as my assistant and me as your company. You better be satisfied. So, are you?” “Are you, doctor?”

Am I? Am I satisfied? If I am satisfied then what else is there to achieve? But if I am not satisfied? Does that mean I haven’t reached perfection? I am rich. I am successful I have an MD. My own hospital. A manor. What else is there to achieve? “Friends, doctor.” Friends? “A romantic relationship perhaps, doctor.” Romance? “That sounds fucking lame, Heather! Tell me, how can it compare to that what I already have?” “Are you happy, doctor?” “Are you avoiding answering my questions?” “Are you happy, doctor?” No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. “That is sad, doctor.” “What is?” “That you lack an answer. It is sad.” “Ah, because sometimes no answer is an answer in itself. So, from my silence you jumped to a conclusion. What is your conclusion, Heather?” “That you’re not happy.”

We are sitting face to face. Having had years of experience when it came to maintaining eye contact with each other. I wanted to laugh in her face and mock her for her stupidity. After I told her everything I had, she still jumped to the conclusion that Iwasn’t happy. Was she daft? But my laugh remains stuck at the back of my throat. I look away first. “Why are you jumping to that conclusion?” I ask as I get up and move to the window to open it. A conversation like this always made me ache for a cigarette, but I oddly found myself starting these conversations lately. “Am I wrong, doctor?” “You didn’t answer my question.” She follows me towards the window and offers me her lighter. Well, it is actually my lighter, but I made her carry it around for me. Simply, because I can. “Doctor, you have so much… and yet you’re looking for more. Because if this is it… it would get boring at some point, right?” Finally I can laugh at her for her stupidity. “And friends make things less boring, Heather?”

She has no answer to that, besides, she has no right to judge me at all. She has no friends either. “Would giving it a try hurt, doctor? Who knows… Perhaps it could be fun.” I wonder if we have a different definition of fun. Making new friends doesn’t sound very fun to me. I sigh as I take her lighter. The lighter that actually belongs to me in the first place. “Fine. Just to prove you wrong though.”

-0-

What makes a relation so important? Why put so much value in someone else and their opinions? Why arewe social creatures that can’t live without the presence of other people? What is the point? Would I be happier when I am surrounded by someone else? What are my expectations of the other person then? Expectations. Here we go again. For if I expect something from someone, someone would expect something from me as well, correct? Wrong. They should be fucking grateful to be graced with my presence. They won’t meet someone who is more perfect than I am. I am perfection. Does that mean I am satisfied after all? Or am I lying to myself? “How does one make friends, Heather?” “It comes natural, doctor.” “Are you stupid?” “No, doctor. There is a connection or not. You can’t make friends with someone when there is no connection.” “That sounds stupid.” A laugh. Honestly Heather, this was no laughing matter! “When do you know there is a connection then, Heather?” “I suppose you just do.” “What do I do when there is no connection?” “You thank them for the evening and you move on.”

That isn’t so hard. I can say thank you and go on with my life. Therefore, it is important that I meet someone who I genuinely need in life. Someone I could use. “What are you good at?” “How useful are you?” “How can you be of use to me?” “Why should I choose you as my friend?” They didn’t seem to like those questions. I discovered that people didn’t want to be friends with someone who only wants to use them for something. Then how am I supposed to make friends if this isn’t the correct way? “What are you laughing at, Heather?” “That isn’t how you make friends, doctor!” “I realised that!” “You made it sound as if they were applying for a job! That is hilarious!” “Shut up, Heather!”

-0-

Another problem was judgement. I can see it whenever they looked at me. I am too short. They don’t like the way I dress. I have a babyface. Who even cut their hair like that still? Am I playing dress up? Why are you wearing a lab coat? Are you old enough to be here? Where are your parents? “I am twenty-seven years old though.” Silence. “I have my own hospital.” Awkward. They made it awkward. It isn’t my fault. I’m just putting them back in their place. How dare they mock me. “What have you achieved?!”

“You should be nicer, doctor…” I glare up at her from my paperwork. I should be nicer? I did nothing wrong! How dare she blame me for it! “They started, I simply finished it,” I reply with a sneer. Trying to make friends left me in a sour mood. “In no way am I in the wrong!” “I disagree, doctor. Why don’t you give it another go and treat them like you would treat a patient. With kindness and patience, you can do that.” I look back at my work and muse her advice over. I know how to treat patients, after years of experience I have mastered the arts of a proper psychiatrist. Could making friends be as easy?

-0-

“Nice to meet you, my name is Daniel Atteberry. Doctor Daniel Atteberry” “Adelina, the pleasure is all mine.” I am waiting for a comment. I am expecting a comment. It somewhat surprises me when there comes none. Our conversation starts the same way as every other. It was idle chitchat. I am not interested in pleasantries or information about her. I won’t remember it or try to remember it. Perhaps she noticed my growing boredom or perhaps this is something she always shares when meeting someone new. “So, like, I am a perfectionist, right? Everything needs to be perfect like all the time.” “Who decides when something is perfect?” A look of confusion, a snort. I don’t think my question was stupid. “Obviously, I do.” “But what if your perfection doesn’t equal my perfection? Who is right? Who gets to decide when something is truly perfect? When is something truly perfect anyways? I’m all ears, Abbigail.” “Adelina.” Whatever. “So, something is truly perfect when something is flawless, like“ “Are you flawless, Ad… Ab.. Ade..” “Adelina.” Whatever. I shrug.

There is a flash of annoyance on her face, one so familiar and it tingles me. It is a bad habit of mine to annoy the people I am around. I am more intrigued about her when she looks almost spiteful. “So, to answer your question, Danny.. Can I call you Danny?” “Call me Danny one more time and I’ll end you.” That isn’t a bluff. She isn’t going to risk it. Smart girl. “Anyways, obviously I’m flawed. Isn’t it like totally human to be flawed?” Lame. Her answer is disappointing and totally cliché. Somehow I expected more of her. I was ready to finish this conversation. “What you’re saying is that you aren’t perfect and you seem completely satisfied with that. Are you truly a perfectionist then? If you are okay with being imperfect, how can you call yourself a perfectionist?!” A scoff. I insulted her. I doubt I will be making a friend tonight, but I have stopped caring. “Obviously you are flawed as well.” “Barely.” “As if. Name a flaw! Come on, I’m sure you can think of one!”

I grin and lean back in my seat. I can see the perfect way to end this conversation and I don’t even need to lie for it. My eyes find her and to my disappointment she looks away rather quickly. “Fine, I’ll share with you my one and only flaw, Adelina. You see…”

I am a psychopath.

I don’t think she expected that. I wasn’t surprised to see her pack her bag and leave soon after. I wasn’t upset either. There was no connection. There was no connection with anyone. None of them would have been fun for long and I still failed to see any of them as useful. The only useful person in my life is Heather and she meets all my expectations. That is why I chose her as my personal assistant. She isn’t perfect, but unfortunately… neither am I. I am almost perfect though. My mother might not agree with me, but I am okay with not being perfect. Therefore, I am okay with Heather not being perfect.

-0-

“I have reached a conclusion of my own, Heather.” “What is your conclusion, doctor?” I take her cigarette out of her hand and I take a drag from it myself. I watch the exhaled smoke rise. I felt rather content with my conclusion. “To answer an earlier question of yours, I am satisfied, Heather. I’m satisfied for now. I don’t need no other friend. For now I only need you.” We turn to each other, making eye contact. A game we have been playing for years. The one who looks away first loses, but it would usually end up in a draw. She was the only one who matches me, the only one who can keep up. I can’t stand still even if the entire world does, but she will continue to move with me. She knows what I was and yet she accepts me. Heather Belcher was my rock, my guidance and my one and only friend. Honestly, I doubt I would get bored of her. “You should feel honoured, Heather. There is no one who can match you.”

She looked at me as if I had grown a second head. A soft scoff. A fond smile. She soon takes the cigarette back that I stole from her earlier. Not once does she look away for this was a game that could go on for forever if we allowed it. “That is disgusting, doctor. I didn’t see you for a sap. I don’t expect you to go all soft on me now.” And I laugh.