PS: A Question of Motivation

FADE IN:

INT. PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE - DAY

A clock with roman numerals TICKS. A chair CREAKS.

The faintest of grins pulls back on a scruffy man's face. This is DREW (30s). His leg bounces as he nervously looks at ROBERTA (30s), seated across from him. She also watches him, but she's still. Wary. Terrified.

DREW
Is something wrong? You're awfully quiet today.

For a second, it isn't clear if Roberta's going to laugh or cry. Instead, she just stifles a cough.

DREW (CONT'D)
We'll never get to the heart of the problem if you don't talk to me.

ROBERTA
I'm fine. Just...fine.

DREW
Fine? That isn't very definitive.

ROBERTA
Fine, as in, super peachy. Doc.

He laughs.

DREW
Well, how's your week been?

She shakes her head, exhaling, processing.

DREW (CONT'D)
Been sleeping all right?

She doesn't respond.

DREW (CONT'D)
I take that as a "no". Stress getting to you?

Looks up at him.

ROBERTA
Maybe a little.

He beams.

DREW
I just want to know how you feel.

Roberta says nothing. Then she begins a violent coughing fit.

DREW (CONT'D)
Would you like some water?

ROBERTA
...think it's probably best that I don't...

DREW
Suit yourself.

He watches her.

DREW (CONT'D)
I could tell you how my week's been. Wouldn't you like to hear about that?

ROBERTA
I can think of more inviting things.

He laughs.

The phone suddenly RINGS. Drew sighs exasperatedly. She watches him intently, alert.

DREW
They just keep calling. Don't they know we're in a session? It would be impolite.

He gets up, walks over to the phone, picks it up and promptly drops it back down on the receiver. Roberta's expression falls to one of disappointment.

ROBERTA
I wouldn't be too hurt if you interrupted this session.

He grins, cheeky, then goes around to the back of the desk. There's a file. He picks it up, flips it open. Paces as he reads.

DREW
Subject, subject... Oh, symptoms! Mood swings, decreased libido, decreased appetite, sleep disruption, panic attacks...

He looks at her.

DREW (CONT'D)
Delusions of...grandeur. Does this sound familiar?

He reads on.

DREW (CONT'D)
High...

His eyes narrow as he tries to make out the word. In the background, Roberta is coughing again.

DREW (CONT'D)
Oh. High risk for suicide. Let's see...What did we do about that?

He looks up at Roberta, frowns. He strides over. She tries to hide something from him. He grabs it from her. It's a cell phone. He pockets it.

DREW (CONT'D)
You too? You know the rules just as well as anyone. No cell phones in session.

She nearly sobs. He turns back to the file.

DREW (CONT'D)
Started on...Lexapro. Increased dosage from...ten to twenty milligrams. Saw no apparent change or...improvement in personality.

He looks back up at her. She's staring at the ground, silent and crestfallen.

The clock TICKS.

DREW (CONT'D)
This all sounds a little hopeless, doesn't it?

He flips the file shut, tosses it aside. Roberta tenses.

DREW (CONT'D)
Do you know how many files there are in here, just like this? Do you care?

ROBERTA
Of course I care...

He leans in, claps a hand to her shoulder.

DREW
I'm sure you do.

She doesn't even flinch. Just coughs.

DREW (CONT'D)
Do any of these files deserve special attention? Do you? Who's going to care about you, huh?

It doesn't look like she's going to reply, but then...

ROBERTA
Of course, we're all alone, when it comes right down to it. Just look at you. All...alone. You aren't special.

He kneels to be level with her.

DREW
You've told me so many things over the past year, but...I'm not sure any of them were true. You know what it feels like, being lied to constantly? I hate it. Cause eventually, you end up lying to yourself. You lose...yourself. You must know what that's like. Losing yourself.

She just looks away, pale. He stares at her, waiting for a response. He stands, shouting.

DREW (CONT'D)
Tell me you know what that's like!

The phone RINGS again. Roberta smiles faintly, though she doesn't look at him anymore. Stays silent.

DREW (CONT'D)
You're worse than me, aren't you? You're nothing. You're wall space.

The clock just TICKS.

Frustrated, pacing, Drew heads over to the window, is bathed over by the cold white light. In the background, someone BANGS on the door. He pulls something out from his belt. It's a gun. He looks at it, considering.

DREW (CONT'D)
I know I'm not special. I don't need to be. I don't need to know what comes next.
He pulls back on the hammer.

DREW (CONT'D)
I just wish you'd ask me why. Why I did this. Why you. Why anything...

The clock just TICKS.

Only then, when he turns around, does it become clear. The front of Roberta's sweater is soaked through with blood, a bullet hole somewhere in her gut. Her head is slumped forward. She's already dead. He's been alone now, for awhile.
The clock TICKS. Drew turns away.

DREW (CONT'D)
Maybe it doesn't matter.

The THRASHING on the door ensues. INDECIPHERABLE CALLS from outside. The phone RINGS.

Drew sighs, looks at the gun one final time, then sets it down on the windowsill.

FADE OUT.
THE END