The Electra Complex

Bruce sat at the dining room table. He cracked his knuckles, stared down at his wife's photo. Dead two months. Laurie changed. Quiet, cold, 18 and pissed at the world. He waited for her. Two hours late for the appointment he'd forced them both into. She walked in. He stood. She beat him to it. "You're not my dad. Not really. I don't have to do shit." Then the yelling started in the living room. He tried talking her down. She hit him, swore at him, screamed until she shook. He grabbed her, pinned her arms, breath hot, bodies close, trembling. He told her they were going. She spit in his face. He yanked her outside, wrist locked in his grip, drove her there silent. The therapist glanced up from her desk when they stepped in, her office calm and clean. Bruce's hand was still around Laurie's wrist. "Sorry," he muttered. They sat. The therapist started talking. Said she'd been seeing Bruce since the funeral and they both wanted Laurie in on the sessions now. She asked Bruce to tell Laurie how he'd felt since they buried her mother. Bruce looked at the floor, said he felt like he'd lost his daughter too. That she was gone in every way that mattered. The therapist turned to Laurie. Laurie didn't say anything at first. Then she cracked. Said she hated herself because part of her wanted her mom dead. Wanted Bruce to herself. She'd wanted it forever. Bruce stared at her, stunned. Told her it wasn't her fault. Laurie kept crying. Said it wasn't about blame. She hated knowing how much she'd wanted him. The therapist stepped away, pulled a book off the shelf. "Electra complex," she said. "She wanted her father. Not her mother. Classic replacement. That's what's happening here." Bruce stood up, told her to stop. The therapist didn't. She told the myth. Put the book away, put her hand on Laurie's shoulder. "What are you laughing about?" "It's fucked," Laurie snapped. "Telling me I want to fuck my stepdad. That's uncomfortable." The therapist smiled and walked over to Bruce, dropped into his lap, brushed his face with her fingers. Laurie lunged, grabbed her, yanked her off. The therapist stood and looked at Laurie. "That's it," she said. "That's the reaction. That's what I needed." She told Laurie to sit. They were doing a roleplay. "You play your mother," she said. "Bruce stays himself. I play you."