?You must be James- I?m Dr. Michaels, I?ll hopefully be helping you with your sleep troubles.?

Solus had never been one for sleep therapy. His insomnia problems had always been at the forefront of his mind, but he had never considered bothering to get help for it because, as far as he was concerned, it was an advantage. It was a basic flaw of humanity, he often mused to himself, that any misgivings in personality were seldom seen as just that, and were often reshaped into a positive to avoid that ever-so-cruel feeling of inferiority that we feared so much. All the same, Solus had never expected to end up in this room.

?I don?t want to be here, you know.?

Solus looked up towards the doctor for the first time as he uttered the words no psychologist wants to hear, and realised just how stereotypically, tragically perfect this man was. He had the small, circular spectacles that balanced delicately on the tip of his nose, the slightly off-putting grey hair which ran off in various directions, and of course the customary grey beard occasionally seen being stroked or twirled in his twanging fingers. The doctor too maintained fierce eye contact, not particularly unhinged by what he saw as a lost little boy in a big man?s body.

Of course, Solus would never admit to noticing or knowing what Dr. Michaels and so many others were thinking about him, so he shrugged and sat innocently, pretending to be too wrapped up in the neatly packaged little world of his own that was his mind as the doctor leaned back and spoke once again.

?Then why are you here, James??

Short little questions keeping Solus to talk and thus feel the utmost importance surrounding him; he knew that was the doctor?s plan. The difficult truth of the matter was that he was only here on orders; though Solus quite liked his insomniac tendencies, the company didn?t- it was only hours after his victory over Watkins that the WWA had ?politely informed? him that to continue his wrestling there he would have to take up this therapy- so he did.

?Well, Doctor, maybe it?s because I?ve finally accepted my problems, maybe it?s because I want to finally find the solution to my downside or maybe I just want to get some sleep. Or maybe, just maybe, I?ve been physically forced to come to this place and listen to you tell me what I already know.?

Absolutely nothing was going to stop Solus from continuing his surge in the WWA- if he had to jump through flames to get his TV title shot and compete in the Bourbon Street Brawl, he would.

?Then since you?re here, I might as well at least try to help you; you never know what might happen.? The doctor smiled knowingly, though Solus knew it was futile.

?Whatever you say, Doc. We?ve got?? Solus glanced at his watch, ??at least 45 minutes here.?

Here.

For the first time since he had arrived with that same, null expression on his face, Solus looked around and saw what ?here? really looked like- minus the mildly tinted door at the opposite side of the room, he and the Doctor on their two mahogany, wooden chairs were the only contents of the room. The walls were all plain white and, as he looked closer towards them, Solus could see that they looked almost?padded. He glanced back to the doctor, who looked back at him with a smirk of realisation.

?James, this is a special kind of sleep therapy- our motto is to achieve solutions through whatever method is necessary- if that means being more extreme, then so be it.?

Beginning to feel like he was in a prison, Solus stood up and walked towards the part of the wall closest to him, slowly moving his hand towards the wall and feeling the soft padding that surrounded him. Without warning, he turned around to glare at the doctor and spoke through gritted teeth and a seething look.

?I wasn?t aware I was agreeing to be a prisoner.? He shuffled back to his chair angrily while prolonging his glare at the doctor.

?Then again, you weren?t aware you were agreeing to anything at all- you seem to agree to be a prisoner to yourself in your own mind, so why not here? At the very least, we may well cure your insomnia.? He paused for a moment. ?We will keep you in here for 6 days as instructed by the company, and we will come in and speak to you once a day, see how you?re getting on.?

Without even an acknowledgement of goodbye or anything remotely similar, the doctor stood up and walked towards the barely noticeable door- however, standing in his way was Solus, a look of defiance written on his face as he looked down with a why-do-you-think-you?re-bigger-than-me flash of arrogance also showing.

?I?m not letting you out.? Solus leaned over the doctor, who by now had a look of intimidation and slightly corrupt fear in his eyes. However, he stayed straight and looked back up at Solus, something which put the wrestler slightly off guard.

?Why? Don?t you want my help??

?No-?

?You don?t want to wrestle anymore? You don?t want to go onto that street and brawl those other ?inferior? men? The Bourbon Street Brawl is dangerous, James, and the WWA won?t allow you out there with an unfit state of mind.? Following this comment from the doctor, Solus grinned with a hint of deranged lunacy.

?One would suggest there?s no way of getting rid of my ?unfit state of mind?, doc.?

The doctor smirked right back. ?Right then, no Bourbon Street Brawl and no more WWA for you then.?

Looking straight down at the doctor, Solus had no choice but to peruse his options. Stay or go, and all of a sudden Solus was facing that choice again. That basic human flaw of not accepting blame, of refusing to acknowledge any misgivings in personality, any flaws that would seem to show inferiority.

Not once since he had lived had Solus accepted there may be something wrong with his personality: something corrupt; something tragically unbalanced and something overly forced. Like a broken vase that had been glued back together, his being had many cracks and holes which allowed his imperfections to slowly become visible.

The doctor had become his key.

The key to fixing himself in a perfect little self-solution and making himself socially acceptable- but was that what he wanted?

Yes and no.

Although he had always been slightly put-off by that pungent, tangled knowledge before a match that he had not had adequate sleep the prior night, it had always seemed to work for him. Sometimes, Solus once again mused to himself, maybe the laws of strengths and weaknesses are interplayed, mixed up in an ever-changing world. His moral compass had experienced something of a stunted growth, and so along with it came his blurred perceptions of right and wrong.

Choices had never come easy for him, and this one proved to be the most difficult so far- and yet, with a little push coming unexplained from the back of his mind, Solus looked down at the doctor once more and, little by little, stepped to the side with a sigh.

The doctor stepped through the door, taking with him Solus? mental handbook on the way of life, and how to get ahead.

Now, he was learning from scratch- ready to walk onto Bourbon Street with new perceptions to test, new challenges to face and new temptations to avoid.

Now, he would learn to win.