In Treatment s01e33 Episode Script

Previously on In Treatment.
Why didn't you tell me your father was in Miami? - Why was it a secret? - It's not a fucking secret.
So he doesn't know about your attempted suicide.
It's not his fault that I took those pills.
- Are you angry at him for something? - Shut the fuck up about him! I want you to remember something, Sophie.
There are other places where you can feel safe.
And here in this room is one of those places.
Oh.
Hold up, Paul.
I've just got to finish this.
Take your time.
I'll just Google myself.
It's my dad.
He's in Boston.
- I might go visit him next week.
- Hm.
Oh, my God, the most amazing thing happened last night.
You wouldn't believe me, but I don't care.
- Why wouldn't I believe you? - Because You think that my dad and me being connected is bullshit.
I never said it was bullshit.
I said I might be surprised, but Free your mind, Paul.
The rest will follow.
Hm.
Hm.
Oh, my God, it was incredible.
I had this dream that my father was in danger.
I woke up feeling a little freaked, you know, so I called him.
He's staying in a hotel with his girlfriend.
Turns out, last night, somebody broke into his room and stole his favourite camera.
Hm.
So, guess you must be feeling pretty silly now, huh? Because you have all these doubts about my father and our telepathy.
- You basically hate the man.
- I hate your father? Last week you were insinuating Forget it.
The point is, we're connected.
It's been proven once and for all.
You can't take that away.
You said that you might go to Boston.
Don't you have the Olympic trials coming up? Those are after I get back.
So it's OK to miss training this close to a competition, is it? Oh, I'm sorry, Cy.
I was looking for my shrink.
Look, it's not a big deal.
It's just more important for me to spend quality time with him.
- It's been too long.
- Maybe he could come here? That way you could see him and you could still continue to train.
What do you care? Did you, like, bet on me to win a medal or something? When was the last time you saw your father? About six months ago.
- He was in town for a weekend.
- And how was that? Was it fun? It was fine.
We went to this fancy restaurant.
His girlfriend came with us.
And my dad started flirting with the waitress.
His girlfriend started to cry, so we had to leave, which kind of sucked, but doesn't matter, it was fine.
Was it the same girl from Boston? I think so.
I don't keep up.
How did you get on with her? Fine.
She's peachy.
Hm.
What's her name again? Darren, Taryn, Karen - something like that.
Cleo.
I think it's still Cleo.
I'm like the little sister she never had.
I wish he'd leave her in Boston.
We haven't taken a trip together, just my dad and me, - since my 13th birthday.
- Where did you go then? We went to Paris.
He took me to everything, from the Eiffel Tower to Monet's garden - the works.
At this sidewalk café I had this cup of chocolate.
You had to eat it with a spoon.
Two words - awe-some.
We stayed in this huge apartment.
It was like a loft.
Belonged to some woman - I met her for, like, five seconds just as I was leaving to fly back home.
She was going into the apartment as I was going out.
The elevator reeked of her perfume.
Made me want to throw up.
I did, literally.
Right on the street, in front of the cab.
Nobody saw it.
That's not true, the cabbie saw, but my dad didn't.
He stayed upstairs.
So you took a cab to the airport by yourself? Yeah.
I was 13, Paul.
Mm.
So, you want to tell me more about that dream that you had? Not really.
It doesn't matter.
It's just a stupid dream.
But I felt that he was in danger, that's the important part.
I can feel him.
We're linked.
Radar love.
It was a terrible dream.
More like a nightmare.
Do you get those? Sometimes.
What happens in yours? Well There's one I've I've had consistently since I was a kid.
I'm sitting in this rocking chair and I'm rocking back and forward, and every time I go to get off, I can't get off, and the chair keeps rocking back and forward.
And my my mother is calling me from upstairs, and I'm trying to get out of the chair, but I I just can't let go.
What do you think it means? I think it means that uh, maybe that I am scared that I'm gonna disappoint my mother, that I'm not gonna be there for her.
Did you disappoint her? In real life? No, I I don't think so.
Anyway, back to your dream.
OK, so I was waiting for my father in a hotel room when a man knocked on the door.
I let him in.
He asked me where my father was and I told him he was on his way.
Just as I said it - I was so stupid - I realised that this guy was a serial killer.
So, he sat down to wait with me, and I knew that the moment my father walked into that room, this guy was going to kill him.
And I didn't know how to stop it.
It was awful.
What did the man look like? I don't remember.
Had you been in this hotel room before? No.
What was it like? Can you describe it? It was dark.
Dark wood, dark furniture.
Sort of like a cave or a tunnel.
Yeah, like a tunnel, but it wasn't scary.
You could see light at both ends, like where the tunnel started and where it ended.
I remember looking back and forth, trying to figure out which way was the entrance and which was the exit.
Anything else you remember about it? The man was wearing shoes like yours.
Not those shoes.
The black ones that you usually wear.
Like my other ones? Not like your other shoes, they were your shoes.
So the serial killer was wearing my my shoes? It was you in the hotel room.
You were waiting to kill my father.
Did I tell you why I was gonna kill him? - Did your father ever show up? - No.
We just sat there.
We made small talk.
And the whole time I was trying to figure out how to get out of there, to call somebody or something.
Do you remember what this small talk was about? I don't I'm not sure.
Something about It makes perfect sense, doesn't it? You're always insinuating shit about him - that he's the mystery man, that there's some big secret, that he's the person who really fucked me up.
But the joke's on you, because there's nothing there.
My father didn't cross the line or break any rules or any of that crap you love to throw around.
You're so wrong it's ridiculous.
My father has always been there for me.
His work and me are the only important things in his life.
How do you feel about his photographs? They're beautiful if you look at them with an open mind, which of course you can't.
He loves the human form.
He believes the body can be the perfect expression of every human emotion and experience.
Is that how he speaks about his work? What are you saying, Paul? That I can't form an opinion of my own father's work? You think I'm quoting him? You know, he says a lot of shrinks are failed artists or writers.
Maybe you're jealous of him.
He travels around the world, he works with models.
Meanwhile, you're trapped in your cell with fuck-ups like me.
I'd take a fuck-up like you any day over one of those supermodels.
- No, you wouldn't.
Shut up.
- Yes, I would.
It's true.
So, how was that for you, your father being constantly surrounded by beautiful women when you were a kid? He's an artist.
It was his job.
Besides, nudity was totally normal in my house.
I got used to it.
Nudity? Nude models.
The female form.
It's like drawing class 101, Paul.
An artist must work from the purest inspiration.
His studio was at home so there were a lot of models walking around naked.
It wasn't a big deal.
We were cool.
So this was normal for you, to be exposed to adults being naked, yeah? "Exposed".
Ooh, nudity.
How scary.
Breasts - terrifying! So were you ever naked around the house? Of course not.
Look at your face.
You think that's my big secret? I saw my father naked and now I'm scarred for life? Isn't that kind of a cliché? So your father was naked and your mother as well? Why are you laughing? My mother always wore clothes, even in the shower.
But she was perfectly comfortable with the models? She was clueless about the whole thing.
Sorry, I'm having a difficult time following.
I thought you said that people were naked all the time? OK, not all the time, a lot of the time.
During the day, while my mother was at work.
So would you say that your father was, um hiding it from her? I'd say she was a fucking idiot who couldn't see what was right in front of her.
They were having sex.
Who was having sex, Sophie? My dad with the model du jour.
How do you know? I saw them.
I came home from school early one day.
The mom who drove car pool that day had to pick us up early.
I walked into my parents' bedroom and my father was there with a model.
- Does your father know that you saw? - Oh, yeah.
He got up.
He came over to me and just looked at me.
I said something like, "I thought the models only came at fixed times.
" And what did he say? I don't remember.
Something like, "You're supposed to be at school.
" And then he shut the door and locked it.
I remember the sound of the latch sliding.
How old were you? I don't know.
Seven and a half? Why are you being so dramatic? It was no big deal.
My father is an artist.
They don't live like other people do.
They have to be in touch with They have to crap on conventional things in order to create.
- Did you talk to your mother about this? - No.
Did your father tell you not to? No.
But you walked away from that door knowing that you weren't supposed to say anything, that you had a secret.
Maybe that's when the idea of telepathy between you and your dad began? This idea that you can understand each other without words.
That's your big theory? After all your insinuations? - Pretty lame.
- You keep accusing me You keep suggesting that somebody crossed the line with me, that I don't have the ability to say no.
You're saying that What? .
.
that I've been sexually abused.
You think that's the secret I'm looking for? - Aren't you? - No, I'm not.
No, right.
Do you think something happened to you? Are you listening to me? I told you nothing happened.
You're the one who keeps implying I don't think you were sexually abused, Sophie.
Good.
Then we can finally stop talking about that.
Why didn't you ever tell your mother what you saw? Don't be an idiot.
So this secret has been there between you and she all these years? So what? I barely speak to the woman anyway.
You don't think there's any connection between those two things? I don't speak to her because she's pathetic.
She's a moron.
She couldn't see what was right in front of her face.
Sometimes I think she's still waiting for him, like Santa Claus or something.
She would never admit it, but it's so obvious, it's pathetic.
If you told her what you saw, she might not wait for him any longer.
It's not my job to make her face reality.
I'm the child! She's supposed to be smarter than me.
You know, she sits there, day after day, waiting for him to come to his senses.
I want to scream at her, "He doesn't give a fuck about you! "You're stupid.
You're useless.
"Just get the fuck up off your clueless ass and get a life!" - Why didn't you tell her about his affairs? - It's not my fucking job! Maybe you didn't tell her because you were afraid? Maybe you were afraid that they'd separate and it would be your fault, just like you thought that you'd ruined Cy and Darlene's marriage, remember that? Why didn't you tell your mother after they divorced? What was I supposed to do? Rub her face in it? - So you're angry she couldn't see that? - Yes! Fuck yes! Sophie, in all these weeks of therapy, you've never once allowed yourself to be angry at your father.
It's never even been a possibility for you.
Why do you think that is? I think that your father made you his accomplice.
He burdened you with this secret, way too heavy for any child to carry, and he drove this wedge between you and your mother with this secret.
Maybe you're afraid to get angry at him because if you did, you'd lose him for good.
And maybe you never told your mother because part of you still hopes that they're gonna get back together again.
I know that's never going to happen.
I'm not an idiot.
You wouldn't have to be an idiot to believe that.
I know plenty of grown-ups whose parents have separated 20, 30 years, have even died, and they still hope in their heart of hearts that their mother and father still share a bed in heaven.
He wouldn't be a good husband if he came back.
He'd just leave her again.
And you.
What? He left you too, didn't he? No.
He just moved out.
He's still my dad.
Of course he's still your dad, but he did literally leave you, didn't he? He moved away.
He's not around.
He doesn't even know about your daily life.
He was working.
Why can't you let yourself be angry at him? Why should I be angry at him? She's the one who - who pisses me off.
- Why? Because she's pathetic and annoying and And she's always around.
I can understand why you might be angry at her too, though.
Because you feel that maybe she didn't protect you from what was going on at home.
But she's also a rock.
She's incredibly patient.
She's persistent.
She's not going anywhere.
She's really something when you think about it.
Isn't she? There's something I haven't told you.
What's that? I'm not really that interested in gymnastics any more.
What? Why not? I don't know.
Used to be everything to me, and now it's not.
And why do you think that is, Sophie? No, you tell me, Paul.
OK.
I think that when you were growing up there weren't enough boundaries at home.
Boundaries to protect a child from What were you, six, seven? From things that could impact your your view of sex, your body, your attitudes toward men.
I think it was also an environment where you were expected to be complicit in the lies of grown-ups.
And I think you wanted to escape, so sports became the perfect outlet for you.
A place with rules and order, where discipline protected you and guided you.
I think that gymnastics was always a place that you were able to run away to, to be in control.
Maybe Maybe you don't need to run away to that world any more.
- Shit.
- What? I'll never make the Olympic team now, not with that attitude.
Well, I don't think that's necessarily true.
I'm gonna suck at it.
Hm.
Have you ever failed before? Never, but What? The times, they are a-changin'.
It's from a Bob Dylan song.
My gift to you.
Thank you.
You're welcome.
He's an old geezer like you.
Thanks.
Our time is up.
So, uh, I'll see you next week, then.
OK? English SDH