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Connor had taken the liability of providing me with the good doctor's schedule for the day—a small window of no sessions providing the perfect opportunity for a quick visit.
After sleeping on it, I decided it was time for a little family reunion. Especially since he had declined my gift of Grey yesterday.
"Damon," he responds. "Always a displeasure. Are you here for your first session perhaps?"
I laugh darkly, giving Connor a small nod. He shuts the door behind me, giving us privacy. "Sure—we can call it that. Bill it however you like. I'm sure you would love to finally understand how my mind works. Sadly, I don't think you'll achieve that in today's session."
He tilts his chair back, folding his arms. "Why don't we skip the bullshit? I assume your little lap dog reported back to you yesterday."
"He was quite disheartened that someone in your profession wouldturnhim away. Isn't it your job here to supportallthe patients?" I shoot back, sitting down across from him.
Christopher raises an eyebrow. "Your friend is quite special. His file almost needs its own cabinet, yet, we all know the information in there is largely fabricated. Mr. Hawthorne is very good at portraying whatever he needs to be."
"You sound disappointed. Tell me—have you actually managed to cure anyone? Or is that not your prerogative?"
"Some people don't want to be cured, Damon. You're the prime example of that."
I laugh under my breath. "And what exactly do I need curing from, Christopher? Please enlighten me."
He stands up from his chair, walking over to the filing cabinet. I watch carefully as he unlocks it with his key, rummaging around until he pulls out a file. My own name on the top of the manila folder brings a smirk to my face.
Christopher throws the file into my lap before heading back to his chair. "You tell me. You seem to know everything."
I casually place my file on the ground without opening it. I already know what's in there—including Christopher's notes and the old psychiatrist's dribble.
These so-called professionals are great at making observations, but at the end of the day, they are just that. People perceive the world in different shades of color. Psychiatrists are instructed to look at the black and grays, picking them apart until something comes undone. I've never given any of them the luxury of that. So at best, their observations are just personal opinions.
Meaning…absolute bullshit.
"I just wanted you to know that I'm aware of what you are doing behind the scenes," I say coolly to him. "And I think you'll be surprised to find that there are repercussions."
He laughs, finally breaking character. "Is this about Ms. White's file again? The staff are already aware of your involvement and poor attempt to steal personal information."
I throw him a smirk, standing up. I step onto my file, showing him just how much regard I have for his pathetic excuse of a job.
"It's not, actually. But I do believe you'll understand what I mean soon. Any minute now, in fact."
His eyebrows furrow in confusion, but I turn around, heading to the door without elaborating. I swing it open, pleased that Connor is nowhere to be seen just like I had ordered. Glancing over my shoulder at Christopher, I give him a final parting gift.
"If you need a shoulder to cry on when it happens… perhaps call a real psychiatrist."
Chapter 14
Avery
It's around two in the afternoon.
Or… at least I think it is?
I expected to be woken early by some daunting task from Mr. Whittingham. But there was nothing.
In fact… nothing at all.
The bell has rang several times throughout the day, signaling the usual routine. But I've been locked in my room without a single guard or visitor.
No breakfast. No lunch.
Not even any professional appointments.
