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The Patient

“I’m a sadistic fuck,” she said, and ran her finger nails across the wood grain table. They weren’t long, but they must have been sharp because he could see the marks they left.

One month. One month, he’d been a full fledged psychiatrist and had been doling out prescriptions for undeserving teens. Abilify, Xanax, Ambien and Zoloft. Did the list ever end? He had dreams about the meaningless medication words attacking him in his sleep, tormenting him for being a pill pushing fraud like all his colleagues. Then there was this girl, no this woman. Her age broached on his, she was only several months younger, but here she was at his candy dispensing mercy, telling him about her sadism. She was highly disturbed, the notes all said so, and she had been committed, and arrested. Yet there she sat, free and forming words over a fresh cup of coffee. Something about her was tantalizing. Yes, that was the word, TANTALIZING. He’d been dreaming about her for a week, perhaps that was why he’d asked her out for coffee, to get out of the mundane office, he’d said. But truth be told he just wanted her in a normal setting, to see her among the others. What was she like outside his drab little office? She was explosive, and the table felt it. Doctor patient relationship, he kept repeating, his mantra, doctor patient, doctor patient. Doctor . . . woman. No! She scratched the table again in boredom.

“Yes,” he finally ejected. “You keep perpetuating this sadism, but in reality you appear to be more masochistic.”

“Is there really a difference? They both involve pain, and feeling it, whether you be the victim or the perpetrator.”

She was right, he felt himself shudder.

“There’s a big difference, because you keep causing injury to yourself, so we need to figure out why you want to feel this pain.”

“I’m my own victim.”

“That’s not the point, we just need to fix it.”

“They all say that. I think I should just come with a warning label instead, like anything dangerous. Like a bottle of those pills you keep trying to give me. ‘May cause extreme physical harm to you, your loved ones or herself.’ You know? Get people to sign a waiver before being around me.”

“That . . . is interesting. But not plausible.”

“But putting me on a small horse’s dose of Thorazine, that’s plausible?”

“You’ve only been sedated in the past because of your problematic responses to situations.”

“You mean life.”

“No, I mean situations.”

“Life is a constant situation.”

“If you’re going to view it like that, we’re not going to get anywhere.”

“We’re not going to get anywhere anyway, and you just brought me to this setting because you want to fuck me and it feels better to see me outside the office, so you don’t feel so bad inside. Let’s analyze that for a minute?”

“You are incorrect,” he stammered out. “Yes you are a special case, but there is no physicality involved here! I just thought maybe you’d respond better in a different environment.”

“Oh I’ll respond.”

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About deadendemily

Emily lives in Austin, TX. She has a minor in chaos and a major in spray paint. She likes Vincent Price and ABBA. She enjoys being covered in fake blood and writing horror stories. Most of the time she just hopes that her cat is not plotting to murder her, her cat being a minion of Satan and all. They would never suspect the cat.

One response to “The Patient

  1. Bruce Costello ⋅

    Well done.

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