Seqyn

I finished out the session with calm questions, such as "what's your favourite colour?" in order to establish a greater sense of trust between Melvin and I. His answers were straight to the point, with his eyes, all three, glowering ahead. After that, I hadn't anyone else to see, so I went home, taking the train. In the crowded space of a small train car, I reviewed Melvin's records. At one point, he'd been on depression meds, but his mood swings had taken a violent/aggressive turn from there. Also, there was a strange post-it note from the first therapist on his medical records: Claims to not be the original persona of his body, having sen

A spike of anxiety arose in my stomach. I was Melvin's third therapist, the previous two having committed suicide—what did that say of him. . .and my fate? "You've been here how long?" I asked, pulling at the collar of my button-down shirt. "Three months." That same smile. "Scared, are we, Doctor? No? Not yet?" "What's there to be scared of?" I asked, leaning back. They usually weren't like this. More broken, maybe. Melvin's smile fell slack, dictator-purple eyes focusing harshly on my face. "Nothing, really. Nothing at all." "Um, yes, Melvin," I said, "you've been here a while. Do you feel any closer to recovery? Also it says here

I adjusted my glasses, sitting on the plush chair nailed securely to the floor. The walls were padded, the quiet comforting. Well enough I knew this room, as I saw it everyday as my nine-to-five. The sound of locks being undone alerted me to the fact that my client was coming. A moment later, Melvin Ishtar was ushered inside. He didn't look like my normal patients, I noted. He carried himself proudly, head straight up, posture slightly slouching carelessly when he sat. Violet eyes burned out from dark skin, a pile of (over) spiked hair above, spilling at a few points into his eyes. Interesting. Also, he lacked a stare of vacancy, those eyes