"Unforgetable" (Dark Country 1x1 Phi Chisym)

[Dark Country]

Alexander Keith Hamilton- The Author
January 4th, 2020
7:00 AM

Scandalously attractive steely-grey eyes stared up at a white stucco ceiling as he lay still and silent in his bed...alone. The king-sized sleigh bed seemed so empty without Katlyn's body curled up in one of his oversized white-button up dress shirts; no bra just black panties. She generally would take up the middle of the bed despite her five-foot-six stature. He could always easily have moved her, she only weighed one-hundred twenty pounds. She was a petite thing--cuddly as hell. Rainier or 'Alex' as he preferred to be called outstretched on muscular arm across the empty side of the bed. It felt so lonely without her cold hands grasping and raking his bare, muscled chest. Two years, and could still remember the way she'd wake up and nuzzle their noses together right before she kissed him lightly upon his lips He could still remember the taste...it was a sweet as honey to the tastebuds and as smooth melted chocolate to the touch. Her long platinum blonde hair would fall against the sides of her face and he would always entwine his fingers in it...

He thought he could do it until time stopped...but when that moment came, when time did indeed stop, everything had utterly changed for Rainier.

When he looked over at Katlyn's slumped head, resting against the crumpled door frame, head bleeding he remembered the panic he felt--as he felt it now. The powerlessness, the drive to do the impossible. That pressure was rising in his chest again; he was sinking, being dragged under the tides of pain the washed over him like the ocean crashing vehemently against a moor. His outstretched arm came to lay across his face, covering his damaged features; scars that hid dark memories--memories that haunted him like nightmares. Tears began to flow freely as his hands covered his face and he sobbed--crying out her name as he had that night. The night time stopped for him. The intense pain in his left leg didn't seem to dissuade him from the vision of him calling at out Katlyn's name repeated as he unbuckled his seatbelt and attempted to open the smashed, pulverized driver side door that, like a wall that barred him, wouldn't budge.

Rainier remembered swearing and cursing; his leg wasn't budging either. Neither was his left arm for that matter. He pleaded, he begged; he cried and bawled like aq helpless child until...until it all faded to black. In the weeks that followed Katlyn and their newly conceived blessing had perished from the moment of impact; the 4x4 F350 had slammed into them so hard it had totaled Rainier's Mercedes-Benz by flipping it over, and over, and over down an embankment. The firefighters had to use heavy machinery just to cut away prions od the car just access it and pull Katlyn and himself free--but the drunk driver that had so abruptly ended two people's lives, and left another crippled--possibly for life--walked away uninjured. Just scratches and bruises.

The last thing that Rainier remembered seeing before he would awaken four weeks later unable to use the left side of his body from his neck down--was Katlyn's body being lifted up above the seats of their car and carried by a crew of four to the journey. Then, four weeks later, he awoke. He didn't care about the severe aching pains on his left side--of the sheer agony of what felt like obsidian shards piercing his skull; something he'd always have to live with now. Just another reminder, just another thing to help him not forget what was once so perfect in every way could not be without great cost. The alarm clock blared and blared, signaling it was time to get up and face yet another day without Katlyn's smile, her grace, or the serenity she had brought to him. He'd have to forgo all that now and face the days ahead alone.

Sitting up on the side of the bed, Rainer winced badly as the screws in his joints twisted and turned the joints; the metal rods in the ulna of his forearm and his tibula of where his shin bone used to be, ached incessantly. He pressed his good hand to the memory foam mattress and 'pushed' himself into an upright standing position. He felt like a man 60-years older than he should be as he shuffled across the dark cherry-stained wooden floor. His Great Dane named 'Bandit' was a Blue--it was really more of a dark bluish-gray color. Katlyn had gotten Rainier for his 31st birthday. The dog was playful, friendly--but protective. Yet, Bandit could somehow tell someone's nature or intentions. So even strangers who he never met, he'd be okay with some--with others he'd make it well known they were not welcome.

After feeding Bandit, Rainier sought new clothes to wear; he picked out a gray plaid shirt, a dark-colored tank top, and black dress slacks. He then set off to warm up the water for a shower. Turning the handle to the glass enclosure, he then reached and turned the knob for the shower which hissed and sprayed water down from the ceiling. He hung up his clothes, stepped over to the sink and the two mirrors. They showed two different people; two very different people. A man, aged 35 years with one side of his face slightly drooping from a broken cheekbone looked tired; the bright exuberance burned away from his eye--the other had more noble features; a high risen cheekbone, a narrowing jawline that tapered to a narrow but rounded point. His right eye carried with a flame, a desire--there had to be something more than this deprived life of loneliness...
=======================================================================================================
San Fransico, California
Healthsprings Support Center
January 3rd, 2020
8:00 AM

Leaving Bandit to watch the house, pressing the keypad to unlock the doors and start the engine to his BMW M850i xDrive Coupe; the vehicle was sleek in design, well-rounded at all the right angles to make it a highly stylized work of art--a twin-turbocharged, all-wheel-drive 523-hp engine. He slid the key into the ignition and pulled into reverse, swerved around the roundabout in front of his two-story homestead, and set off for the clinic. It was 7:30 AM, and he'd make it there by 8 AM--give or take traffic conditions which turned out a bit lighter than he had imagined so he was a bit early. He locked his car as he got out, taking his cane with him as he lumbered to the door. He signed in at the front desk; giving his license, and his other credentials such as medicare cards; he was a best selling book author so using his real name came in handy as he went by Rainier Ashton Bernhardt as a pen name--so no one would know who he really was.​

 

[Phi Chisym]

Dr. Margaret Mitchell
The Fillmore District
San Francisco, California
January 3rd, 2020
6:00 AM ​

Traffic wasn’t difficult to maneuver this morning, as the sun began warming up the crisp ocean air and the early morning-dwellers began to head out for their first morning’s cup of Starbucks. Margaret sat in her car with her homebrew cup of java and a strawberry cream cheese bagel while she listened to the radio and pondered the words her boyfriend expressed before she left his flat that morning. There were a few things the Neurologist stated that was true – she worked far too hard, and they did need a vacation. They haven’t had one since their 2 year anniversary trip to Barbados, and that was 3 years ago. What she disliked about his words that morning was that he intentionally or unintentionally blamed it all on her. Her career was the reason she’s disregarding a vacation and their overall relationship.

And as she drove to work at Healthsprings Support Center, she pondered his accusations like a well-seasoned Psychiatrist. Is he correct in his thoughts? Am I using my new position at HSSC to block myself from the future of our relationship? She weighed the pros and cons: her and Dr. Ahren Godfrey both has lucrative positions within the Healthsprings Medical family, both are financially secure with portfolios created well before they graduated high school, and they did have grandeurs of bliss when they began to discuss family plans two years ago, considering what they can do if, and only if, they were blessed with a new life.

The idea of finally tying the knot and settling down to build a family did scare her at first, but it was something she wanted to consider after she stepped away from Psychiatry. Not right in the middle of her first major opportunities within one of the nation’s top mental health support centers known. They talked about it and everything – their plans would be delayed a few years if she takes this position, and he agreed fully; let her take this once-in-a-lifetime for now. And after 5 to 10 years, she will walk away from it to start a family. Sure, three years have already passed, and she’s not getting any younger, but she’s just received a huge promotion as Chief Psychiatrist, which caused her caseload to rise and her eagerness to care for all her new patients to rise with it. Now, they barely see each other, and that’s bothering Ahren.

So, what am I truly hiding from? Is it having children, losing my career… or is it marrying Ahren?

Healthsprings Support Center
San Francisco, California
January 3rd, 2020
7:30 AM

Parking in her personal spot, Margaret took a deep breath to replace her mask, one of a strong, professional therapist and collected her bags and folders to head inside. As always, she entered her office through the hidden emergency door – a false wall that exited to the back parking lot where her vehicle sat near the door. It was a standard for every office these days – with all the medical facility shootings and hostage situations, HSSC spent billions to upgrade their offices to create such safety measures (hidden exit doors, stairwells, and panic rooms, to keep their doctors and patients safe.​

She ran through her daily routine – lock up her laptop and turn it on, check her calendar for the list of today’s patients, replacing her medical folders where they needed to go, placing the few necessary for the day on her desk; put her personal items away in the closet and check the temperature in the room. When she had her stage in place, she tapped the phone’s com-system to call her secretary.

“Morning, Dr. Mitchell, your eight o’clock is already here. Should I go ahead and send him in?”

Pulling the first file from her stack, she opened it to double-check the information about this new patient, keeping in mind his personal life struggles and health history. “Yes, send him in, please.”

 

[Dark Country]

Alexander Keith Hamilton- The Author
San Fransico, California
Healthsprings Support Center
January 3rd, 2020
8:01 AM
​

Alex sat there in a blue cushioned chair with his palms crossed atop his Hickory Heartwood cane which was stained a dark walnut coloration with a high gloss finish. His head sank low, resting easily against the tops of hands. He felt older than he was, he did not feel wiser. If anything, he was entirely conflicted about this whole situation he was in. His primary care physician referred him to this establishment--said it was for his benefit to resolve any resting issues out. He was worried about the crash as the results told him that the injuries sustained may have resulted in his mind involuntarily blocking mental trauma out. He had no idea what the doctor had been on about. Other than the steel rods and pins holding his arm and leg together-- and his wife walking out on him--he felt fine. But, what he didn't realize, what he didn't know or even understand was his wife hadn't walked out at all. She'd been declared dead on the scene of the accident, and Alex in critical condition...

With eyes closed, he felt his body loosening up. He was always tense anymore...like he was uneasy. Apprehensive, anxious--uncertain about something. Like there was some piece of a puzzle that was missing; a sum missing from the whole. It made him feel disconnected from most other people. Reclusive. With eyes closed all he saw was a dark canvas...then, there, in the pitch black was a flickering light struggling to stay lit. It flickered and hummed and buzzed but, more importantly, it had resonated with him on a deeply profound level. Its glow mesmerizing to him like a moth to the flames.

By now Alexander was so engrossed with his delusion he no longer imagined himself gathered with other guests, other patients. No. He was alone in the middle of a dry blacktop state highway on a summer night a few years ago. He knew exactly where he was--the heaving from the hot air, the inhaling of fresh asphalt made him unsteady and apprehensive. A pair of headlamps showed up on the horizon. He felt dizzy, nauseated. Flashes of a world that spun in a terrible frenzy; rotating over and over again. Nearly collapsing there in the road he started towards the beams of light that pierced an otherwise pitch colored night. His pace hastened into running headlong into the pair of high beams--whatever it took to stop this dreadful sensation in his chest that felt akin to a heart attack...​

8:10 AM
​

Heart racing, sweat glistening in beads along his brow; dripping to the floor as the tears welled in his eyes. His heart, was weak, tiring from the same exhaustive search, the same wishful thinking. But there he was running but the asphalt had turned to quicksand right beneath him. He struggled, hard to keep from being swallowed whole. His strength was swirling from the black hole which wanted to feed on him. Alex's eyes reddened deeply as the tears flowed freely from someone who was entirely powerless. He reached out to the oncoming car, seeing the drunk driver swerving as he tried to conquer his addiction through the strength of willpower alone...

As he struggled to keep from being sucked into the darkness, hands pressing and scraping against the asphalt, his eyes widened in horror as the F350 veered towards the black car. Anxiety grew to engulf him like fire; choking and denying him any form of air. His heart pumped harder and harder in his eardrums, nothing else was heard--except the moment of impact. The car's passenger-side door caved in violently as the car's rear end spun outwards. Flashes appeared. Burned into his brain of two hands gripping the steering wheel desperately trying to keep on the road as the car spun around. Alex was now in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel. He turned into the course the car was taking before spinning out towards where he had been. The car tilted to one side from the sharp turn, before falling flat on the driver's side door buckling the metal inwards.

Alex felt the pain of his arm breaking at the elbow joint as easily as snapping a pencil in two. His leg too broke along the fibula bone. The car skidded down the road turning over onto the roof as it did. It slid sideways from where he had tried to recorrect the course the car had been headed in from the jarring impact. It slid at slight slant before rolling over and over again, rotating, contorting, feeling like he'd be ripped apart sooner than later. The Audi's refine silhouette disappeared over the embankment. He felt himself falling and falling and falling as if again and again--or that time had slowed the progress down but did nothing to cushion the abrupt stop when the car, which was a crumpled like an aluminum can from the topsy turvy rolling, landed on all four wheels. The engine had been driven up under the vehicle the chassis, jettisoning the transmission out the rear of the car.​

8:15 AM​

With his eyes barely open, he couldn't hear anything but a loud, persistent ringing noise echoing in his ears. He was bleeding internally, somewhere. He knew he couldn't move and his vision was blurring more and more as time passed him by. It got to the point where his head was spinning; throbbing with sharp, shooting intense pain. All Alex could do was look, slumped in his seat, forwards as his eyes threatened to close--for what may be the last time. As he blinked, weary-eyed when just a few seconds ago he was so jovial and ecstatic having just learned his wife Emelia was three months pregnant with their first child.

Then, he heard sirens blaring, but the noise was blurring into the ringing noise in his ears. The noise came closer and closer as an ambulance and fire engine made haste to the scene of the crash site. The firefighters got to work quickly, as he heard voices surround him and the car. Alex's breaths grew shorter, the incessant cough up of blood from his stomach. His organs were too bruised to keep it up for long. He began panting, heaving breaths in-between each deep throated cough which blood exposed itself as it sprayed from his lips like a fine mist. He felt the pain of drowning as he began inhaling deeply. One of his lungs had been punctured.

Clamps gripped the twisted door frame and expanded, extending out as it forced the door free from it's caved-in emplacement. By now he was losing consciousness, and everything in the world was shaking as if his body was being ragdolled; thoroughly thrashed across the head, shoulders, chest, and abdomen. His head wavered and bobbed as the sound of grinding metal by a saw. Sparks sprayed wildly, as Alex blinked definitively, he felt groggy--he was losing it. There was something...something important he wanted to ask but he couldn't say a word. His vocal cords didn't even try to strain to make a noise as his mouth gaped open. Then, the top of the car lifted up and back revealing Alex and Emelia. With the top removed and the EMT now free to clamber to the side of the car before slipping an oxygen mask over his face.​

"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?" He heard a voice speak to him. It was...oddly effeminate. It was calming, soothing like a blissfull cool breeze on a hot day. [/justify]

The EMT shined a light in his eyes, they were barely reactionary. From Alex's point of view, he was sunk deep in a hole with a light shining down the shaft. His eyes winced once or twice. It was then that he could hear the other EMT try to resuscitate Emelia as two firemen grabbed ahold of Alex and hoisted him up to gently lay him down on the gurney. As he lay there, paralyzed with deadened eyes, he rasped for breath as his eyes slowly shifted down to see that the gear shifter that had been attached to the steering column was now impaled into his side almost to the point it reached his kidney--fortunately, it did not reach that far. Regardless they didn't dislodge the handle from his abdomen, instead, they applied pressure to the area firmly. Alex heard whirling, and above him blinking lights of red and white...

Wind swept past Alex as the EMT rushed him towards the waiting medivac helicopter which awaited them like a hovering chariot before lowering to the ground and settling down on the semi-flat pasture. Alex seemed...catatonic, completely unresponsive. His mind fading in and out of reality from the severe concussion he'd been dealt in the carnage that had just happened in milliseconds--but what felt like an eternity. His body had been ravaged worse in those few seconds than what he'd gone through in all his years as a soldier living at death's door. Fighting insurgents, terrorists, militias and guerilla warfighters. There had been times he had thought that he wouldn't make it back home, but the thought of not seeing his wife...it urged him to keep moving forward, forced him to be more aware of his importance. He thrived on the idea of coming home to his wife who was his high school sweetheart.

As he was carted away to the helicopter, his dazed, foggy vision picked out the scene of a man doing his best to revive Emelia; his hands compressing her chest to the point of breaking a rib or two, trying to force air into her lungs. But she wasn't moving. This had a profound effect on Alex, as he began to stir restlessly on the gurney. The EMT tried to calm him down, but now, now adrenaline was pumping through his veins like rattlesnakes venom. It brought with it a myriad of unforeseen sporadic jerks and forcing his body to respond to his strength of will and pure tenacity. It started first with Alex groaning incoherently, the words he was saying were all slurring together as he tried his damndest to call out for Emelia.

As it progressed and got worse with his flailing his unbroken arm out towards Emelia, the EMT administered a small dosage of morphine and increased the oxygen intake to help relieve the pain and stress of having been in a severely bad accident that left him in critical condition. But, that didn't seem to help the problem and--in fact, it exacerbated it like dousing flames with ethanol or gasoline the effect was a combustion of his adrenaline spiking from his body going into overdrive, and thee morphine dulling the intense sensation of pain from his injuries just enough so that his fight or flight response to kick in and it was definitely a combative response as he began thrashing like a mad man. His moans both heart wrenching and unnervingly haunting to hear and bear witness to. Even with his left arm broken in two places and his left leg fractured in at least one that they could tell, he was thrashing about wildly and uncontrollably. It was all the EMT could do to keep the gurney from toppling over.

Alex wanted to see Emelia, he had to see her. Had to touch her, had to hold her close. His fears were quickly turning to rage bolstering his ferocity. He sat straight up, the straps not locked down because of his state prior. He slung out his right fist and slugged the EMT square in the nose, breaking and send the man spiraling around and almost to the ground before he caught himself. The EMT's senses had been jarred and his face went numb and yet, tingly at the same time. He could tell his nose had been broken, he didn't need to see it cocked awkwardly, he could feel the bones; sharp shards of cartilage grinding against each other making it hard to breathe through his nasal passages.

Seeing the commotion, the firefighters ran over, one checking on the EMT--four others grabbing Alex and attempted to pin him down. However, even with his injuries which they had to take care not to worsen, or further plunge the shifter knob further into his body. They were fighting against a highly trained former Delta Squad soldier with several tours into some of the most hostile places on the planet behind him, while enraged and adrenaline-pumping rampantly through his system--mourning the loss of his wife. they each grabbed a limb and held on, albeit precariously as Alex fought on; kicking and lashing trying to get to his wife who lay just a few yards away on the ground with the first responder continuously and vigorously pumped air into the lungs of the young woman but to no avail...​

Two lives lost, one life destroyed in mere moments...in the blink of an eye, Alex's life was changed forever. In the amount of time, it would take the EMT who'd been assaulted in a moment of panic, all hope was lost. The EMT delivered a sedative to calm Alex down at least enough to strap him down this time, the firefighters still held loosely onto the man. They felt remorse, pity they understood his pain. They'd seen this kind of thing a thousand times it seemed like. But the howls, and groaning and sobbing of a grown man who'd realized he'd lost one the most important things to him. It was heartbreaking. They could see he was a war veteran, what hadn't killed him overseas, protecting the freedoms they so often took for granted--had in one night--killed him inside.

Physical pain was easy to numb. But emotional pain built upon years of growth and nurturing; years spent learning the subtle nuances of something remarkable. As Alex's body tired, the morphine burning away like a wick in an oil lamp they eased up and released the hero of their freedoms who had nothing but painful days ahead of him silently sob just like an infant who was scared and all alone in a now darker world...​

8:25 AM​

"Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Hamilton, are you alright?" A soft, sweet voice had asked him. Her words were saccharine like honey straight from the comb.​

Opening his eyes, it was like a thousand stars burning in his eyes. He'd been clenching his eyes shut for quite some time now. Tears were falling freely down his face; everyone looked on. He was the only one in the room as he looked around. until he looked down and found Margert on her knees with her hands lightly and gently laying over top his calloused hands. Her eyes, a cornflower blue shone brilliantly and without equal. He'd never seen anything so...pure. Not since Emelia had he experienced, to his delight, warmth from her touch. It was honest, it was genuine. And the look on her face was unceasingly one of utmost concern. Her eyes searched his momentarily, waiting for him to cross the threshold of the past to the present.

"Hey," She uttered the words in a soft almost inaudible manner. "You back with us?" She inquired, looking up into Alex's beat red face, the veins of his forehead flaring as the stress was evident in this man. He was haunted, tortured even. "It's okay if you need more time--I'm right here with you, I won't go anywhere...I promise." She told him in a carefree manner like her time was limitless when she had other clients to see. But Margret could tell, without a doubt this case as going to be different...much, much different.

Whatever he saw...whatever he felt--she could feel his agony. It stirred uneasily in her chest; a great apprehension; potent toxin that laced his veins with despair and hopelessness. She knew, right then that she had to help this man. If nothing else, if she could do nothing else but help him through the pain he bore so openly, that he could bawl in front of and amidst strangers. It wasn't that she didn't want to help the others through their problems--she would of course. But with Alex, she felt an inexorable tug towards him. Like something begging her to help ease his bereavement. His eyes were so full of confusion, he was like a child lost to the darkness of the wound and left to fend for himself. She had readily studied his file, PTSD was definitely apparent but that wasn't all there was to it--there was something more. Something deeply tragic that had this man trapped in a cycle of exceptional depression and anxiety.

She was going to help him. He was a veteran, a person who put everything he was on the line so others didn't have to...

Who saved the heroes when they were always too busy saving others..? She decided, that she would be that person. Come what may, she was going to find a way to help him through his insurmountable grief. Grief so overwhelming that it blotted out reason like the clouds of a stormy day would shy the sun away...

Margaret stood up and took one of Alex's hands in her hands and stepped back. "Come on, let's go have chat, okay?" She asked, leading him carefully as she walked backward while facing him.​

He was still somewhat lingering in his delusion. Almost as if he were afraid to leave it. He could very well attack, and that terrified her--but something about him said he wouldn't hurt her. He may have well been a good fighter, he may have well killed a lot of people in his tours of duty, but he followed her as she stepped back, easing around a corner, entering a long corridor; doors on both sides at uneven intervals. She finally came to her office and lent a hand back behind herself and opened the door and led him straight inside. He found the chair by the open window eased himself into it.

Margeret sat down across from him, taking up her notes and notepad with a pencil...their first session had begun a bit late...but it was better late than never. At least he had the courage to seek out help before whatever caused him tremendous pain, swallowed him in darkness and made him do something he couldn't very well take back. He'd started his first steps towards healing that pain. Now it was her turn to listen, to watch, to study him carefully. It was her turn to cast aside her doubts and fears--after all, if she couldn't do that then why should he trust her? Paranoia was always there, but at least with this man, she'd feel at ease...​

 

[Phi Chisym]

Dr. Margaret Mitchell
San Francisco, California
Healthsprings Support Center
January 3rd, 2020
8:30 AM​

Taking a deep breath, she grinned softly, gently, and heart-full – to keep him comforted and ensuring that he was safe. “Well, Mr. Hamilton. I’m Dr. Mitchell – or Margaret, if you prefer. It’s nice to meet you. Would… you like a glass of water before we get started?”

She stood up, placed her pad on side-table beside her chair, before stepping over to the small kitchenette sitting perpendicular to their sitting area in her office. It was just a simple mini-fridge filled with bottled water, juices, and small snacks (and her lunch), but there was also a coffee station and fresh fruit in a hand-woven bamboo bowl she’d learned to make while visiting China during a college summer research event. She waited for Mr. Hamilton to respond while she grabbed two bottles of water and crossed back to place one of the bottles on the coffee table before him. She collected her pad and settled back down once more, opening her water to take a small sip. Giving the man a moment to readjust and collect his thoughts, she silently waited and watched.

“I will not ask about what just happened unless you wish to talk about it. Just let me know if you’re up to it. If not, then we can discuss your options here as a member of my clinic.” Sitting the bottle down for a moment, she leaned forward in a relaxed manner and simply smiled. “Healthsprings is not your typical mental health clinic… and I’m not the typical Psychiatrist. We can discuss whatever you prefer to discuss until you feel up to more.”

Her eyes were warm upon his, and open… She seemed to have lost her hidden fears, even though this man was much taller and stronger-built than the former patient who had attacked her during her first year as a new therapist. It was a difficult thing to fear a Veteran, knowing what they’ve suffered for her sake. She’s watched her uncle deal with PTSD for years before he was able to receive help. Knowing how his quality of life changes for the better with a bit of TLC gave Margaret the inspiration to pursue studying Psychology in the first place. So, in a sense, her fear was being swayed by that soft spot for Veteran care.

Fixing him was not her goal here. That wasn’t her job. She was there to guide him towards the right path for him to fix himself. However, for some insurmountable reason, she wanted to be the only one to achieve this. There was so much she could see within his deep-set eyes, enough to weaken such a strong man was painful for her to witness. Margaret could tell he’s barely been in the sun – pale, dull and lifeless. He’s avoided living for far too long.

 

[Dark Country]

Alexander Hamilton
San Francisco, California
Healthsprings Support Center
January 3rd, 2020
8:35 AM​

​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]“Well, Mr. Hamilton. I’m Dr. Mitchell – or Margaret if you prefer. It’s nice to meet you. Would… you like a glass of water before we get started?” [/BGCOLOR][BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]The psychiatrist asked of Alex.[/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]
"Oh, certainly, my throats a little dry at the moment anyways so water would be great--thank you." Alex gratefully said as he watched the attractive woman get up out of her seat, he had stood up also out of courtesy and old habits[/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)][/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]She had angel's hair; it looked like shimmering strands of platinum or silver as it glistened and gleaned beneath the light. The body spray that she had spritzed upon herself at some point, filled Alex's nose with notes of hedione, mandarin, red apple, chocolate, coconut, and Madagascar vanilla. It blended in his olfactory to make an enticing concoction; a slow-burning fire, a slow-moving poison that infiltrated his thoughts and made it even harder to contemplate. She smelled so good! It was distracting him from saying what he needed to say.[/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)][/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]As she returned she placed a cold bottle of water on the table near him, leaning over to do so. Her scent was invigorating but, at the same time, it was misleading his already frantic thoughts. As she took a seat Alex reached out with one hand and grabbed the bottle quickly and opened it before proceeding to seemingly try and drown himself with the water. He wasn't trying to, of course. His nerves were just on high alert. It was a mixture of brain injury he'd received from the car crash that influenced the neurotransmitters serotonin, dopamine, norepinephrine, and gamma-aminobutyric acid that the brain released whenever it was feeling anxious. Serotonin and norepinephrine were also related to depression and stress, which he was also experiencing in great amounts he just didn't show it easily.[/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)][/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]“I will not ask about what just happened unless you wish to talk about it. Just let me know if you’re up to it. If not, then we can discuss your options here as a member of my clinic.” Margarette informed him, and Alex nodded in acknowledgment of the circumstances. [/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)][/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]But, Alex's brain felt like it was a live wire spraying thoughts that were like sparks, out similar to water from a hose; it was as if he was hemorrhaging ideas and suppositions. He didn't even know if the thoughts were his own anymore, or if they were just a side effect of the crash and subsequent rejection of his wife walking out on him. Whatever the case may have been, his heart was now racing and his eardrums palpitated painfully inside his head--he wanted to dig out the noise with fingers which furled into fists after he had set the half-empty water bottle back down. nails dug into his palms so hard his knuckles turned white but his palms, which were growing increasingly sweaty, had turned bright red.[/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)][/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]There were so many things he wanted to ask, so much he needed to know. Maybe he was going crazy, maybe his primary care doctor was right: maybe, just maybe he was irrationally delusional.[/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)][/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]Though his clenched hands might have made her nervous, perhaps even scared her even, she leaned forward as if to listen carefully to him and put on a soft, kindhearted smile. “Healthsprings is not your typical mental health clinic… and I’m not the typical Psychiatrist. We can discuss whatever you prefer to discuss until you feel up to more.” She said to Alex who was staring vacantly down at the floor. [/BGCOLOR]​

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[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]Why was he acting this way? Images flared in his conscience; memories that were still burned into his every waking thought of times he was forthright and candid, he was honest and outspoken.[/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)][/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]So what was the difference now? Why couldn't he speak? Not even utter a syllable? Frustration got the better of him and his eyes deepened in their shade of greyish blue, the veins bulged making his eyes become red and puffy and tears began to well up as he struggled to say a word. It was like he'd been sworn to secrecy against his will. He suddenly stood up, his eyes burning as he inhaled through his nose sniffling and then he proceeded to pace back and forth. Over and over again he went through the dialogue of what he wanted to say and how he would say it, but nothing seemed right.

Alex was on the edge of a knife, treading the razor then wire as carefully as he possibly could hope to. He had to say something, he had to do something! He returned to his seat on the small love seat across from the blond haired-blue eyed angelic person that was before him who had been very patient with him so far, even kind in a very warm and genuine way. He, on the other hand, exhibited highly defensive mannerisms that engendered and fostered defensive communication. In truth, he was scared that his questions would be looked upon with skepticism, even the outright questioning of his judgment.[/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)][/BGCOLOR]​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]"About...two years ago--or maybe it was three? I was driving my wife and me home from dinner--my ex-wife now. She left me while I was still in the hospital. We had gone out because it was a momentous occasion; she had conceived a child. We had been trying to have a baby for four years; we went to specialists, tried diets, supplements and tried to follow her cycles so we knew when to..." Alex coughed, he was embarrassed by talking about his sex life He had a reverence for sex; it was magical and wonderful if you were with the right person. [/BGCOLOR]​

​

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]In those shared moments, time would seem to freeze to a standstill and the pleasure and rapture one could feel was just...otherworldly. [/BGCOLOR]​

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[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]"Anyways, she'd found out she was late after about three weeks went by and she was late for her next cycle. I had no idea until I had come that day from my second job. We were elated of course! We'd been trying everything, anything to conceive on our own. The doctors had started to give up, they began saying that it didn't seem like we could have a baby of our own so when I got home and she showed me the test and it was positive, I couldn't, I couldn't help it--I started crying. For those four years of trial and error and with no measure or sign that it was going to happen, I blamed myself. Because what else could I do? I couldn't blame Isabelle, she wanted a baby as much as I did. I couldn't blame the doctors--they gave us all the advice and tried all the procedures that they could have tried. I had nothing else to point the finger at and say "you're the culprit" besides me." Alex stated as he began zoning out gradually again as his eyes stared at Margarette and his vision began to become unfocused.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]"We decided to go out that night; we chose a nice Italian restaurant that we'd never tried before. We took a shower together, the last one we would take. Afterward, we dressed up. And she wore this black, off-shoulder gown with a sweetheart neckline and a slit up to about the mid of her thigh. It was...very beautiful. Very beautiful indeed." Alex nodded like he was agreeing with himself as his unfocused eyes remained locked on Margarette. [/BGCOLOR]​

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[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]"I mean, how could I forget? I helped her into it, Izzy was always a clutz." Alex faintly smiled as the image of him watching her trying to slip the dress on only to nearly fall over, was a light-hearted and funny moment for him. "So I stood behind her, my hands are barely holding her by the waist; shes got lacey black panties on and a black bra--she smells amazing; like honeysuckle and jasmine, coconut and french vanilla. It was aromatic and delicious." Alex said recounting the memory as if it were happening to him all over again at that moment.[/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]"The body spray she used, it made her skin feel like liquid silk..." Alex swallowed hard, blushing oddly enough as he remembered what happened next. [/BGCOLOR]​

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[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]Before his wife could pull the dress up, one of his large, somewhat calloused hands had pressed flush with her smooth, flat and toned stomach and from there crept downwards until it found itself slipping under her lacy underwear to explore the softness of her body. Caught off guard, she had leaned back against his firm, well-developed chest and groaned low and soft and aloud for him to hear her. The fingers of one of her hands barely clung to the silk chiffon dress, her other hand had lifted and latched onto the back of Alex's neck bracing herself as she gyrated slowly. Her buttocks grinding into his groin, while also pushing her hips out making his thick fingers feel more of the damp folds as the grew wetter from the enticing slow circles Alex was making against her clit, using the hood to rouse her further and make it so that the sensation wasn't overwhelming.[/BGCOLOR]​

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[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)] It was torture for her because she wanted him to touch her fully with his rough, firm fingers. She ached for it but she'd never receive that which she wanted until she let her hand down to cover his and guided his experienced fingers to touch the nerve packed bud. She hissed as his fingers caressed it in the same manner as before, but now, now she could be engulfed--consumed by the venereal act. Her breath shakey, as she felt him stroke her, Isabelle's legs parted as much as they could, offering more of herself up to him and he was indulging his concupiscent whims while Isabelle simply groaned and returned her grip to Alex's nape in a feverish manner as she whined somewhat. He was tormenting her and he knew it. [/BGCOLOR]

[BGCOLOR=rgb(0, 0, 0)]While lost in the haze of erotic thoughts Alex hadn't actually spoken for several minutes leaving his retelling of the events that he'd gone through that night, open-ended and vague. Alex blinked, snapping back to reality, a reality he really didn't want to a part of anymore. His eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry, I...must've spaced out again..." [/BGCOLOR]​

 

[Phi Chisym]

Bump!

 

[Phi Chisym]

Dr. Margaret Mitchell
San Francisco, California
Healthsprings Support Center
January 3rd, 2020
8:40 AM
​

Silently, she watched, listened, noted Mr. Hamilton's words, body language, tone of voice, tempo and rhythm of his words; anything and everything she can collect to understand the man before her. It was quite clear that he loved and adored his wife, but according to his records, she had died in the wreck he was slowly attempting to translate to her. Of course, she already knew the end of his haunting tale, but that one solid fact she quickly notices he had edited completely out of the story. She had passed away with their unborn child - but his mind, unwilling to accept the truth, forced him to cope with his loss by creating the delusion of her walking out on him instead.

Not wanting to take his mind off of his thoughts, since Alexander clearly proved to her that he had difficulty staying focus even when reciting his own story, Margaret silently listened. She wanted to hear his entire story without interference from the outside world - not even from her. This was enough of a struggle for the man to endure over again, one she would never personally understand. She's dealt with loss, like everyone else. She lost her parents at an early age, which became her reasoning to enter the military - which became her new family. The struggles she endured to understand why her childhood was ruined became her reasoning to become a psychiatrist. In some way, to aid others in understanding themselves as a way for her to figure herself out. But, even as her patients recover and move on with their lives, she - on the other hand - still remains where she left off. Nothing's matured, her mind clearly believes, now more than ever, that she was meant to remain - alone.

"I'm sorry, I...must've spaced out again..."

Margaret caught sight of the tone in his cheeks and voice, grinned while clearing her throat, "You're perfectly fine, Mr. Hamilton. Um, may I call you Alexander?" One he gave her his blessing, she smiled and leaned back slightly in her chair. "I can tell how much you truly loved your wife, Isabelle, Correct? And how such a thing can be devastating for you. Do you feel comfortable telling me your reasoning as to why this happened? Why she's gone?" Attempting to aid someone in understanding that loss is not their fault, just getting them to realize that they've done nothing wrong, is a solid step forward.