You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly. You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
🇵‌🇷‌🇴‌🇫‌🇪‌🇸‌🇸‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌🇦‌🇱‌ ðŸ‡â€ŒðŸ‡ªâ€ŒðŸ‡±â€ŒðŸ‡µâ€Œ [for those who enjoy mental fuckery, non-con]
The rustle of paper and scribble of pen, the monotone ticking of the grandfather clock.
The raging downpour outside, translating into muted taps against the window.
The creak of soft leather cushions under her body…
Surrounding maroon colored walls and ceiling high bookshelves, the deep rich dark smell of mahogany furniture, it all engulfed her with a cosy sense of safety. Like she could curl up with a book, and get lost in some other world, explore a happier life than her own.
Alas, 'safe' was such a strong word.
Her dull, green eyes tracked the raindrops on the glass, as her mind wandered. It was an often occurrence these days, spacing out for minutes if not hours at a time, until something or someone would interrupt her, dragging her back into the present. It could be a voice, any sound or slightest movement - it did not matter how soft, she would still flinch upon the return to earth.
"Evelyn."
Tired, dainty body stirred with a jolt, as those eyes unglued themselves from the window, and turned to look at the man sitting just steps away. "Sorry," she nervously tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ears, before proceeding to tug the sleeves of her jumper over her fingers. Over and over again. No matter how long or modest her attire was, she'd still feel exposed and vulnerable, like a naked wire.
"We were talking about Ringo," Dr. Doyle kindly reminded in his low baritone voice, his moustache twitching with a small encouraging smile. Evie forced herself to smile back, struggling as if her muscles were so untrained for the action. She quickly recalled where she stopped last and continued sharing.
"Yeah… he… he was the ugliest mutt I have ever seen… Very growly, would not let anybody pet him. Obviously, nobody explained to me, what a kill shelter was, I was too young to understand. But somehow I knew… I just knew I had to take him home with me, I had to save him. Dad was not impressed," she chuckled humorlessly, "...but... I don't know... it was my birthday, and he already told me that I could choose which one I wanna adopt, so…"
"Yes, a lot of single fathers struggle to establish ascendancy to say 'no' to their little princesses." The large man shifted in his armchair, scribbling down something into the leather cased file on his lap.
She wouldn't run out of one hand fingers when counting males she felt comfortable around. Dr. Doyle now was one of them, but that wasn't always the case. The first few times she visited his office, Evie barely spoke a word. Even if she was ready to explore the trauma that brought her to therapy, which she was not, she would choose a female doctor. But Dr. Doyle had a reputation of being one of the best specialists in town, which was attested by many framed certificates on the walls of his office, and her dad insisted she try to make this work.
So Evie tried, the best she could.
"Is it fair to say…" Dr. Doyle continued, "...that Ringo's unfortunate illness inspired you to become a vet?"
A simple question felt like a punch in the gut. Evie lowered her eyes, drawing in deep, shaky breaths. A straightforward answer was a yes. But she wasn't a veterinarian,- she would clarify if she could speak about it. This life long aspiration was just one more thing she lost, dropping out of college with just a year left till her graduation.
"It does not matter now… We don't need to talk about it. I.. I… would like not to talk about it." she stuttered, shaking her head.
"It's alright, Eve. We still have a few minutes left, and I am very curious about the mischievous adventures you and Ringo used to get into."
Her lips pulled into the saddest of smiles, as she quickly brushed away the tears that started spilling on their own accord.
"Thank you… I'm just not… read-"
"Just let us make one thing clear, my darling girl," the sudden sternness in his tone demanded she looked up to meet his beady eyes, trained on her over a pair of round glasses. "I am not rushing you. We can ease into the topic, we have plenty of time, you and I. But we are not talking about 'the incident' yet, because that is how I drafted your treatment plan." he paused, letting his words sink in. "You don't get to decide how things will go. I do. Is that clear, Evelyn?"
She gave him a small nod, the pressure of his authority looming over her like a dark shadow. "Y-yes… Sir."
"Good girl," a gold tooth glinted in the light, as he smiled with approval.
"Let's tackle something lighter. Did you have a fun Thanksgiving?"
Nearly twenty visits now, she spoke more and more about her past. Picking and plucking at the childhood memories made her feel somewhat normal, as if she still was that wholesome girl, full of dreams and hopes, not somebody who was broken.
Dr. Doyle would ask and then listen patiently, but at the end of the day he was doing his job, wiggling in bits of present, tying everything in. Once she sensed that danger - talking about the now - she would lock up like a turtle pulling into its shell. Yet his persistence made her open up just fractionally more every single time.
She sensed no danger in this question, even if it did not refer to her childhood, it felt like a relief after almost half an hour of discussing her newest medication regime and how it affected the nightmares that would only end with a waking scream.
"I guess," Evie shrugged. As he stayed silent with expectation for more, she wiggled in her seat and elaborated, "Just me and dad, we watched a movie..."
Dr. Doyle still did not continue with the questioning, just scribbling away in his notes, and leaving Evelyn to stew in her thoughts. Staying at home and watching a movie was definitely an underwhelming way to spend the holiday. Just like every year, she and her dad were invited to visit family friends for a Thanksgiving dinner but this time the thought of spending time in a loud crowded room nearly sent her into a panic attack.
"Hm." Dr. Doyle's moustache twitched as he finally spoke. "We talked about your mom a couple sessions ago. She used to go big for these celebrations, did I get it right?"
"That's what dad told me," Evie clarified, "I don't even remember her, she died when I was so little." she confessed, feeling the dull ache in her chest.
"But from what you told me…" Dr. Doyle flipped the pages in his notes, "Your dad is always feeling down around this time of year, doesn't he?"
Evie looked down at her lap, recalling telling Dr. Doyle how quiet pensive dad would get, sitting in his office, soaking old family photos with silent tears. With guilt prickling at her heart like a white hot needle, she arrived at the conclusion at the same time as her therapist.
"It would have been a healthy distraction for him, and you too, to go out this Thanksgiving."
The heat of that guilt spread through her chest like wildfire. Dr. Doyle was right, though, even if he only planted the thought in her head. She should have sucked it up and went out with her dad like they did every year. Or made it more special at home, somehow. Something - anything would have been better than just sitting around in misery.
"I'm sorry- I… I know what you mean… it's just… It's too hard…"- she struggled to explain that she could not control those raging emotions, even when dulled under the influence of medication.
"Evelyn, let me ask you this," sitting in his large armchair, Dr. Doyle uncrossed his hefty legs and put his notebook aside, as he leaned his beanbag shaped body forward, and rested his forearms on his knees. "Do you think that what happened to you… was worse than your mother passing away?"
"What?!" she yelped, as his words took her by surprise, "No, of course not…"
"So a grieving husband's never ending pain, which, as you yourself told me, only intensifies around the holidays, is less important than yours?"
Evie felt the sting of incoming tears. It was hard to respond when a knot the size of a golf ball was lodged in her throat. But Dr. Doyle waited patiently, tilting his head to the side, the light reflecting on the oily scalp visible through his thinning dark hair.
"No… No, it's not," she admitted through the sniffles.
"And yet… Your dad carries himself with dignified strength, while you get to mope around in your frumpy clothes all day.." he gestured towards her thick oversized sweatpants and jumper, that became Evie's uniform for those rare occasions when she ventured outside, "...spending thousands of his hard earned dollars on therapy and not even addressing the issue."
At another mention of the incident, she jumped on her feet, breathing so hard, one might think she just finished a marathon. "I told you! I can't! I can't talk about it, I just… Even thinking about it, I can't-"
"Sit back down, Evelyn. Don't be disrespectful." at his cold, authoritative tone, she felt her knees quivering, and her ass landing back on the leather cushion. Those tears kept rolling, as she lowered her eyes. As she seemingly calmed, Dr. Doyle continued. "We don't need to talk about it. Yet. My goal was not to upset you, Eve, I just want to give you some perspective. Unfortunately what happened to you happens to girls all around the world way too often. They dust themselves off, and carry on. Though… in my professional experience, usually it takes a lot shorter time to heal…" he added muttering as if to himself.
It does?
Evie's brows furrowed and she shook her head, fighting bitter shame.
"I'm trying, Dr. Doyle, I'm really tr-trying," she promised him, words barely understandable through her sobs.
"Are you willing to start taking proactive steps in your healing?"
She was so confused, she thought she already did that. Coming to therapy, trying to figure it all out, it took everything in her to even speak to another man. Yet it wasn't enough, it was never enough. Others healed faster, and she was just… stuck. And now her father was suffering, it was all her fault.
At her nod, Dr. Doyle picked up his notebook, and started writing as he spoke.
"I'll give you some homework. A little exercise, if you will. You need to take power back into your own hands, so next time, I want you to come wearing something… nice. Something that would compliment your figure, instead of hiding it, understood?"
"...and I could feel men leering, I just could feel it." Evie's hands shook, as she tried to convince her therapist that leaving her apartment wearing a skirt instead of pants made her break out in sweat and lodged her heart into her throat.
"You're hyperbolizing again, Evelyn," Dr. Doyle commented, disapproval clearly written on his face.
"The construction worker whistled my way!", fired up, she tried to convince him, memories from 'the incident' that broke her breaching through a thick mental wall... whispers and laughter, calling her 'sexy', demanding her to show more of her slutty body, before hands started ripping at her clothes... what was when? Time seemed to mingle, she could not distinguish her traumas anymore.
"That is a completely normal occurrence in the city," Dr. Doyle shrugged it off, "Men express their attraction to pretty girls like you, you should be flattered."
"You don't understand, I-"
"I understand perfectly, Evelyn. You were hurt. But I think the problem is that you started using your pain as an excuse to check out of life."
"That's not true," she mumbled, shaking her head, feeling confused.
"Isn't it? You refuse to take my instructions, though all I want to do is help. You stopped taking care of your father, when he is suffering so. Dressing like a woman should now seems beneath you, and you rather spend your days in bed, crying, than doing basic household duties. Heck, your father is reduced to cooking for you both! And before you start spatting those feminist ideas at me, let me remind you, you willingly dropped out of college-
"That's because that… PIG, told everybody at school that I was a slut!"- she screeched hysterically, "Everyone thinks that I was willing, that I wanted it!"
"Don't. Interrupt." his warning was icy. As Evie quieted down, shaking like a leaf, he resumed, "What did you expect your fellow students would think? You managed to sleep with him and five of his friends all in one weekend. That's the definition of a 'slut' if I've ever heard one…"
Horrible images started flashing through her mind, one on top of the other. The smell of weed and sweat and sex engulfing her. The claps of skin against skin, and a sharp pain in her belly. The long frothy string of drool dripping from an open mouth onto her crying face, as one moved on top of her at a manic pace. Her world spinning out of focus and her shaking her head, till another's fingers gripped her jaw and lodged it open. A smelly cock plunging through her lips and cutting off her screams...
She heard herself chanting, "I cannot, I cannot, I cannot," as her fingers dug into her hair. Over her own voice and the thundering heartbeat in her ears, Dr. Doyle was continuing.
"...and you didn't come back to tell your side of the story. You hid. You chose an easy way out…" As Evie kept shaking and chanting, Dr. Doyle sighed deeply. "I think it's enough for today, you are acting unreasonably."
"I can't, I can't…. I cannot do this," she could not stop the trembles, swaying back and forth as she desperately attempted to fill her lungs with air, "I cannot continue the therapy…"
"Don't be silly," In contrast to her deteriorating mental state, Dr. Doyle looked calm and collected, as he rose to his feet himself and walked towards the large mahogany desk. "These dramatic tendencies you are displaying - they are very common in women." He spoke, as he pulled out a small book from the top drawer, as scribbled down something in it. "Let's adjust your medication. It should help with the hysteria." he told her, ripping the prescription page and stepping around the desk to offer it to her.
Her teary gaze lifted to meet his, chin wobbling as she again shook her head.
"I don't need more pills… I just need… I just… I can't continue working with you, I'm so sorry, Dr. Doyle, it's not helping, it makes me feel like…"
His arm lowered and his moustache twitched. "Very well. I cannot force you into therapy if you don't want to get better. But please let your father know that regretfully, we won't be able to reimburse him for the future appointments already agreed upon. I know it is a lot of money, but-" his chubby hand went to touch his chest. "-unfortunately, my hands are tied, this is a standard clinic policy."
"But… but… that's not fair, I-"
"Evelyn, we always charge in advance, as we have no other way of weeding out patients who would drop out of therapy just to throw a tantrum, from those who would take their treatment seriously."
She stared at him for the longest time, while thinking of her poor father. What would she tell him? He already spent tens of thousands for the education she did not finish, now equality ridiculous amounts for her therapy… Evie knew they were struggling financially already, and here she was… was it all for nothing? She wasn't getting better, not as fast as the other girls Dr. Doyle kept mentioning, and she was digging her heels in and making a fuss over his treatment methods.
With fresh tears welling in her eyes, she raised her trembling hand and when Dr. Doyle offered her the prescription again, Evie took it.
"I will see you next week, and I expect you to wear something presentable. In the meanwhile I want you to think about this. Maybe the way you've been acting lately is a little bit selfish?
Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)