drbloom:

“Well,” she drew out the word just slightly as she glanced around the room. “Came to visit you.” It’s almost as if it’s the most obvious statement in the world. 

For a brief moment, Alana could not bring herself to so much as glance in Will’s direction, head hanging low in just a second’s time with eyes fixed on Winston instead. The stirring of her stomach failed to cease and in sight of her friend, it only seemed to become worse. The psychiatrist found herself down the halls of what seemed to be a hundred times before. Why did this time unsettle her so?

Because it was different to peer at someone you knew rather than a stranger. 

Alana shut the door behind her, reveling in the idea of private conversation for once. She knelt down and removed the clip that held the dog to it’s leash in hopes he would wander over to what he knew to to be familiar: Will. With a reach behind her, she slid the free chair close to the bedside and took a seat. There still was a constant gnawing at part of her. It had been months seen she had last seen Will and what was there to say?

How are you?

Are they treating you well?

What are your plans for today?

All questions that felt practiced and rehearsed (because they were). One’s she could already hear the answers to in her head.  

Instead, she offered him a soft smile. 

          ❝See?❞

               ❝She can’t even bear to look at you.❞

                     ❝She’s not your f r i e n d.❞

                              ❝She’s a DOCTOR.❞

                                           ❝All she’s going to to do is inject you with  P O I S O N❞

“Shut up,” His voice cuts through the silence of the room and the heels of his palm are brought up and against his temples as if to drive the voices from his head. Alana is his friend. She is. Is, is, isisisisisisisisis–

                                                                   ❝W A S your friend.❞

He doesn’t see her anymore – he doesn’t see anything but the voices. They move around him, some threatening, some encouraging. Their whispered voices were deathly loud and he couldn’t hear anything but them. He reaches back to grab the bottle of pills that always sit on the small bedstand to his right, only to grab at nothing. He’d already thrown it across the room. The voices are amused. They laugh at him as they continue to come closer and closer to him, ready to suffocate him. 

                                  makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopm a k e i t s t o p

And it did.

The voices ceased completely suddenly and his eyes open. The feel of soft fur and the rythmic sound of even breathing bring him back over the edge and his eyes finally focus. The retriever he’d rescued all those nights ago had returned the favor. 

Hesitantly, as if the voices will come back the minute he moves, he reaches out to the dog. When the voices don’t return, he grows more confident and runs his fingers through the soft fur, giving the dog a scratch behind the ears. His breathing, though still shallow, had quieted down and his heartbeat no longer raced to jump out of his chest. The cold sweat that clung to skin was forgotten and, for once in years, everything is silent. 

Having calmed down completely, he finally remembers that Alana Bloom still stood in the room. Looking up from Winston, he finds her sitting on a chair by the bed. His back stiffens at the sight of how close she sits, but holds his tongue. It feels good to be able to hold his tongue and not say something he doesn’t want to say. 

He sees her smile and tries to return it, though it twists more into a grimace than a smile so he quickly drops it and focuses his attention on the retriever at his side once more. 

“Came to check up on me?”

drbloom:

Alana Bloom was acquainted with the establishment.

In fact, more than just acquainted. 

She had conducted more interviews and sessions than she could count on her hands at this point. Her glove clad hand wrapped tighter around the lead of the scruffy looking brown dog, Winston. Today was neither of those thought

Today was to see Will. 

It was a know fact that dogs were helpful in therapeutic situation. It only took the psychiatrist a few tactical hand waves and accreditations thrown to have her way. Winston was suppose to be a nice surprise as she found herself taking care of pack of dogs while their owner was away from home.  

Her heels and his claws clicked against the tiled floors as they were escorted to the room. It was a standard practice but the thought of Will being considered a danger made her stomach lurch and twist about. In all technical terms, he was and Alana recognized that. This did not stop her from remembering the man she had met years ago though. The man whom was her colleague. The man who collected strays and gave them a new home. The man she had grown to, and still does, consider her friend. 

She gave a nod to the guard in acknowledges that she could handle herself from her. There was a quick rap of her knuckles against the door to serve as a warning before she opened it to present herself and Winston.

“Will?” 

                         he’s c r a z y

That’s what they say about him. The nurses, though their expressions hold the same passive calmness they all have, are tenser around him, their smile stiffer and more forced. They treat him like how they would treat a child.

                        ❝That’s because you are a child❞

                                      ❝A { crazy, crazy } child❞

The voices started years ago, though they have never been too bad – until he started working for Jack Crawford; until he stepped into the minds of serial killers and sociopaths; until he killed a man. Now, their voices follow him everywhere he goes. They speak to him, they speak for him, they control him. 

He refused to acknowledge the illness at first; it had never been so bad that he couldn’t keep it hidden and tell himself that there was nothing wrong with him – but then he killed Garret jacob Hobbs.

          The reason you used to work homocide was because you couldn’t stomach pulling the trigger

                     Now you’ve pulled the trigger t e n t i m e s

                                   {I’m FINE}

                                                                                                ❝No, you’re not❞

                                                                                          ❝You’re crazy❞

                                                                                  ❝Admit it❞

                                       ❝You should n e v e r have agreed to working with Crawford❞

                                                  ❝He wanted to take you away from us❞

                     ❝He wanted to control you❞

      ❝But WE control you❞

                                                       ❝you’re ours❞

“No,” his voice is shrill and approaches desperation. He grabs hold of his hair between his fingers and pulls his knees up to his face where he hides it. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

   makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopp l e a s emakeitstop

His body trembles as he fights to regain control of his thoughts once more. He pushes the voices back where they are less noisy. They never go away – ever. But there are times when he can push them back long enough to think for himself.Hands tremble as he reaches to the small bedside table to his right and picks up the small orange bottle that stands on its own. He opens the bottle slowly–

                                                                     ❝POISON❞

                                    ❝It’s p o i s o n❞

                                                                        ❝DON’T TAKE IT❞

Without knowing it, he throws the bottle across the room where it spills its contents and fall to the floor with loud clatters. His hands reach down and grab hold of his blankets, fists balling up until his knuckles shone white. His eyes squeeze shut as he tries to keep from screaming.

  makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop

The sharp rap on his door snaps him back and his eyes flutter open just as his door opens. He braces himself for a nurse that might have heard the clatter of pills on the floor, or, even worse, a doctor. He is right – it is a doctor who walks in, but it is not his doctor. His mout turns slack at the sight of the familiar face of Alana Bloom, old colleague. Though it has only been a few months since they had last seen each other, it felt like decades. He missed his friend. 

The softer padding of paws alert him to the retriever at Alana’s feet. Winston had come with her. His heart leaps at the sight of the stray he’d picked up ages past and he holds back the urge to jump out of bed and towards the dog. 

             ❝You’re crazy, remember?❞

                       ❝I N S A N E❞

             ❝Don’t go n e a r them❞

                                                                     ❝they will hurt you.❞

He listens and stays where he is. Slowly, he turns to look at Alana once more, though their eyes never meet.

“Alana, what are you doing here?”