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?”