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A chair scrapes over the floor and I listen to Maker sit down. He has a file on me and I’m really curious about what is in that file. I’ve never asked him to let me read it and a part of me thinks it’s maybe better if I don’t. After all it must be full of my shortcomings.
“How are you feeling today, Madlen?” he asks and I bite my lip. What I should say is,I’m feeling great thanks to you. Instead I squeak,
“I’m utterly exhausted.” The lie makes my face turn warm and even more so when I hear Maker scribble something. This is so stupid. I should be mature of enough to tell him the truth but I find myself telling lie after lie about my persistent nightmares and the more Maker’s pen fires, the guiltier I feel. Frustrated, I pull my skirt further down my knees and Maker makes a hoarse sound in his throat. I look up and he waves at me to turn around again.
“I watched a movie last night,” I murmur and at least that’s not a lie.
“To help you sleep?”
I shake my head. “For entertainment. There was a character just like you in it.” I catch a breath. “But do you know what the fun part about it was?”
“I need to know everything that goes on in your mind.”
Need not want and he makes it sound like it’s crucial that he can read me like an open book. “All his patients kept falling in love with him and as brilliant as he was on the human psyche, he just couldn’t see how crazy about him they were.”
“Are you sure?” I hear Maker shift. “Maybe he just knew their infatuation wasn’t real.”
Tensing, I frown. “What do you mean?”
Maker leans forward a little. “It’s not unusual for patients to grow attached to the person they tell everything to, the one who listens without judging. The one who helps them without having an ulterior motive.”
Feeling myself pale, I sink deeper into the seat. Is that what this is? An infatuation that’s not real and based on a mutual exchange? He helps me out and I pay him for it and confuse his professionalism for actual care? My stomach dips and suddenly I feel like kicking something.
Ugh...why does everything always have to be so complicated?
“Would you agree with my analysis of your movie?” Maker rasps and I perk my ears. “That as soon as those patients got better and regained clarity, they would walk out on that psychologist in a heartbeat?”
There’s an edge to his voice and I cross my arms. What if Maker is right with his analysis? He probably is, he’s always right. What if I walk out and don’t come back for say...a couple of weeks. Would the effect he has on me disappear by then? The only way I’ll know is if I actually walk out on him.
“Madlen, I am patiently waiting for your answer.”
Inhaling, I lick my lips. What do I tell him? Feeling a tension in my chest, I cough and clear my throat. “May I please have a glass of water?”
2
Maker
My brows curve over my eyes. “You may.” Getting up, I pour water into a glass that I keep especially for her and that no other patients of mine drink from. She raises her head and grabs the glass and takes a couple of deep sips. She spills some on her chin and throws me a sheepish smile as if embarrassed before brushing it off with her sleeve.
I’m not supposed to stand this close, not supposed to watch her like this but I have already crossed so many lines that this is tame in comparison. Licking her lips, she gives me the glass back.
“Thank you,” she murmurs and I nod, turning and since she can’t see me from her position like this, I press the glass to my lips right where her gloss left a mark. It tastes like sparkling apples and for a second, I allow myself to close my eyes and draw pleasure from this. One day I will have her, no matter the cost.
One day.
Sitting down on my chair again, I take a deep breath and reach for my notebook. I keep a file on her. No, that is an understatement. I keepfiles.I know everything about Madlen. Her dreams, her fears, her deepest desires and her secrets.
This girl is exposed before me, both physically and emotionally. I know that her dreams are modest. When she “grows up” she has told me she wants to be able to afford pretty clothes, carry a baby on her hip and have a husband with a twinkle in his eyes.
I am not sure about what she means by twinkle and I have spent countless hours, staring at my face and searching for a possible twinkle but my conclusion was that I have none. Her biggest fear is to not be able to wake up from a nightmare and her deepest, carnal desire is to be impregnated. In any shape or form...morally or immorally.
When she told me that, my body flooded with chills and she could barely say it, stuttering and stumbling over her words as if she had just revealed something dreadfully shameful. She was so worried as she searched for judgment in my eyes but she should hear some of the stuff my other patients tell me. Compared to them, she is about as pure as a newly hatched baby swan.
I have many patients but Madlen is my special one. I pay the most attention to her and even came up with a way to see her more often. I told her it was strictly necessary that she sees me three times a week, otherwise poor Madlen will never get better. It was a blatant lie of course because nobody, absolutely nobody needs therapy three times a week. Except for maybe myself.
Because of her, I’ve done things I never thought I was capable of. If one of my patients told me he was doing the same thing I was, I’d keep an eye on him in case I’d need to call law enforcement. Because of Madlen I am losing myself and my sanity.
Enter my home and you’d be led to believe I have a wife living with me. There are high heeled shoes and little boots with fur lining my hallway, feminine garments hanging in my closet and a drawer full of La Perla underwear. I got all of that stuff for her. I even have photos of Madlen all over my house, photos I found on her social media. I couldn’t help myself even if it’s nothing but a fantasy. I allow myself to entertain it as long as I don’t go too far and do something inappropriate. As long as I can keep myself under control, the fantasy is harmless.
