Episode 4: Voices- Office Hours

Episode 4: Voices

Grant sat stoically in the chair across from Dr Jill. He wanted some actual therapy, and impossibly focused on her face rather than her legs that she seductively crossed and uncrossed to manipulate the silence. His breathing was forced, and she needed to stop biting her lip or he might leap across the room and ruin their secret. The blinds were open to the main hallway; staff turned heads as they walked by with pretend business. The whole floor was deeply medicated and still smelled faintly of shit and vomit under the oppressive bleach.

Don’t worry. They don’t know. Nobody knows, yet.

“Did you and Jenkins orchestrate that little maneuver for my benefit?” Dr. Jill smiled seductively and lowered her chin to Grant looking up at him with her magnified eyed behind black rimmed librarian glasses. She was flirting openly now and placed one of her tiny hands on her unstockinged inner thigh. Grant forcefully closed his mouth and kept his breathing steady.

“Did the voices tell you about the fight before it happened?”

Grant wanted to tell her the truth; he wanted to spill his guts telling every nuance of his life. He wanted to be honest, but honesty wouldn’t get him out of “Horizon Dawn”. He kept silent and waited for the voice’s instruction.

“Grant, I need you to be honest with me. It’s the only way I can help you.”

Tell her the truth. She’s the only one who will believe.

He refused to make eye contact with her. “Yes. They told me to give my meds to Carl’s orderly. They told me not to interfere with the fight. They said Jenkins could handle it. They told me to back into the corner. They told me I’d get the whole afternoon alone with you.” He inhaled deeply then shakily exhaled meeting her eyes. She was so beautiful, and she wanted to help him. Her concern was evident and true.

“Grant, what do they sound like?”

He loved the way she said his name. It rolled off her tongue, and he wanted repetition. He dreamed of living in her purse as a tube of red lipstick, being opened by delicate fingers and drawn across her perfect mouth, of feeling the pressure of her lips press together on him. He was stalling and staring so she would say it again.

“Grant? Grant?”

One more time.

“Grant?”

“There are three distinct tones that I hear most often. The rest float in and out and mix together. There’s a deep male voice. He’s always certain; he doesn’t play. There’s a sarcastic one. He’s kind of a dick, and there’s a woman.”

“A woman?”

“You jealous?” He smiled and chuckled as she blushed. “Well? Are you?”

“How often do they talk to you?”

“When they have something to say.”

“You’re being vague.” She began to tap her pencil on the red book in her lap that held his case study. That book was filled with what she really thought about him, Grant hated that book.

“They don’t always talk when I want them to, if that’s what you mean. There’s no constant diatribe. They don’t have inane conversations with me. They speak when there’s a need. They speak when there’s a reason.”

Say no more.

“They just told me to stop talking about them.”

“What exactly did they say? Tell me the words.” She leaned forward hovering inches from his knees. He could feel her breath on his forearm; the hairs prickled with electricity.

Grant shook his head standing, “I’m sorry Doc. I’m done for the day.”