First chapter revision. I'm going to be leaving the previous version up, for obvious reasons. Let me know what you think.
"Do you know where you are?" the nasal voice of Dr. Hewitson cut through the heavy silence.
It was the same with every doctor I had ever seen. Name, date of birth. Do you know where you are? How about the date? Who is the president? It was all becoming tedious.
"My name is Elsbeth Anastasia Grey. I was born on October 31st, 1998. We are at the Williams Medical Center and you are Dr. Silvia Hewitson. The date is June 8th, 2017. Trump is unfortunately in the White House."
This had become my routine for over a year now. Every couple of weeks, when my newest diagnoses didn't amount to more than depression or mild social anxiety, I was flung to a new doctor. In hopes that maybe something a little more exotic or debilitating would pop up, giving my mother all the justification she could want. Since it has not, here I sit.
"You seem to be familiar with this line of questioning," she responded calmly. "Tell me Elsbeth, have you seen other therapists? Or perhaps someone in a related field?"
I snorted softly. Catches on quick. I took a moment to study her. Nude makeup, meant to look like she was naturally flawless. Excellent dye job, her blonde hair matched her eyebrows perfectly. The blue suit she wore probably cost more than her desk, and was tailored to fit her thin frame. On her ears she wore simple diamonds, probably a gift. No ring on her finger, no tan line either. She was the epitome of professional.
"Elsbeth, are you sizing me up?" she asked with a fiercely bright smile. The best caps money could buy. I should know, I had the same.
"You are my 6th doctor," I smiled back at her. She seemed put off, but covered it quickly.
"Sixth?"
"Yes."
"I was unaware..." this is when I zoned out completely. I picked up bits and pieces of her, mis-communication, proper procedure, referrals. I thought back to what it was like to be free. For over a year now I was on house arrest. The small weight on my ankle the ever constant reminder of the price I was made to pay for my stupidity.
"Are we finished?" I asked, snapping back to the present.
"Elsbeth, we haven't even started," she smiled at me again. I copied her and then nonchalantly put my Louboutin Escarpic Spike heeled feet up on her desk, letting her get a good look at both the thousand dollar shoes and the black little box strapped to my ankle. I had found with some female doctors I could use clothing and accessories as a way to intimidate.
"What is that?" she asked, looking at the box.
"This? Oh, it's my ankle monitor."
"Ankle monitor?"
"Yes. It was the only way the judge would let me out of jail."
"Jail? What were you in jail for Elsbeth?"
Now I had her. I could tell her it was because I got drunk, broke into the Gotham City Zoo because I wanted to hold a sloth. Or I could make her sweat.
"I have a temper. And sometimes I just...go off. I didn't meant to hurt that man. Thank God for plastic surgery right!?"
I laughed and glanced down at my freshly manicured nails. She looked at me and then began to flip through her notes quickly.
"I don't see anything about..."
"My dad paid him off, money makes problems disappear."
She looked nervous now. Good. Now it was time to move in.
"I think it's about time you were writing your denial letter, don't you?" I glanced down at my three thousand dollar Michele deco diamond watch. " I'm not really feeling a connection between us, and I've read that you need to be able to trust your therapist for this to work."
She locked eyes with me for a few seconds and I held them with my best steely gaze.
"I think that would be best. I have little experience with...anger issues. I could recommend a colleague..." She was typing fast on her phone.
"Do you mind sending a hard copy to the printer?" I asked kindly. She nodded and I heard the printer begin to whir. She quickly got to her feet and collected it. She seemed to be proof reading it before handing it over to me.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you Elsbeth."
"You were of plenty help," I smiled as I got to my feet. That went easier than I could have ever imagined. I had to work really, really hard to keep my face straight as I left her office.
Sitting in a waiting chair was my eye patched baby sitter, Slade Wilson. Known in criminal circles as Deathstroke.
"I think that might be a new record," he grinned as he stood. He was a big guy, even by my standards. I was 5'8 in four inch heels and I still had to crane my neck to look at him.
"I learned from the master," I put my hands together and bowed at him. He grunted at my antics and walked towards the door. I followed behind him, watching his back and wondering for the thousandth time why he took this job. He was a world renowned assassin and mercenary. And yet here he was, playing nanny to me. Shuffling me back and forth from appointments and play dates. It seemed a bit beneath him.
"Come on kid," he reached back and gently grasped my arm. "We don't have all day."
"I'm coming you big pirate," I grumbled, shrugging him off. I hated it when people grabbed me. He hated when I called him a pirate. I personally found it hysterical.
He grabbed me again, this time much harder than the first and pulled me quickly down the corridor to the thicket of elevators.
"Ouch! No man handling!" I whispered, not wanting to draw attention. "You'll never get a Christmas bonus that way."
He let go of my arm and punched the down button several times. A door dinged open nearby and he grabbed me and moved into it quickly. I could tell he was trying very hard not to smile.
"You are something else Elsbeth," he released me as we entered the elevator. Some other people attempted to get on, but Slade moved up and said,
"Lift's full, catch the next one."
Nobody argued. The ride down was slow and I had time to think what my father was going to say about this newest development. He was a push over, it was Camilla that was going to be breathing fire. Camilla Grey, wife of multi-billionare Victor Grey.
I was born into privilege. I didn't choose it. My mother was a retired runway model, still doing high fashion shoots now and again. But mostly she concentrated on her designer label. She and her gal pals boozed the nights away at Gala openings and fund raising events where she lamented about her youngest daughters struggles. My older sister Porscha was usually in tow.
Porscha was a wanna be model, riding our mothers success to the top and doing her very best to stay there. She had recently begun seeing a local Gotham mobster by the name of Salvatore Maroni. She vehemently denies that it has anything to do with Bruce Wayne brushing her off. Or the publicity it is bringing her. I was brought out of my thoughts by the ding of the elevator. The doors opened and I was instantly blinded by bright lights.
"Elsbeth! Elsbeth, is it true you are suffering from a mental disorder?"
"Are you suicidal?"
"What's wrong with you!?"
The words were no longer discernible, they all blended together into a deafening roar. I felt Slade grab a hold of me and tuck me under his arm, against his body. He used his other arm like a plow and pushed us through the mob. We reached the front doors and I darted out from under his arm and across the cement sidewalk into the waiting car. I hit the other side hard but moved quickly so Slade wouldn't squish me when he came barreling in.
"Get us out of here!" Slade bellowed at the driver as he slammed the door. The squeal of the tires hit my ears and I was thrown back into my seat.
"What the fuck was that?" Slade said to no one in particular.
I knew what that was. That was Camilla, keeping herself in the quarter tabloids. Beautiful, caring mother to a sick and outcast daughter. Next she would be doing commercials urging parents to have their children checked for mental disorders.
"Call for you Miss Grey," the driver announced.
"Put it through," Slade answered for me.
"Sweetheart!?" of course it was her. "I just spoke with your sister, she said you look pale. I'm setting up an appointment with the nutritionist. You could have a vitamin deficiency."
"I don't think that's really necessary," I tried to speak, but she overrode me.
"Well if it's not then no harm done, right? We should probably get you in for physical as well. It could be anemia."
I looked at Slade and crossed my eyes as she kept going on and on. He grinned but didn't laugh.
"And your hair."
"Mother. I let you rule every other aspect of my life, because it gives you such happiness. But my hair is not to be touched."
She was silent for a blissful moment before she came back.
"I don't know why you say such horrible things to me. I love you very much Elsbeth, and I'll be damned if I let you end up like poor Elsa Donnovin's little girl. I just won't."
I heard her voice choking up and then she was gone. I sighed. Ellie Donnovin was classmate who died when we were 17. She had been given a MIP, and a week later got into a wreck with a minivan. She was unharmed, the woman from the van was thankfully by herself and only had minor injuries. It was all down hill for Ellie from there and it ended by her pulling a Superman off the West Gotham bridge. When I got my drunk and disorderly, my mother took it as a sign I was heading in the same direction as Ellie. Look at me now.
"No more calls," Slade informed the driver. I curled into myself, tucking my feet under me and crossing my arms. I let my head rest against the stiff leather.
"It'll get better kid," he mumbled as he took out his vibrating phone. I ignored him and continued to fantasize about seven months from now. I would be free of the anklet, free of my well meaning, but over bearing mother. Slade's voice lowered, like he was trying to keep me from hearing what was being said. As a courtesy, I zoned out, not wanting to breach the trust he and I had. The heat combined with the motion of the car was lulling me to sleep, and before I knew it, I was out.
"Kid," I felt someone shaking me and sat up. I hadn't meant to fall asleep.
"Are we home?" I asked, wiping some drool off the corner of my mouth. Slade's face gave nothing away, which gave everything away. "If we're not home, then where are we?"
"Elsbeth," I heard my dad's voice and looked at the phone. The light was green.
"Dad? What's going on?"
"Elsbeth, I don't know what else to do. We've sent you to every doctor in Gotham, and you've managed to get yourself removed from all of them."
Removed? They pulled me out. Dr. Hewitson was the first I had ever tried that with. And I had hardly seen every doctor.
"It may seem like a drastic step, but it's only because we love you so much."
What was drastic? Where was I? I pushed the down button and the black window slowly came down. A large collection of cement buildings lay before me, some condemned looking, others new and shiny. Was this some rehab facility? My eyes traveled up to an antique metal sign hanging somewhat lopsidedly. It read, The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.
My mouth dropped. Arkham?
"Is this a joke?" I squeaked out. I looked to Slade, hoping he would burst out laughing and tell me that they got me. But his face remained impassive.
"It's no joke Elsbeth. One of the best doctors in the city works here. He has agreed to take on your case. Understand, your mother and I never wanted it to come to this," he sounded stressed.
"Ou..outpatient right?" I stammered. The shadow of the large buildings loomed over me and I felt a chill permeate my bones.
"Your doctor will explain everything," he was talking so quickly now. "I will see you soon sweetheart."
The call ended.
I sat there, trying to process what was happening.
"Come on," Slade reached out a hand to grab me and I slapped it away, hard.
"Don't touch me," I hissed, looking at him with blurry eyes. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but I quickly opened the door and got out. Everything was unraveling. I watched a door open and a man walk out. I rubbed my hands on my outer thighs a few times and started forward. What if I ran? What if I just turned around and bolted? I glanced over my shoulder to see the large metal gate was shut. There were two armed guards mulling around as well. Not to mention I was wearing four inch heels. So I kept walking watching the man get closer and closer to me.
"Elsbeth Grey," he smiled. He had dark hair, and pale skin. His face was feminine, but in a manly sort of way. It was his eyes though, hidden behind dark rimmed glasses, that made my skin break out in goosebumps.
"Yes," I whispered.
"I am Doctor Jonathan Crane."
"I don't understand what's going on," I was barely able to control the quivering of my voice.
"I know you don't, but you've already made a giant first step."
I didn't respond, I didn't know what to say. He smiled at me and leaned a little closer.
"Admitting you need help. Most people can't even admit they have a problem, let alone seek out professional help for it."
"I.." he cut me off before I could finish my sentence.
"There will be time enough for that later Elsbeth. For now let's get you inside and out of this cold."
He came to my side and put an arm around me, guiding me towards the door. I looked over my shoulder one more time. Slade was standing near the car, watching me. He raised a hand, a wave probably. I turned my head back around just as we entered the door.