The first time I met Jonathan Crane, I was only sixteen whilst he was twenty-seven.
He was one of my father's colleges at Arkham, a well esteemed doctor. Admired for his accomplishes for such a young age, he was well respected and trusted in many communities, precisely why, after my mother died my father appointed his as my therapist.
It's safe to say that I found no trust in my father's colleges, especially after the madness of Harleen Quinnzel was revealed, but if it was what was wished from me I would do it.
"But sir, I do not require therapy." My father was always a strict man, and even though deep down I knew he loved me, his brisk and cold nature caused me to act out as to gain a reaction from the emotionless man.
"For the last time, Dove, this is non-negotiable. You have been struggling due to recent circumstances, and this will get you back on track."
I scoffed, 'recent circumstances' was his way of referring to the death of my mother, his wife.
She developed lung cancer at the ripe old age of forty-two due to her addiction to nicotine.
Therefore, from the age of fourteen to sixteen I got to witness my mother wither away to only a shell of her former self. Whilst my father busied himself in his work, I switched between my education and being my mother's caretaker.
But on May 15th at exactly 2:56 a.m. I was relinquished from my duties as my mother passed away.
I remember sobbing while curled up to her as she took her final few, wheezing breaths, her final words being those that reminded me of her love for me.
The moment it all happened, was one I would never forget, as our live-in nurse called it and my father just nodded, still keeping all emotion off his face.
I think that was when I began resenting the man who raised me, when he refused to bat an eye at the corpse of the woman he had sworn to love.
That's when I began lashing out in self destructive ways, not eating, not sleeping, and burying myself in the artwork that had already awarded me several scholarships.
Of course, it took my father three months to even notice my distancing myself, but sure enough the brilliant psychiatrist noticed the problem right under his nose.
That is why now, five months after the passing of my mother, I was being forced to see a stranger and share my darkest feelings with him.
"Please Dove," I could hear his exasperation, "Don't make this any harder than necessary. We are lucky Dr. Crane even accepted you as a patient.
I nodded in defat, knowing I had no choice in the matter.
I suspected Dr. Crane to be a decrepit older man, one with much experience and a kind smile, but that was not what I got.
The first thing I noticed about the doctor was his youthful age, he was in the mid-range of his twenties and it took me by surprise that my dad would trust someone so young with what he deemed to be his prodigy daughter's crumbling mental health.
The second thing I noticed was his eyes.
There were no appropriate words to describe the man's eyes. The closest color I could think of to compare them to would be cerulean. They were the color of crystal clear oceans and they shifted as the waves would, a color I would spend many hours attempting to match perfectly.
At first I compared them to winter, cold and calculating, starving and predatory. He was the beast and he stalked you with only his gaze, a gaze that seemed to know everything about you.
As time passed though, I grew to understand there was more to uncover in those eyes. At first I thought they were like my father, void of any emotion, but I later learned that it was just because the emotion was there, it was just hidden behind his cold demeanor.
Those eyes are what drew me in and pushed me out at the same time. I thought he was beautiful, causing me to develop a small crush on him, and I just had so much love to give ever since my only outlet, my mother, had been taken away from me.
Perhaps that was why I fell so easily into the trap with absolutely no regard for caution.
I was just an insecure little girl who longed for any attention shown her way, and he just so happened to throw me a bone, one that I now wished I had never gone after, a bone that led to an unhealthy obsession and insane possessiveness.
Many nights afterwards I considered regretting all my choices, but then when I saw him again it was all clear again.
Those damn eyes had me.
fixation