"Are there control subjects in psychiatry training?" Eli asked the air, fingers holding loosely onto the straw he was slowly stirring his drink with. He broke his gaze at the far wall to turn to Fiona, his eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly. She looked at him as if he were crazy, the corner of her bottom lip snagging between her teeth just shy of the rim of her glass. She shrugged, and took a terse sip. Eli sighed. "Why would they do that? To make sure I'm not corrupting anyone?" He paused, then his jaw dropped slightly. "What if she's another person in training? Or she's reporting to someone?"
Fiona finally rested her hand lightly on Eli's wrist, offering him a friendly smile and holding back a giggle. "Calm down, sweetheart. I'm sure it's not as complicated as you're making it out to be, or some sort of conspiracy, or whatever you're saying."
"Then, what?"
"What are you even talking about?" She rested her elbows on the table, folding her hands together to cradle her chin atop her fingers. Her eyes glinted as he parted his lips to speak again.
"One of my patients today-"
"Are you allowed to talk about it?" she asked quickly, her eyes widening a bit.
"Probably. It's not like I'm telling you their name or anything." Eli shrugged and sipped his own drink, then returned his focus to Fiona. One thing he undeniably loved about her was that she always at least pretended to be fascinated when he had something to talk about. She made him feel important. "But, they—this person just seemed so normal. Stable. Perfectly stable and content with everything. Normal life, normal job, normal goals. Even after an hour of talking, the whole drill. It's like... a placebo or something."
Fiona nodded thoughtfully, but her eyebrows were raised. "So you think..." she mused over her pink drink, pulling the skewered cherry, orange wedge, and pineapple chunk she requested from the rim, "that the powers that be have sent in a totally normal person who doesn't need therapy. Like, a sugar pill."
Eli was unsure, but he nodded.
"What would the point of that be?"
"I don't know. That's the thing that confuses me." He shrugged as she bit lightly around the sickeningly red cherry, nearly matching her evening lipstick, and pulled it from the toothpick. She chewed it slowly as she stared at something on the ceiling, and hummed a bit.
"I maintain that you're over thinking it," she said finally, popping the pineapple into her mouth.
Eli didn't respond, but plucked his straw from his drink and promptly swallowed the entire glass without pause. Fiona's eyes widened only slightly before she giggled at him as he pulled her closer, pressing his smile to her barely flushed cheek. "And you're always right," he said into her ear, flicking her dangling earring with his finger, childishly amused.
"Oh, am I?"
"Indeed," he nearly muttered. His lips were just shy of her earlobe. She gripped his shoulder nearest to her and squeezed, and he mimicked the action with the hand holding onto her waist. Her shirt was incredibly soft. Nearly as soft as her pale skin.
"Mhm. Well, no offense, love," Fiona turned so their noses were nearly brushing, "but I stopped working at seven. And as much as I deeply care about your various problems, including your therapist-in-training vendettas, I really would rather just be out and have fun."
Eli chuckled with a slight nod. He gave in, allowing Fiona's eyes to replace Clare's in his mind. Fiona's hair, Fiona's smile, Fiona's soft voice, Fiona's lips, mere millimeters from his. Fiona was, by far in his opinion, the most beautiful girl he'd ever met. He was incredibly lucky to have gotten to know her. Times like these were when he thanked the god he didn't believe in for his charm, or whatever it was that allowed him to get Fiona into his lap the first time he took her out. And they'd been inseparable ever since. "Let's do that, then," he said, and closed the small gap between them.
Clare was wearing jeans. Tight jeans, all the way through to her ankles. They accentuated her figure incredibly well. Her hair was straightened, part of it pulled to the back and the rest left loose, cascading along her shoulders. A compact, yellow umbrella was hooked around her elbow—it had been raining since Eli had left the coffee shop that morning with two paper cups in his hands, intentionally avoiding her curious gaze. She smiled brightly and nudged the door shut behind her with the heel of her light brown Converse. "Good morning, Eli."
Eli returned her smile, and they sat simultaneously. As he opened his mouth, she spoke again. "I've been meaning to say something when I see you at the cafe, but I never quite-"
"Actually," Eli said, voice calm and smooth, "It's probably better that we don't interact outside our sessions."
Something appeared in Clare's eyes. But as soon as it manifested, it was gone, and she closed her parted lips. "Oh."
Eli hoped it was his compassion as her therapist that caused the momentary twinge in his chest. "It's just for the sake of professionalism. The patient-therapist relationship can get kind of shaky if we're meeting up for coffee."
"Yeah, I understand." And even if she did understand, she wasn't happy about it. That much was clear. Of course, keeping a strictly professional relationship with this girl wasn't exactly an idea Eli was terribly fond of, either, but for the sake of everything he had worked so hard to achieve, he wasn't about to complicate this process for a girl. He already had one at his beck and call, anyway. He didn't need another girl.
"So," he said lightly, clearing his throat, "how are you, Clare?"
"Tired." She wasn't looking at him anymore. She was looking out the window to his right.
Eli nodded. "Have you been sleeping well?"
"Just as well as always," she replied with a sad smile. Eli nearly sighed with relief; maybe she wasn't so perfect after all. "I've just been working a bit extra, and my sister's been asking me to watch her daughter a lot lately. So I'm a little tired."
Never mind. She continued to be just as average as she had been before. A voice bit at the back of Eli's mind as he continued to question her, the same suspicion he'd been battling with all the past week, no matter how hard he tried. Why was this girl even there? It's oftentimes a battle to get people who need the help to go to therapy, but here was this young woman who seemed to have all her ducks in a row sitting across from him on the incredibly soft sofa, recounting to him the events of her mediocre life and her mediocre week, maintaining an absolutely mediocre psychosis.
Near the end of their time, Clare had run out of things to say. They had focused mostly on her parent's divorce, but she hadn't said anything that sent up any flags. Normal, average, functional, with good coping skills and no cause for alarm. If anything, Clare seemed like a walking advertisement for excellent mental health. Clare was what people wanted to be like when they came out of therapy.
Eli cleared his throat as he stood to hold the door for her while she exited. "Clare, I have something I need to ask you before you go," he said in his silken, soft psychiatrist voice. The one that made people's muscles relax, made others feel safe around him. She nodded, and he continued. "Why are you here, Clare?"
For a moment, she looked confused, as if she didn't understand why on Earth he was asking her this question. But she hitched her purse strap higher on her shoulder and smiled again. "I need this," she said simply, switching her umbrella from one hand to the other. "Have a nice weekend."
Fiona's high heel shoes were candy apple red, and had every other male specimen in the place eying her up and down until Eli's protective hand was on her waist. And sometimes even after that. She wore black earrings shaped like skulls because they were Eli's favorites, and had her hair tied back in some elaborate styling that he would never be able to figure out. "You make me feel like I owe you something," she said into his ear, close so that she could be heard over the loud music without yelling, "you've brought me a latte every morning this week that you've been in."
He simply raised his eyebrows at her. He had figured they had reached that point in their relationship, where he could make thoughtful, possibly-romantic gestures. That, and it was his way of apologizing for thinking of Clare, although Fiona had no means of knowing that it wasn't her he was contemplating when he couldn't sleep. It should be, he knew. But the fine line between his visualization of Fiona's thighs and Clare's was getting foggy, and he feared it would disappear. And he had to make this up to Fiona somehow. A brief thought crossed his mind, and he wondered what Clare would look like in candy apple red heels. He wondered if Clare would even wear such a thing. Then his attention was returned to Fiona's shoulders, peeking out from her black top littered with sequins, and he nearly shook his head at himself. Then he realized he hadn't responded to her. "I just wanted to do something nice," he said, a few beats too late.
She looked unimpressed. Because she could see right through him, as always. "If you're thinking about that placebo again-"
"I'm sorry."
Rolling her eyes, Fiona bit her tongue, her jaw slightly ajar so that he could see. "Relax, Eli. Let it rest."
Eli was about to reply, when he found himself at a loss for words. Suddenly, about twenty feet away, Clare Edwards was turning her head from side to side, surveying the colorful environment with her miniature oceans. Eli nearly ducked his head, praying she wouldn't see him, but of course it was no use. Their eyes locked, and if anything else was happening anywhere in the world, he didn't know it. The smile that appeared on her lips was magnificent and radiant, and Eli returned the smile, and promptly thought to himself, Fuck.
Encountering patients in a club setting is probably considered incredibly far from professional.
She pushes past a few people to get to Eli, and the entire time she's moving closer, he's wondering what he should do. Obviously relaxing, as Fiona told him to, isn't really an option. Fiona picks up rather quickly on his shock, feeling the muscles in his hand tensing against her side. She looks at him with cautious concern, and leans a little closer. He isn't sure if he can tell her what the problem is. That would involve telling her about Clare, which is completely against all policy. How else can he explain this? Fiona's wary gaze doesn't falter as Clare finally reaches them, still beaming. "Hey Eli!" she says, as if she thinks it's entirely welcome.
He tries to return her smile. Unfortunately, his emotion masking is a technique he has perfected primarily in an office setting, in which these situations don't occur. Fiona's eyes flick over to Clare, inspecting her, as Eli says, "Hey, Clare."
"Funny seeing you here," she leans in, smirking. It's like she's pretending Fiona doesn't exist.
Eli tilts his chin upward. "Funny."
He feels a squeeze on his shoulder, and turns to Fiona, hoping his face demonstrates sympathy. She begins to open her mouth, as if to question, but he speaks instead. "This is Fiona," he says to Clare, but still looking into Fiona's eyes and hoping, praying she'll understand. She always does, this should be no different.
Clare smiles at Fiona, a little too brightly. It's a little too fake. "Oh, yeah! You work at the, um... Well, you're the secretary or something, right?"
"Or something," Fiona says with a smile. Hers at least looks genuine, but Eli knows better. Fiona is still waiting for an explanation from him. "So you know Eli from there, then."
Suddenly, Eli is incredibly grateful for Fiona's intelligence. She's catching on. He can't give any answers, but Clare certainly can.
Clare's eyes center on the floor. "Um, yeah."
After a few beats of silence between them, and Eli realizing he's said little to nothing overall, Fiona pipes up, tightening her grip on Eli's shoulder. "Well, while this is sufficiently fascinating, I must point out how utterly unprofessional it is, and insist that Eli come dance with me." She turns to him on the last fragment and smiles, that same flashy grin that always means something along the lines of You're welcome. And he's sure thankfulness is seeping from his pores as he nods, and allows her to yank him away from Clare, who is still waving bashfully from where she stood.
As Fiona pulls him close, she leans close to his ear. "I had a feeling you weren't going to save yourself this time. I've also concluded that's placebo girl, although I know you are not allowed to confirm nor deny that statement. So, instead, I'll phrase it like this; that's the girl running through your mind twenty-four seven?"
Eli's eyes widen only slightly and he pulls his head back from Fiona's, expecting to find her looking displeased, but she's smiling. She's grinning, genuinely and sweetly, and it's one of the oddest things Eli's ever seen. He's not sure how to respond.
She leans in again, and Eli places his hands on her hips. "It's okay, Eli. We're friends."
Oh. That probably wasn't supposed to hurt as much as it did.
