The fifth session was my favorite.

Still is when I think about it.

I didn't know what it was about him that drew me in in such a way but I knew I didn't want it to go away.

That evening, after the fourth session, I went home back to the house and I immediately dusted off my art supplies.

It wasn't to make a piece of artwork.

I spent hours sitting in front of my easel, mixing the oil paints hoping for the perfect shade.

By the end of the night the canvas was swatched in many different shades of blue, ranging from light to dark, but no matter how many colors I mixed, I just couldn't get it right.

For the first time in weeks I showed my first real emotion besides sadness and fear, frustration.

I hadn't realized I was crying until I noticed the droplets of water on my canvas. I was crying tears of pure frustration and it just felt amazing.

It had been a couple months since I had cried, not since my mother, and it just felt euphoric to release all my pent-up emotions. It felt even better when I smashed my canvas that held my inadequacies.

The breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding forced its way out of my lungs and it was with that breath that I realized how much I missed feeling.

I tried to get out of the fifth session, even attempting to feign a migraine, but my father just made me pop a pain reliever and suck it up.

I suspected the session would be an uncomfortable one, so I instead opted to drive myself, hoping for any reason to stall.

There was no way I could skip the session, my father would know, so, begrudgingly, I made my way up the steps of Arkham Asylum.

The woman at the front desk didn't even bother to point me in the correct direction, we both knew I was aware of where I was going.

I tried to stretch out the minutes, purposely making myself late, hoping to get some sort of rise out of him.

When I reached his office, I stopped to take a breath, instead focusing on the cool of the door knob.

It took all my strength to push the door open.

At first his office seemed empty, until I stepped in.

The second I was two steps in I heard the door behind me shut, and I spun around at a breakneck speed to see Dr. Crane staring down at me, a disappointed look scrawled across his face.

"You look worried." He noted.

It was impossible to hold back my scoff, "Ya think?"

The calculating look in his eye sent a shiver down my spine. I tried to take a step away to distance us, but his large hand had no problem completely encasing my wrist.

With a single tug, I was brought against his chest with and arm wrapped securely around my waist.

"I thought you weren't going to show up."

The breathy tone of his voice caused a second shiver to travel down my spine as his thumb carefully ran over the bone of my hip.

"I didn't want to," was my response.

He frowned at my response, making me desperately wish I could take back my words just to appease him, but I couldn't, more importantly I refused to.

"Before a week ago, you were nothing but cruel to me. You taunted me constantly and said some terribly awful things so you'll have to excuse me if I'm not terribly excited to come back here."

His only response was a noncommittal shrug.

This action caused a second scoff from me. I don't know what it was, perhaps it was the moment we shared at our previous session, but whatever it was had led me to believe that the man before me held some sort of emotion.

Clearly, I was wrong, and that pissed me off.

At this point his grip had loosened enough that I was able to tear myself away from his grasp, and giving me time to ponder over the option of leaving right then and there.

The thought of Jonathan snitching to my father was enough to make me scrap that idea immediately.

I instead opted for collapsing in my usual seat and crossing my arms over my chest.

Now when I think back at it, this must have only further instilled my place as a child in his mind, but I was naive to the effect of my actions at the time being.

He seemed to take my actions as a sort of submission, which it sort of was, as he made his way to the other side of the desk and placed himself with his chin resten on his folded hands, his eyes stuck on my facial features.

His cold gaze seemed to scrutinize my features, but no sign on approval or disgust made itself known.

"So, Miss Erdos, what has transpired in this past week?"

It was his turn to attempt to get a rise out of me.

Determined to play his childish game as well as he dis I leaned back in my chair with a shrug.

"I've been thinking about death a lot lately, and what it means to die." My voice trembled at the end of my sentence, and I mentally cursed myself for allowing myself to appear weak and nimble.

If I hadn't been paying attention I would have missed the look of displaced anger on his face before it transitioned back into a cool indifference.

"And may I ask, why have you been feeling such thoughts?"

Another shrug.

"I suppose it's because I keep contemplating how simpler it would be."

"What would be?"

We both already knew the answer to his question.

I inhaled sharply, "No need to fear though, I would never be able to bring myself to go through with it."

"And why is that Miss Erdos?"

"I'm too afraid."

Silence encompassed the room, a dark, uncomfortable cloud settling over us, drowning us.

He shot up from his seat so quickly, I hadn't even begun to process what had happened when he was already around the desk pulling my to my feet, roughly I may add.

In a second I was against the wall, identical to how I had been the week previous, trapped.

He lowered his face down so it hovered over my own upturned one, mine being held up by his fingers. His eyes stared deeply into mine, a cold look overcoming them as they encapsulated mine in their penetrating gaze.

"Good."

I sucked in sharply, "Good?"

"Yes, good."

Before I could speak again he was across the room and out the door, leaving me winded and completely lost.