I cannot deal with all of my Hannibal feels right now.
Hannibal sat in his office straightening out his desk after his last client had left. He was finished for the day, free to relax. The phone rang. He narrowed his eyes at the offending device. He was expecting no calls. He rounded the corner of his desk to take a seat before answering, allowing it time to ring once more.
"Dr. Lecter speaking," he answered in a calm tone.
There was a brief pause in which the person on the other line inhaled sharply. "Um… hi…"
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. He recognized her voice, but he wanted to hear her say it. "To whom am I speaking?"
"Oh, um… This is Keeran. Keeran Lovett? We met when… in Minnesota?"
He smiled lightly at her discomfort. "Yes, of course."
"Is now a bad time?"
"Not at all. What seems to be the problem?"
He leaned back in his chair, gazing up at one of his bookshelves. He tried to imagine what she might be doing. As a creature of habit, he supposed she would be wearing something loose, comfortable, her long braid pulled over her shoulder to twist and pull at its end. He recalled with ease the scent she brought with her.
"I mean… You said to call you if I needed someone to talk to. It's just that… Since the incident at Abigail's house – particularly since my return home – I've been having these really vivid night terrors. Every time I fall asleep I wake up screaming, flailing, in tears… I hardly sleep anymore. I'm not sure what to do about it."
He made note of the changes. "Is there something different about being home?"
She hesitated; another behavior he made note of. "I don't get along with my roommate's boyfriend," she finally relented.
He stiffened, pausing in his quick scrawl. "Does he give you trouble, this boyfriend?"
There was another moment of hesitation, during which he found himself unreasonably offended on her behalf. He took a deep breath to rid himself of the feeling.
"No, not really. I mean he doesn't hassle me or anything, if that's what you mean. He just…" She fell silent for a moment, a door closing somewhere in the house. She swore under her breath. "I'm so sorry I don't mean to be rude," she continued in a rush. "Um… I have to go. I know I called you, but… I can't talk right now. Not anymore. So… I'm sorry. Christ, that sounded so inconsiderate… Is there a time I can come by to see you? Sometime you're not busy?"
He raised his eyebrows, voicing his surprise. He hadn't dared to hope it would be quite so simple. He sat up straight to arrange his papers.
"One week from today – 6pm," he replied, barely casting a glance at his calendar. "Do not be late."
She heaved a sigh of relief. "Perfect. I'll be there. Thank you. Thank you so much."
"Of course. Take care of your mental wellbeing until then."
She laughed dryly. "I'll do my best."
He sat a moment, absorbing the new information. He had rather expected to have to instigate initial contact. That she had come to him of her own volition made it all the easier. She was in a delicate state of mind; one he had observed in patients before. There was keenness to her thoughts, perception beyond what she chose to share. He was by no means unaware to the discomfort his presence brought her. On the contrary, it was what intrigued him about her pursuit of communication. Why, if she thought for even a moment there may be something strange about him, would she move forward with it?
Jay was sure to let me know what an inconvenience my night terrors were to him at least once every day (sometimes more). Not that I needed yet another constant reminder that I was coming apart at the seams. I took it in stride, gritting my teeth and apologizing for disturbing the household yet again. Returning to work had been just as hellish as I had imagined. It was difficult to stay focused when we were slow like this. I thought it might be better if we were busy. At least a constant stream of calls and emails would keep my mind preoccupied. I pulled myself through with the thought that I could soon speak with Dr. Lecter in person, and the hope that maybe he could advise me on what I should do. Lord help me if he thought I needed some real counseling, as was my opinion.
I packed an overnight bag and made sure to let Kayri know what was going on the day before. It felt better leaving the house than it usually did. Of course I hadn't slept yet from the previous night and that might be the coffee talking. I arrived in Baltimore earlier than I had planned, so I took the initiative to check myself into a hotel and try to calm my nerves. To be honest it did little more than rattle my cage. I paced the length of my room for several long minutes before I typed the address of his office into mapquest. As long as I was in town I may as well head on over. For some reason the sheer size of the building shocked me. The architecture was amazing. I took a few minutes to ogle the work as I lazily approached the door.
I checked the time while I wandered down the hall, setting my phone to silent. If not for the signs I would've gotten lost. With time to spare, I took up a chair and looked up at the closed door across from me. I wondered if I might be seeing more of it in the foreseeable future. I glanced up at a clock on the wall. Precisely at 6pm, the door opened; he nothing if not punctual. Hannibal greeted me with a smile, his eyes assessing me in an instant. He stepped out and to the side, gesturing for me to enter.
"Please come in," he offered.
I nodded, jaw tense, and stood to enter his office. I immediately looked around, drinking it all in. The setup reminded me of the library from Beauty and the Beast. It had a rather efficient soothing effect, though an edge to my anxiety remained.
"Please sit," he added; more of an order than a suggestion.
I obeyed, taking a seat in one of the dark leather armchairs in the center of the room. I was itching to browse his selection – moreover to climb the ladder to the second floor, if only just for fun. How was anyone supposed to focus in here? I blinked and shook my head, looking down at my hands in my lap as I wrung them. Better that than lose my wandering mind. I was uncomfortable enough just being here under the circumstances. Hannibal sat in the chair opposite mine, crossing one long leg over the other. He laced his fingers together and leaned back comfortably, his cool gaze scrutinizing my posture.
"I'm glad you decided to come in," he continued after several minutes of silence. "You seem ill at ease."
I nodded, twisting the hem of my shirt. I traced the stitching of his polished black shoes with my eyes for a few long seconds before I allowed them to drift toward his face. I wasn't sure what I was expected to say. Yeah, I've been pretty fucked in the head lately. I'm here for a reason. My palms were sweating and he hadn't even started asking me questions yet. The corners of his lips twitched, a hint of amusement reaching his features at my apparent discomfort.
"You can relax," he said calmly. "There are no judgments here."
I forced a laugh, reaching up to pull the end of my braid over my shoulder. His eyes followed the movement. I wondered if he was counting all the nervous ticks I was systematically, and unavoidably, going through. With some effort, I managed to fight the urge to continue stroking the end of my braid and settled my hands calmly in my lap. It was easier to do so if I pretended I was sitting in the room alone. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly.
"Do you feel this level of distress often?"
His voice broke my concentration and brought me back to reality. I opened my eyes. His sharp gaze met mine, expression slightly curious, a lingering false pretense of concern. I smiled and looked around at the bookcases.
"Sometimes," I replied. "People make me uncomfortable. I don't trust them."
"Why not?"
I fixed my gaze on one of the windows, on trying to focus on the scenery beyond it. "People… lie. They're greedy. Most of them aren't worth a second glance. I don't have a lot of friends. It's not that I'm not a friendly person. I know whom I can trust. It takes time and not everyone is willing."
"Do you not trust me?"
"To an extent." I answered honestly, drawing an amused grin from him. "To be fair I don't know much about you outside of your work. You do like to keep an air of mystery about you."
He chuckled lightly. "Is that so? Perhaps I'll cook you dinner one night. My cooking will tell you more than I ever could."
I smiled and laughed politely, suddenly more aware that I hadn't eaten before coming here. Excellent. Apparently satisfied with the small talk, Hannibal fixed that predatory gaze on me again. I adjusted my seating, mentally preparing myself for a brutal forty-five minutes.
"Tell me more about your home life," he said.
I swallowed hard. I wasn't expecting him to dive right into the heart of my matters quite like that. I opened my mouth and closed it again, clearing my throat.
"What do you want to know?" I asked calmly. Something flickering across his expression told me he was taking notes on every little thing I did, everything I said, every look I gave him.
"Start off with your living arrangements. Whom do you live with?"
I nodded. "Um… I live with an old friend of mine. We were roommates in college, we've been friends since. Her brother lives in the basement. He's almost never home and he keeps to himself mostly. She's also gotten a boyfriend recently. He's living with us as well. Sometimes his children stay with us."
"How do you feel about this boyfriend?"
I laughed, taking to twisting the bottom of my shirt again. "I think that's a little bit obvious. I think he's foul. He talks down to everyone, treats them like what they have to say is unimportant and insignificant; women especially. It's kind of ironic seeing as how he's one of the most unintelligent people I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. He's a misogynist. All the while, I really just can't stand the sight of him or the sound of his voice in general. He doesn't think about anyone but himself. He's rude and inconsiderate. Worst of all is he doesn't even treat her well. He's controlling, he has a bad temper and they're always fighting. He tried to make her apologize once for raising her voice at him. I wanted to put his head through his TV screen."
"Do you feel threatened by him?"
I squirmed uncomfortably, swallowing the taste of bile in the back of my throat. "Sometimes. I mean he's never flat out threatened me but… there's something about him that I don't trust. The way he speaks to people, it's like he just doesn't have that filter normal people do that tells them what's not acceptable to say out loud. He's so… aggressive… with the way he talks. He's always on the defense and it's something I'm wary of."
He nodded. "Have you voiced your concerns to your roommate?"
I scoffed, looking down at the floor. "She knows I hate him. We've talked about it before and I've given her a list of very valid reasons that he should not be in her life. She is currently that woman who is aware that she is dating a bastard, but she'll come up with a thousand excuses for him and his behavior. She "has him under control" and she's "trying to help him work through his issues." Sometimes I think she might make him leave, but..."
I gave a strained laugh and shrugged, chewing my lip as I looked out the window again. My heart was beating so quickly it was starting to hurt.
"Keeran." His voice effectively filled the room, gaining my attention. I closed my eyes and nodded rather than look at him. "I want you to take three deep breaths. Try to calm yourself."
I counted backward from ten in the span of time it took me to slowly inhale and exhale from deep in my diaphragm. I opened my eyes and looked at him, giving a small nod of consent to continue. His calculating expression pierced me, pinning me in place like an insect stuck with a needle. I held his gaze for as long as I dared before shifting my eyes to the buttons of his waistcoat instead.
"Other than this boyfriend, what else is causing you the most stress at the moment?" Hannibal finally continued.
I sighed and rubbed my temples. "Um… any number of things, really. Work, money… I worry about my friends and I worry about my family. I can't focus at work. I don't manage my stress well and I think that's probably a big part of what my problem is. I just let it eat away at me until I'm so overwhelmed that I just… cave in."
"Have you tried any methods to cope with your rising stress levels?"
I shrugged, adjusting my seating. "Some aromatherapy… If I'm feeling especially unruly I'll try to get out of the house, spend some time away with another friend or go visit family. I jog, read, listen to music… I don't often get the chance to do so with my job is the thing, which heightens the awareness of my tension and need the to escape. Any relief I have is fleeting. He's always there."
I looked up around the room. Even now I could sense the familiar feeling of hopelessness settling over me like a veil. It was the claustrophobic fear of feeling trapped. I slouched against the back of the chair, my heart fluttering. I promised myself I wasn't going to cry on my first visit.
"It feels like I'm in a cage with no way out," I whispered, reaching for my necklace. "No matter what I do I'm just beating my wings against the bars until I'm broken…"
I blinked and wiped my cheeks, offering a feeble smile. Hannibal was frowning slightly, as though he found something bothersome.
"You feel helpless, trapped in a situation from which you desperately seek relief," he said slowly, leaning back in his chair. He watched me, gauging my reaction. "Your low self-confidence is the leading factor in your avoidance of conflict. You fear what is beyond your control therefore you do not engage."
I shifted under his intense gaze and from the accuracy of his assessment. I nodded slowly, uncertain of what to say.
"Something like that, yes," I whispered, biting the end of my thumb. "I know I don't have any right to interfere with her relationship, but at the same time it's my duty as her friend to save her from something so toxic. It's not healthy for her and it's not healthy for me." I laughed and shook my head. "It sounds so selfish… I'm sorry…"
"There is nothing selfish about helping a friend through a toxic relationship," he replied. "Sometimes an outside source is needed to see the perspective that he or she cannot. The downside being not everyone is readily open to criticism on a relationship. It may take time to see things the way you see them now." He watched me sigh in frustration, cracking my knuckles. "I understand that you are trying to save your friend the heartache of finding this out when she is more invested, but at this time all she sees is her dearest friends second guessing her decisions. If she feels as though she isn't getting the support she needs from you… you may find that she spends less time with you and more with him."
I nodded. I knew it was true and it only validated my fears, but what else could I do? I wiped my eyes. "I don't want to lose my friend, but I don't know how much longer I can stand to live there. The small glimmers of decency I see in him are completely dwarfed by the negative. It's just not worth the mental breakdown it's causing and I don't know how to… detach myself… from these emotions. I just see him doing something that irritates me and tense up. He does something else, I tense up a little more. I haven't been able to find a way to release it before it reaches that boiling point. I sit there stewing, watching the cup fill until it's overflowing. I can't bring myself to deal with it." I laughed and rubbed my tired eyes. "I try so hard not to let it bother me but I can't just sit back watching him treat her that way and let it roll off my back. I can't face him every day like he hasn't treated me like shit since we met. I don't have it in me."
The walls were closing in on me. My heart was pounding in my ears, my chest heaving as I gasped frantically for air. I sunk against the back of the chair and squeezed my eyes shut, clawing at the arms of the chair for something to hold onto. My head was light and spinning. I felt like I was going to float away. I coughed and choked, struggling against the fire burning in my chest. Hannibal hooked a firm arm around my chest, placing his other across my forehead, presumably to hold my head still. Left hand gripping the chair back, he pinned me in place. Things were a little hazy. I must have been thrashing about. I opened my eyes and tried to focus on what he was saying while forcing myself to slow my breathing.
"That's better," he said softly. "Calm yourself. Relax your breathing. You are in no danger. I am restraining you for your own safety. You've had a mild seizure."
I took another deep breath and nodded. The incident seemed to open a floodgate. I hadn't even gotten my breathing under control before I was sobbing uncontrollably (and rather loudly, at that). I wished he would let me go so I could just curl up in a ball and hide my face. If anything his grip on me tightened.
"Let me go," I choked out weakly. "Please let me go."
"I will release you once you have composed yourself," he replied, cool and calm as ever.
I could almost feel the vibration of his voice tingle down the back of my neck. I shivered and sniffled, involuntarily fighting his hold. He was strong. I had already concluded as much, if the width of his shoulders was any proper indication. It took me several seconds to muddle through the panic I felt before I was able to release the tension in my muscles. Once I had slumped against the back of the chair, Hannibal slowly loosened his grip on me and took up my wrist to check my pulse. I reached for a tissue with my free hand, avoiding his gaze as we sat in relative silence once more. I opted to watch his hands instead, waiting patiently for him to finish. He reached for something in a pocket of his jacket.
"May I?" he asked, gesturing to my face.
I blinked and nodded, snapping out of my trance. I wasn't sure what he meant. I saw the pen in his hand and for a moment wondered what it was I had given him permission to do. He shone a small bright light in my eyes, staring long and hard. I tried to avoid staring back, though if he was checking my pupils it was difficult not to. The corners of his mouth turned up as I squirmed under the intensity.
"Follow my finger," he directed.
I did as I was told, more than a little certain that he was enjoying this a bit too much. After several long minutes, he seemed satisfied enough to leave me be. He patted my hand in what I imagined was meant to be a reassuring way. His hand lingered, giving mine a squeeze when I continued to avoid his gaze. I looked up at him reluctantly, to which he responded with one of his slight, amused smiles. I found it irritating, and perhaps he saw that. His smile widened a fraction.
"You've done well today," he told me, releasing his grip on my hand to stand up and straighten out his suit. I watched him slip casually into his chair across from me, fold one long leg over the other as though the incident had never occurred. "You've given me a great deal of insight. Do you mind my asking how long you've had seizures?"
I sighed and closed my eyes to rub my temples. "About… eight years? They started just after my nineteenth birthday so… it's been a while."
"What do you find aggravates your condition?"
I pursed my lips, looking around at the bookshelves again. They seemed to be more distracting in this room than anything else. "Anxiety. Stress. Frustration. Pretty much how I feel all the time. It stifles and suffocates me until I can't breathe and…" I laughed and shook my head, looking back at him. "I know I'm not crazy. I'm not. But I can understand what drives people mad living in a house like that… living this way."
Hannibal un-steepled his fingers and sat forward, looking at me seriously. "I'd like for you to make a conscious effort to leave the house more frequently – go for a jog, a walk in the park, go… sit and read a book somewhere new. I think you may find that if you spend less time at home, the feeling that you are trapped will ease."
I nodded slowly, considering the advice. It was easier said than done. Home in room was the only thing that really felt safe to me anymore. He pushed on, seemingly reading my mind.
"Tell me more about these night terrors."
I reached for my braid, thought better of it, and lowered my hands back to my lap. I could tell he was still clocking my movements.
"They started more or less immediately after the incident in Minnesota," I started off carefully. "They weren't quite this severe, but the nightmare is always relatively the same. There's a wooded area, voices whispering, indiscernible shadows, I wind up covered in blood. I wake up screaming. Kayri is very understanding, but lord knows Jay is giving me hell for it."
A crease formed between his eyebrows. He appraised me for a moment with a serious expression. "Do not ever allow someone to make you feel bad about something that is beyond your control."
I looked away, shocked at the hostility he had done little to hide in his voice. It took me a moment to gather a proper response.
"I'm not the type of person to speak up when someone says something that bothers me," I muttered. "I'm more of the… suffer in silence type. I've spent my whole life trying not to step on anyone's toes, trying to make anyone uncomfortable, not to hurt anyone's feelings. Those are things that I don't like to experience. Why would I want to inflict that on anyone else?"
In the silence that followed, I looked up. Hannibal was watching me, head tilted to the side. I couldn't quite read his expression, and it made me uncomfortable. I blinked and looked away again. Hopefully he would take the hint.
"Try to look past this view the next time he is abrasive with you," he suggested. "I understand that you do not want to cause injury to someone who has caused you no harm. However, this man – Jay, is it? – puts no thought into his words. The next time he says something offensive to you, simply tell him you will not allow him to speak to you this way."
Again, it was easier said than done. I nodded to satisfy him. Judging by the sharpness in his eyes, he didn't for half a second believe me. He leaned back in his chair, watching me a moment longer. In that instant, I saw that predatory leanness that had eased return. I swallowed involuntarily, the palms of my hands sweating.
"Sadly, you will not always get the respect that you deserve in life," he said slowly, looking out the window with a thoughtful expression. "In some instances it is better to be feared than respected."
I grinned despite the chill running down my spine. "That doesn't sound like very good psychiatric advice."
"No, it doesn't." He looked back at me, softening the coldness of his words hanging in the air with a more charming smile. "This advice I would give to you as a friend."
Of this I was skeptical, but said nothing. Instead I nodded.
"In your professional opinion," I asked slowly, "should I be seeking help?"
"Is that not what you are doing?"
I gave him a sarcastic look. "You know what I mean. Do I need to be seeing someone on a regular basis, be on medication, something like that?"
He took a deep breath, thinking it over for a moment. "No. I believe what you need is someone who will listen to your problems with an unbiased opinion and offer you reasonable alternatives." He stood, a hint of tease in his expression. "Meeting here would also give you reason to leave the house for a suitable amount of time."
I laughed and shook my head, lifting out of my chair to shake his hand. "Thank you." I frowned, unable to hide my confusion. "Are you my doctor then, or…?"
He led me to the door. "I wouldn't say so yet. We shall see. Same time next week. Drive safely, Keeran."
"Goodnight."
I left him in the doorway, feeling quite flustered and still very confused. I had a feeling I would be leaving his office in much the same way with all my visits.
