*bonk*
*the silence hums with unfamiliarity*
"Ooof… It's so strange here…"
*quiet static, subdued, suppressed*
"So.. Hello, I… I moved out of my house, rented an apartment with my so-called rainy day money.. Ah, well, I didn't really move out, just took my bare belongings in a briefcase and left as quickly as I could.. I still own my house, it's just vacant. Empty. And I hope for it to stay that way, honestly. Maybe it could become a monument to the past like dear old Henry's house. Just one final remnant, abandoned…
Oof, anyways. I, uh, have to go to work soon, technically. You know, I don't think the police really care if I go to work or not..? They give me very loose hours, and basically say 'take a break whenever you want, just stay outta the station and make sure no one vandalizes shit'. Sure, that's a set of really helpful instructions right there. So what I try to do is take my break at different times every day; that way teenagers won't be able to like, memorize my schedule because I just straight up don't have one. He gets a little confused though, always rooted in formulas and routines…
I don't care though. That guy can go fuck himself. Simple as that."
*sniffle*
"Speaking of that guy, um, two things. First, he's thankfully not as strong here in my new home, at least, not yet. I feel like, like I can actually breathe here, and not be so affected by his 'magic powers'… Though, he's been showing up a lot in my dreams, as if I was him, or or or, as if I'm experiencing the things he dreams about… I don't like it very much.
Secondly, when I go to work he keeps.. Pressuring me to open up Freddy's. Murmuring softly in my ears and gently coaxing me towards the dark, damp hallway that contains the entrance to that forbidden place, shrouded in shadows, waiting, waiting…
No. I don't think I'm ready yet.."
*mournful groan*
"Ooohhh, I'm never ready for anything, man..! Freddy's, or work, or life, like I'd rather just curl into a ball in bed and shrivel up and die! Don't wanna face the outside world, don't wanna face the monsters, or the angry apparitions I presume reside within that cursed restaurant.. It's not a good place to be man! It's not, it probably stinks… Though.. I guess it would be cool to see what Henry came up with, after I supposedly died…
Gosh, now I'm just giving myself reasons to go, I bet this is all his doing.. I can't blame everything on him though, some of this, this everything is my fault. It's all me, myself, and I. Most of it. All of it…
… Whatever. Huff, I just.. Whatever, I'll think about this later. Maybe I'll uh, I'll go in Freddy's and see what's up, one of these days. When I'm b-bored enough. Yeah. Ugh, just bye."
*swishing noise like he's shaking his head*
*click*
*careful click*
The recording started on its own. A soft, nearly inaudible tick, but it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; thus, he heard it with sharp clarity. She, Mrs. Whitaker, wasn't even here yet, must've set it on a timer or something. Dave ran his fingers up and down his arm, bounced his leg, twitched his eyes this way and that, nervous, anxious. He didn't want to be here, just wanted to go home…
Just wanted to go home.
His earlier visit with his doctor had told him that the anomalies in his brain were getting worse, well, obviously. He was talking to him now, so he knew it must have gotten terribly, terribly worse. So much so that the "anomalies" kept him awake at night, kept him jittery and fearful when there was nothing to fear. Dave wouldn't mention any of this to his therapist, if he could.
The door opened behind him, "Oh! Sorry for the wait, I'd somehow managed to lose your paperwork, teehee!" It sounded like a lie, but Dave didn't know anything so he said nothing of it. Mrs. Whitaker swiftly sat down in the armchair in front of him. "Now that it's all sorted out again, hey! How's it going?"
"…" The purple man simply stared at her gravely, causing her smile to falter.
"Ah.. Not feeling very talkative today, are ya? We can.. We can play a game if you'd like? But it still involves, you know, talking." She cocked her head to the side a tad bit.
"No," Dave replied slowly, "We can.. talk normally. Just…" He gulped, flicking his eyes about the room. "Not so much."
"Okay! I'll just ask some more questions like last time yeah? Simple stuff first! Do you have.. any pets?" Her speech was snippy and quirky, and when she pondered her question there was a small drawl of a foreign yet still American accent.
"I… Used to have a dog.."
"Used to? Aw, what happened to it?"
"It… Died." The therapist frowned, and somehow her composure made him want to elaborate. "When I was in the hospital b-because of the accident, and uh, for a long while after, I couldn't take care of it…"
She made a small questioning noise in her throat, "Oh, what was it that happened afterward that you couldn't feed it and stuff?"
Dave hesitated; should he tell the truth, the whole of it or only part of it? Whatever the answer, he knew to phrase his next words carefully. "I was… Lost, for almost a year. N-Not literally, but, sort of like that. I… Didn't know what home was, maybe had even forgotten what, what that felt like.. I forgot Barkley was still around and so he died, waiting for me." He finished quickly, not wanting to dwell on the guilty swell in his chest.
"Oh, that sounds terrible… Can you, explain what you mean by those feelings or…" Dave gave her a 'look', and she understandably moved on. "Well, anyways, I heard from your doctor that you were having some brain problems," she made some strange gestures around her head, "So, I'd like you to describe how these problems you're having make you feel. You think you can do that for me?"
"… No."
Mrs. Whitaker made an exasperated noise. "Oh, really? You know, this whole therapy thing only works if you actually tell me about your feelings and stuff. Can't go anywhere if you don't communicate."
He made a sort of murmuring groan. "I don't like it, talking, them problems ah'm having, none of it."
She ignored the part where he didn't enjoy communicating. "Really? Can you tell me why you don't like these 'problems'? Obviously because you'd rather be okay, but like, is there something specific that's happening that you don't like…?" They stared at each other a moment, her eyes squinting a little bit and analyzing him thoroughly. "… Voices maybe?"
His eyebrows scrunched low, expression changing to something considerably more guarded. "No, no voices. Sometimes I get feelings that are out of place but, it's not anything like that. Not like I've got another guy in my head or anything." He shook his head, adding quickly and quietly, "I'm not schizophrenic, or, or sick in the head. Not really."
"Of course, of course," she smiled reassuringly. "I didn't mean anything of it, just wanted to know if you had any special symptoms like that, yeah? We good?"
"… Yeah." But it wasn't good. David knew deep down inside that getting stuck in such a deep rut of denial would be his own downfall, yet he just couldn't spit those words out, just couldn't admit that he exists, that he has a name, that he is a person, literally his old self living inside of his mind, like some twisted imaginary friend turned sour and evil and horribly possessive. He was still stuck with the hope that if he denied him, he would go away, despite all the evidence that that wasn't true. "We're good."
Still the therapist smiled. "Good, good! So next-" Suddenly, the alarm on her watch went off, a terribly annoying ticking noise. "Oh! I've got to go do something uh, important! We can pick up next time, yes? I'll see you later!" Dave stared at her as she scurried to pick up her things, confused, frightened, hearing a murmur in his head about something being fishy about the whole situation, and he couldn't help but agree. Mrs. Whitaker grinned and swiftly clicked stop on the recording, leaving poor David as soon as she could.
*hurried click*
This poor baby is still in denial, when will he ever learn..? oWo One of these days, one of these days. At least he managed to make his own decision and moved out of that retched manor on Lavender Willow Drive, as I so aptly named the street Dave lives on. xD Anyways, these therapy things are pretty fun to write, despite me not knowing anything about how therapy sessions work :D