Notes: I just wanted to say.. The thing Roger has in this story (don't want to give it away right now) is a serious problem, and not something to laugh about. If you want to flame me, go right ahead, but do it on my writing skills (or lack thereof), not the fact that Roger is sick and hearing "voices". If you have a problem with it, you don't have to read. No one's forcing you. After receiving some.. upsetting reviews (most of which have been deleted), I'm not sure whether or not to continue posting this story. I'll keep writing, but as of right now, I'm thinking I might not post the rest of the chapters I have written. I'm not sure, but if I do decide not to continue with this, I'll let you guys know. Thanks for reading, and sticking with this even though I know it must be very confusing. I also posted a sort of sidefic, almost a prequel, called Eternal Darkness. So if you're interested in how this all started, and why, you might want to check that out.
"So. When did you first begin having these dreams?" She smiles at me, face kind and reassuring, and carefully crosses her legs at the ankles, no doubt trying to put me at ease. By my side, Mark sits, hand clenching mine tightly, jaw set, as if trying hard not to cry.
I shrug, indifferent to it all. "Why does it matter? I mean… it's just a dream."
"Mmhm." She looks down at my picture again, studying it, memorizing and analyzing every detail. "And who is Fred? Is he someone from the dreams?"
"No, he's…" I trail off and bite my lip, unsure of what to say. A voice in my head, the child that lives in my body? Somehow, these things do not seem right to say to a shrink. "He's just… No one." I sigh and glace at the beige-colored wall, studying the framed diplomas from various schools, the relaxing paintings of a lake, a forest, a puppy.
Dr. Patterson fixes me with a gentle stare, and I twitch under her gaze, feeling myself starting to slip away again.
Shudder, switch. Oh shit.
She notices the change right away, as she sits up a bit straighter in her chair, and her gentle smile becomes more forced.
"Fred? Fred, is that you?" she asks in a calm, caring voice, as if speaking to a child.
I shake my head, gazing down at the floor, and hear myself say, in a very feminine, high-pitched voice, "N-no… I'm Anna."
A part of me registers Mark start beside me, uncurling his fingers and pulling his hand back to his person.
"Hello, Anna," she continues, unabated. My name is Dr. Patterson, though you can call me Angie if you'd like. I'm here to help Roger, and you too, if you'll let me. Do you know what year it is?"
"1974?" comes the voice again, and from the corner of my eye I see Mark shift away from me even further, obviously terrified.
Silence for a second, and then: "Anna, I'd like you to look at me for a second. Can you do that?" Pause. "Good girl, just like that. It's not 1974. You're in no danger, nobody is going to hurt you anymore. Do you understand that?"
Anna nods, a bit unsure, but not wanting to seem impolite by voicing her doubts.
"Do you know how old you are?" Again, that gentle smile, comforting tone. It relaxes Anna, puts her at ease, and she slumps down a bit, body not so rigid.
"I'm t-thirteen."
"Ok Anna, I'd like you to do something for me, if you can." Anna nods, trailing her eyes down to the ground again. "Could you concentrate, and tell Roger that I would like to speak with him again?" Anna nods shyly, forcing out a tiny smile, and raising a hand as if to say goodbye.
Shudder, switch.
Like a hawk, Dr. Patterson's eyes narrow in on me and she relaxes a bit, leaning back in her black leather chair.
"Roger? Am I speaking to Roger?"
I nod, voice faltering, unable to speak, feeling my face turn several shades of crimson. I can feel my body begin to shake ever so slightly, and my palms are beginning to feel uncomfortably clammy. Mark, noticing the change in my demeanor, reaches again for my hand, comforting, although scared.
"Does this happen often?" Angie asks quietly, tilting her head to the side. "Does Anna come out a lot?"
I can feel tears beginning to prick at the corners of my eyes, and I do my best to blink them back.
//'Cat's out of the bag now, there's no use denying it.' 'You've really blown it this time, Davis. Way to go.' 'Oh shut up, leave him alone, it's not his fault!'//
"Rog?" Mark whispers next to me. "It's ok." He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and I feel my heart swell with love and my mind cloud with relief.
//He doesn't hate us!//
"Roger," Dr. Patterson repeats, a bit louder this time. "I want to help you, but I need you to be honest with me."
I nod stiffly, unconsciously shifting closer to Mark, seeking comfort and reassurance.
"How long have they been there?"
//'Huh?' 'How did she know?' 'She doesn't, she's bluffing.' 'Don't tell! Don't you dare!'//
A shrug, a frown. "My whole life… sort of. I thought it was just me at first, just… you know, thoughts. But now…" I trail off, unsure of what to say next. How could she possibly understand, how could anyone? How could I ever explain that the voices in my head have formed their own personalities, that the thoughts I have are not my own, my memories someone else's? Impossible. Crazy. Just like me.
The rest of the session is pretty much uneventful, I manage to stay in control, though the struggle was a hard one. The minutes tick slowly by, and soon enough I see Angie's gaze shift to the digital clock beside her.
"Well Roger, Mark, we're out of time for today. I'd like to continue seeing you, Roger, I think I can help you, if you'd like."
"What's wrong with him, Dr. Patterson?" Mark asks nervously, and I cringe. Wrong with him. Something's "wrong" with me.
She pauses, lifting a finger to her lip, looking thoughtful. "I don't think it would be wise to talk diagnoses at this point in the game. It's too soon for that, though from what I can tell, it seems to be some kind of dissociative disorder."
Mark nods thoughtfully, I just stare at the thick blue carpeting, feeling disconnected.
"So what do you say, Roger? Think you'll be coming back for more of this?" She smiles warmly, and I can feel some of the tension in my shoulders ease. I think I like her.
I shrug, hesitating, mulling the question over in my mind. Well… what have I got to lose? It's not like seeing a therapist would make me any crazier than I already am.
"I guess so," I whisper quietly, after a moment's consideration.
"Great!" she exclaims, and Mark puts a hand on my shoulder, supporting, comforting me silently. "I'll pencil you in for next Tuesday, is that all right? I'd like to start seeing you twice a week, if your schedule will allow it."
I shrug, uncaring. "Sure, sounds…great."
Notes: Yeah, weak ending. Sorry 'bout that, didn't know what else to do.