AN: 2.10 headcanon (kind of)
Letters
There is a stigma that attaches itself to everyone who is admitted into a psychiatric ward.
They're crazy.
They're out of control.
They're dangerous.
They're dumb.
They're helpless.
They need to be talked down to.
Linden finds herself staring a Dr. Kerry's hair and wondering if it's real. Dr. Kerry speaks slowly, her tone clearly patronizing. It doesn't matter what Linden's personal and professional history is because, here, she is a patient.
Dr. Kerry leans back in her chair and threads her fingers together, "You're a person of few words, Sarah."
"You ask me questions and I answer them. What else do you want me to say?"
"You aren't restricted to speaking only to answer a question."
Linden takes a puff from her cigarette and licks her dry lips. "Isn't that how the doctor-patient relationship works? You ask me questions, gather whatever information you need from me and take notes and I behave and comply?"
"Something like that. But this is a conversation so I'd like you to speak freely."
"I have nothing else to say."
Dr. Kerry seems to think for a moment. Her back is straight and her shoulders are squared, like she's about to do battle. Linden is fine with the mind games. As a detective, she's used to it.
"Some people find journaling to be therapeutic. It's a way of releasing pent-up thoughts without actually sharing with anyone."
"I've never liked journaling."
"Not even when you were young?"
"No."
"Why so?"
Another puff. Her cigarette is almost at its end, "Because that's how people end up finding out your secrets."
"What do you mean?"
Bennet's letters to Rosie.
Mitch's letter to David.
"I mean the only safe place to keep your secrets is inside your head. We all have them: you, me, Rosie. Do you journal, Dr. Kerry?"
The psychiatrist scribbles something on her notepad. "No, I don't."
-End-