Room 25

This why you watch where you're going

Chris looks at her notes, comparing them to the notes of a previous case similar to this one, making sure that the patient before her couldn't see the previous case notes. She nods her head. She has an idea of what this could be. "You've done amazing this session, Jacob, and I hope you are happy to hear that I feel confident in what next steps you can take to get the support you need." Jacob moves in his chair, wringing his hands together as sweat beads out with each motion. "Do you know what it is? Can you tell me?" Chris gives a warm smile, moving to a drawer on the left side of her desk. She takes out a form and hands it to Jacob. "This is a self referral form. I am unfortunately not qualified to give you a diagnosis. However, I can give you my professional opinion on what I believe you are suffering with if you feel that this could help you." Jacob takes the form. A look of confusion washes his face. "What is this form for?" Chris gets up from her chair, noting that their session is coming to an end. She grabs Jacob's coat and hands it to him before sitting on the corner of her desk. "This form is the next step that you can take to get a diagnosis. If you decide to sign this form, I will be able to send the notes I have taken during our sessions to the mental health ward at the hospital. This should aid in getting you a much quicker diagnosis, something you need in order to access the correct support you need." Chris notes that Jacob was getting agitated, "If you need support in the meantime, my door is always open." Jacob gets up from his seat, puts on his coat, and walks towards the door. He smiles, an awkward smile, but a smile nonetheless. Sometimes, actions spoke louder than words. She knew from that smile that he had regained lost hope. That he finally felt he was getting the answers he needed. "Thank you," was all he said as he walked out of the room. She waved to him before the door closed behind him.

She looked down at her notes. 'Poor lad, I hope for his own sanity that I am wrong here,' She thought to herself. Certain words and key phrases within the notes were highlighted, 'Held hostage for 2 weeks', 'I hated them' , 'I had a chance of escape, but I failed' , 'I feel lost without them'. All these symptoms rang a bell in Chris' head. She has seen an alarming amount of these cases throughout her time in Wakefield. 'Stockholm Syndrome?' was written at the top of the notes alongside 'PTSD?', 'Depression?' and 'Psychosis?'. After staring at the notes for a good few minutes, she finally gathers them together, placing them within the folder on her desk labelled 'KINGSTON, JACOB'. She hurries the collection of the final notes as she gently tucks a stray tuft of her wavy, brown locks behind her ear. A sigh escapes her lips as she stops for a few seconds. Her arm extends to the second folder on her desk, the name barly readable. 'D--E-, -H-I-' was the only letters she could make out from under the scribbles and pen slashes on the label. 'Wonder if the last person to have this file didn't want anyone to know who's file it was?' Chris thought to herself, sarcasm pouring out of every word. She let out a quick snicker, amused by her own joke, before leaning over the desk to place the file back in the drawer labelled 'PAST PATIENTS'. After locking the draw, Chris walked towards the door, picking up Jacob's file as she passed the desk to place in her bag.

She exited the room and locked the door behind her, the turning of the key echoing throughout the office; breaking the deafening silence. Everyone had already left for the day, Chris had planned to leave with them, but earlier that day, Jacob had called the office. Chris heard his voice quivering and his words stutter and immediately agreed to see him at a later time that same day. There was no way Chris was going to let one of her patients suffer, not if she could do something to help them.

...

The streets were flooded with children finishing school and workers returning home. The roads were lined with shops, and scents of food from the cafes filled the air. Pies, coffee, chocolate, and even freshly baked sausage rolls were amongst a few. Walking through the high street had become a dance for Chris. Left foot forward to dodge a street vendor followed by a spin to the right to advance forward. Add a bit of music, and the scene would be a festival.

"Ah!" Chris immediately looked behind her, noting she had bumped into someone."Sorry! You good?" She replied. "Yup, no worries," replied a person wearing a suit. Chris smiled awkwardly at them before continuing her walk home.

===============
YOU
-Do I follow?

A9
-Yes

YOU
-Understood

==============