I was so tired and I ached all over from lifting Tony’s body. My stomach growled at me, so when I got home, I made myself a sandwich. I made my way to the living room and turned on the TV. It would take a while for the news to pick up on my master piece.
My eyes drooped as I feel into sleep. I didn’t want to fall asleep, I needed to watch the news, but I had rushed so much that I was too exhausted to keep my eyes open. I awoke to the loud banging on the door; my heart skipped a beat, hoping it wasn’t the police. I did such a sloppy job on my master piece, I might have left some evidence… or someone saw me. I got up slowly and yanked on a dressing gown, which was lying on the sofa next to me. I carefully opened my door, hoping, wishing. My brother smiled at me, “Hey, little brother. I wanted to take you out for lunch today.” My eyebrows crinkled, it was midday, already? “I can’t today, I’m busy.” I said emotionless. My brother made a sad face and grabbed my waist; he held me. My body stiffened, “Brother, please. I need to talk to some people who need my help.” I pulled away from him. He sighed then asked, “Did you meet Katie?” I was confused, “Katie? Oh you mean the weeping woman who visited me yesterday?” My brother nodded, “Are you going to talk to her?”
“Yes. She said she is going to come back here to talk to me about her problems.” I scanned the lawn and driveway, his car was in the driveway but that was it. No police. Another car was approaching my house. “Ah, look that’s her now. I’m sorry, brother, but you’re going to have to leave.” My brother nodded, his face was still showing that he was sad, but fortunately he left. The other car took my brother’s place and the weeping woman got out of the car. Her face was less puffy and red then yesterday.
Katie approached the front door, she frowned at the fact that I was still in my dressing gown. I smiled and let her in, “Excuses me for a second. I must clean myself up, slept in quite late.” I guided her to the living room, “Please, make yourself at home.” She sat down on the sofa, I handed her the remote for the TV, and she flicked through the channels. I made my way up the stairs, into my bedroom and got changed into a dark blue shirt and black trousers. Then I went back downstairs, I walked back into the living room and asked if she wanted a cup of tea, she assured me she did so I went and made her one and myself one too. When I came back in, with the teas, she had turned to the news channel. On it was my master piece, I smirked to myself. But I quickly wiped away the smile and handed Katie her drink, “What is on the news?” I sat down near her on the sofa. She looked over at me, her face displayed sadness, “Some poor guy got murdered and made up to look like some kind of fairy. The sick fuck who killed him, even wrote a suicide note for him.” I looked as her, puzzled, “Maybe it was a suicide?” Katie shook her head, “He couldn’t have done all of that without some sort of help. And it seems he was too proud to kill himself if he went through all that trouble.” I nodded, impressed, “Very good deduction skills.” I sipped my drink and asked her, “So what is it you would like to discuss?”
She looked down, her facial expression not changing from sadness, she tried to dodge the question, “I don’t even know your name.” I glanced at her then back to the TV; I loved seeing my master piece in the sunlight. “Kaleb, I’m sure my brother has already told you this, but I know that a lot of my patients feel uncomfortable talking properly for the first session.” I continued to sip my drink as she contemplated on whether she should talk to me or not. She stood up and sat down on the floor in front of me. I was puzzled, “What are you doing?” She sighed, “This makes me more comfortable.” I raised an eyebrow and continued to watch the TV. She stared at me; her facial expression had changed to, what seemed, to be disappointment. Then I realised she wanted to talk but not with the TV on. I turned it off and locked eye contact with her. She let out another sigh and placed her cup down, she had already finished it, and then she glanced around the living room. “I feel depressed, I’m so alone… My parents live in France at the moment… I just need someone.” I grew annoyed, “I’m terribly sorry, but I think you’ve mistaken me for someone who deals with loneliness. I deal with suicide.” I grumbled. She started to tear up, “But, I feel if I’m so alone then I might as well kill myself.” Her eyes widened, as if she was so shocked that she had said such a thing. I fidgeted and glanced over at the folder with all the names of the suicidal and terminally ill people, sitting on a side table near the door. “Oh please. You don’t want to die. You’re just saying that.” I sneer. I started to grow bored of her, “Please leave, I have other people to attend to.” I got up and picked up her empty cup. She got up slowly with a confused expression plastered on her face, “I-I thought you would h-help me… your brother-” I butted in, “My brother is a man who says one thing but means something completely different. In other words, he’s a fucking lair.” She seemed surprised that I swore. I assume it was because I don’t look like someone who would swear. I continued to stare at her, making her uncomfortable. She made her way to the front door. I followed her; she stopped in front of the door and looked back at me, “Can I at least have your number, if I feel worse…” I didn’t break eye contact with her, I muttered sternly, “Get it of my brother.” Her eyes seemed to grow red and I could see tears starting to arise. She opened the door and left. I watched, out of the front window, her drive away. I let out a sigh of relief, and made my way back into the living room and turned on the TV. Then picked up the folder with the names and addresses of my patients. I sat myself down on the sofa, the TV on in the back ground so I could hear how people were reacting to my master piece, and read through the names and details about the people. My stomach grumbled, meaning that it was my queue to feed it. So I got up and got an apple and some toast. I ate them quickly and decided to contact one of the people on my list. Her name was Martha, she was terminally ill and depressed, just what I need to sooth my hunger. I called her on my landline, it rang twice, and then someone croaked, “Hello?”
“Hello Martha, I’m Doctor Ted Williams. I’ve been told that you’re having a rough time dealing with your condition. I’ve been asked to help you through it.” Martha sighed and exclaimed, “I don’t have the money to have a psychiatrist.” I soften my voice, “I don’t want your money. I just want to help.” She paused for a while then spoke up, “I wouldn’t bother wasting your time on me, I’m pretty hopeless.” The sadness in her voice intensified. “I specialize in the hopeless, my number is 01872 95571, I’ll leave you to think about it, if you want to talk more, please ring me.” She was slow to answer, “Um… okay.” She hung up.
I placed the phone down and continued to watch the news. I loved watching how baffled everyone seemed with my master piece. Trying to figure out whether it was in fact a suicide or a murder. I chuckled to myself.
The sun was almost set, when I got a phone call from my brother, “Hey brother, why did you reject Katie? She’s really upset.” I let out a sigh, “Because I deal with suicidal people, not lonely people.” He huffed, “But she is suicidal.” I got frustrated and hung up. He continued to ring me but I didn’t pick up.
Later that night, someone knocked on my front door. I reluctantly got up and opened it, it was Katie…
“What do you want?” I muttered. Tears poured down her face, she shakily lifted up her sleeves to reveal cuts about five centimetres lone, bits of blood leaked out. They looked like they were made by a normal kitchen knife. I was not impressed, “Cutting yourself will not prove anything.” She was shaking all over; she then fell forward so I had to catch her. The perfume she was wearing attacked my nose. She wept on my shoulder; I let her cry a bit longer before I pulled her off me, “I guess you’re going to have to come in.” She didn’t meet my gaze, so I guided her back into the living room. “I’ll make you a tea, and get you a blanket.” I stated then left to get the blanket and make her the tea.
I got back to her with the blanket, tea, some plasters, a flannel and some disinfectant. She was lying on the sofa, so I turned the TV off and put some soothing music on instead. I placed the blanket over her and put the cup of tea on the side table near the sofa. Then I knelt down and gently examined her cuts on her arms. I used the small flannel to wipe away the blood, and then I used the disinfectant. She cried out, “Oh sorry, I was supposed to say that it was going to sting.” I muttered and continued to clean the wounds, then I put the plasters on them. Tears spilled down her face, “You really wanted me to help, but you really shouldn’t have done that…” I muttered. She didn’t say anything, her eyes started to close, she was fighting it but the sleep won. I sighed and left her, then went to my bedroom. I read a book while I waited for the sleep to attack me. It did, but only after an hour and a half.
