"You've been awfully quiet. What are you thinking about?"
I was laying on my back staring at the ceiling. There was nothing to look at. Only the cracks that ran from the corner to the center in a pattern similar to a lightning strike. All I wanted was for him to shut up. I will never forgive my mum for sending me here. She told me she did this because she loved me. It's not love if it's making me unhappy. She's doing this for herself, not for me.
"Nowt," I lied.
If I told him what I was truly thinking about, it would only cause me more trouble. He has the power to send me to the loony bin again. If I give him normal answers, that's how I avoid going there. Ian sighed and uncrossed his leg.
"I highly doubt there's nothing going on in that head of yours."
"Is that so?" I replied, sitting up. "Tell me—what am I thinking about then?" He could sense I was getting worked up again.
"Why don't I make you some tea?" he offered, ignoring me.
I was deflated, waiting for him to lose it but he never does. He's calm and collected, everything that I'm not. He's everything my mum wishes I was. I watched as he made his way towards the door and I waited for the door to close. As soon as I heard the click, I bolted towards his mahogany desk. Even though he thinks I'm not paying attention, I'm watching his every move.
There was a lockbox and I took note that it was set to 0000. As soon as he leaves, I have exactly ten minutes until he comes back. I've timed this several times before. Sometimes he's early, sometimes he's late. But it's never sooner than ten minutes. I rolled the numbers until it said 2035, opened the lockbox, and grabbed the key, unlocking his drawer. My eyes kept flicking to the door expecting him to come back and catch me in the act. There is no way this man has no fault. He must be hiding something.
I flicked through the folders until I reached the set I hadn't looked through yet. I took one out and began leafing through the pages one by one. After some time, I noticed a change in the quality of paper. I had reached photo paper which piqued my interest. There was a thin stack of them so I took them out and my eyes went wide as soon as I realized what I was looking at.
This was exactly what I was looking for. Some days when he's bored in his office, he'll go look at his stash of porn and wank off. I laid the first four photos on the floor and took my phone out, taking a photo of them. That way if he ever gets on my nerves, I have something to hold against him. My eyes flitted to the clock and I realized that was enough for today so I put the photos back, being careful to make sure everything was in place just like how I found it. I closed the drawer and took the key out, placing it back in the lockbox, and I reset it back to 0000. Ian returned with a mug which he handed to me. He never asks how I like my tea. Nobody cares what I think. Not even Ian.
If I asked you to tell me what Hell looks like, you'll probably describe the worst place you can think of. Whether it's a real place or something in your imagination, it's an unpleasant place to think about nonetheless. Hell in my mind is Ian's office, and twice a week, I must spend one hour of my life here.
His office is in the heart of Cambridge. He went to school here and never left as he's an adjunct professor at Harvard University holding seminars on the research he's conducting. I'm part of his research experiment, nothing more than a pawn on his chessboard.
It was cold and miserable outside. After my session, I wanted nothing more than to be in the safety of my own flat. A sanctuary where I'm free to express myself without being judged by others. I unlocked the door and stepped in, closing the door behind me and I kicked off my boots. My flat is often a reflection of my mental state. If it's messy, my mind isn't in a good place. If it's neat, I'm doing okay. It was gradually getting messier; I was slowly losing control.
