Disenchanted (Frerard + Petekey)

Zero-Zero

"—hi." Gerard half-whispered as he slowly closed the door to Dr. Rosenberg's office behind him. She stood to greet him as per routine, and he ignored her outstretched hand as usual, avoiding eye contact and slumping uncomfortably into the hard plastic chair that awaited him.

The same unforgiving line of disapproval crossed her face for an instant before she too took her usual seat, one leg crossed over the other, clipboard balanced on her knee. She plastered the fake smile back onto her face and stared him down. It made him feel like he'd been cornered by some wild animal, or else plopped in front of some mildly amused deity that could wipe him out of existence in an instant when he ceased to be amusing.

This is so stupid.
What's even the point?
I've seen her literally every day this week. Nothing's getting better, nothing's changing, there's no point.

He let out a deep sigh. Her eyebrows knit together on her forehead let him know the sound hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Long day?" She offered.

He nodded solemnly, "You could say that."

Silence hung between them, she was waiting for an explanation, he was trying not to give one.

She gave in before he did. "How are you finding the new medication? It's been a while now, you should have enough built up in your system to be starting to feel the effects."

Really? Cause it still feels like hell. Told you these drugs don't do shit.

"I don't notice anything different."

Her pen scribbled quickly, something short...

"I guess maybe it isn't making me feel as sick as last week? That's sort of an improvement..."

More scribbles.
"Well that's a good sign!" The fake chipper tone in her voice made him cringe, "Some improvement is always good."

Such a fake person... how did you become this? Were you always this pretend?

He studied her intently, trying not to make it obvious he was doing so. Searching for any signs of humanity poking through the plastic.

There has to be a person in there right? She has to care, somewhere, about something... You wouldn't go into this job not giving a shit about people... right?

Her clothes had clearly been ironed, with stiff hems at precise angles. Every hair was in place, even though the style was clearly meant to look messy he could tell it took effort to get it that way, unlike the lank, somewhat matted locks he'd been sporting recently.

Jesus she's like a damn Barbie doll... nobody's that perfect, that put together, that happy all the time.

She'd noticed him staring and raised an eyebrow. "And how have your symptoms been Gerard?"

"S'fine."

There has to be a flaw, a chink in the armour. I'm gonna find it. I have to find it.

"Have you noticed any changes in the amount of hallucinations—"

There was that word again. It cut like ice through his skin each time it was brought up again.
Hallucinations.
What he was experiencing wasn't real.
Wasn't normal.
Wasn't supposed to be happening.

"I—I uh,.." his brain stuttered, stuck on a thought he'd been trying his best to avoid.

Had things been getting better?
Overall he supposed things were going downhill, but as far as the actual reasons he'd landed in this dump to begin with, well...