The Man, The therapist.

The session.

There are many ways in which our senses can deceive us. Our eyes, our ears.

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"Tap tap. Tap tap."
He dropped his index finger repeatedly on the waxed, dark oak coffee table, imitating the footsteps as he does each week.
"Tap tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap."
His imitations became louder and more violent.
"So, Mr lock, how about we talk about this past week." I interrupted.
I glanced down at my notepad, tapping my pen's end against the empty paper in the same way Henry expressed. I coated the tip of my finger with a thin cover of glistening saliva; each page flicked past like a psychosis of repetition.
"Mr Lock, I cannot help you unless you open up, unless you dive into the problem and explore it alongside me."
Henry looked around the room, his face slapped with an undeniable sign of discomfort and concern.
Silence.
"Mr lock. Is something in my room bothering you?"
The same frightened expression stayed plastered to his deep set, ashy grey face.
Silence.
I became restless. Each page I read of my previous session with Henry all start the same way.
Silence.
Anger crept across my body; I could feel my face becoming a crimson mess of frustration and confusion.
"Ok Henry, I can't handle this anymore. Every Thursday at 6:45 for the past 5 months I've been here and every Thursday at 6:45 you have sat across from me. And every single Thursday you look around like a feral child being introduced to the real world for the first time. I have thirty-seven other clients who need me, who talk! If you aren't gonna to take advantage of this time I'm going it have to give it to-"
"He can hear us." He cut me off sternly but quietly, leaning so close I could feel his warm, coffee tainted breath cascade across my face.
I knew I shouldn't have snapped at him like that. It was completely unethical but very necessary.
"Who can hear us Mr Lock? I can assure you it's just me and in the building. Everyone else has already left to go home."
"Shh. He can hear you!"
He paused.
"The Man. He can hear us, if he knows I can hear him then it's over!"
The more he tells, the more concern that fills my mind. I wondered if he had been off his medication, or been triggered at some point over the past days. I rose out my chair and announced,
" Right. I'm gonna play some music. That will drown out the sound of us talking."
Over my 20 years in this occupation, I have learnt it's better to play along with their absurd, complex beliefs. He suddenly leaned closer. Any closer and our skin would fuse like that of Emily and Joyce - the twins in which I saw just before.
"The man, I don't know who he is."
Silence.
"But-" His voice sank to an even lighter whisper.
"He calls, he emails, he sends me letters, he watches."
I allowed a look of shock to swallow my impatient expression,
"And, it's like. Well it's like I can feel him now; it's almost like I know when he's watching, like two sharp daggers in the back of my head as his eyes watch."