Dangerous Trio

Back Under

I got to Hannibal's office early, as if it was even possible he could see me any earlier. I had left him messages earlier, regarding my regression. He arranged for me to see him outside his office hours to better assist. I sat on the loveseat almost gripping the armrest in anxiety. I kept reminding myself that I was safe now, that Hannibal had all the answers to what I was going through, I simply needed to hold on for 5 more minutes, but just then the door creaked open revealing Hannibal. At times he was stone faced during our sessions, yet he would always greet me with a smile. Tonight, he looked somber. He wore a dark suit that had gold filigree designs. If you asked me he looked dressed for the opera or some theatrical show, but Hannibal was known for his theatrics therefore I should not have been surprised at what he was wearing. I on the other hand looked disheveled. The color was completely gone from me and the dark coat I wore only washed me out, making me look like a ghost. I quickly walked over to my seat taking comfort in just being in his office. I could breathe now.

"It is from my understanding you have been having some complications since the last session we had." Hannibal started off.

"It's more than complications. I feel like I am getting worse than before I started therapy." I could feel the tears swelling up in my eyes. I was exhausted and I needed relief.

"It looks like it would be best if we went back to do 30 minute sessions of light therapy....twice a week" Hannibal looked as if there was nothing else to offer, like this was his best and last option. I closed my eyes, tears dropping onto my lap, seeping into the fabric of my skirt. It was like time was standing still. I had no choice did I? I was so unhinged that longer sessions would be my only way forward. I slowly nodded.

As Hannibal prepared for the session, I remained seated, dread slowly consuming me. The thought of longer sessions filled me with anxiety, and I could already taste the bile rising in my throat. I saw Hannibal retrieving medicine in preparation, and I wished I could take it now to stave off the inevitable symptoms. I didn't want to live like this. Just before the session started, a headache began to throb at my temples. Soon enough, my vision blurred, and I was under again, slipping into the all-too-familiar nightmare world.

There I was, in the water again, slowly drifting down. I wanted to scream, and I tried, but nothing came out. Soon enough, I saw him again—the man at the top of the water, staring. The water looked darker than usual; things were different this time. I tried to swim back up, as I usually did. My legs didn't feel as heavy or tied down. I kicked my feet, and it was working. I was swimming upward. The man's face was getting closer, and slowly I began to see blood splatter over his face and his clothing. I looked outward to see blood leaving my wrists, but I kept swimming up. I had to see who this man was.

As I neared the surface, my eyes burned like fire. I broke through the water and gasped for air, the sensation so visceral and real that I was convinced this was not just part of the therapy session. It felt like reality. My hands reached out, grasping for anything solid, and I clung to the first thing I felt. It must have been him. As I began to open my eyes, I saw him, it was Hannibal.

My eyes widened as I studied him, covered in blood. Right then I woke up. When I came to I was lashing out, screaming as Hannibal took control of my hands, pinning me to the chair. My screams turned to cries as my mind thought I was about to die. In reality Hannibal was not trying to harm me, just help calm me down. He then took my face embracing it with both hands. I looked up to him, terrified while still trying to catch my breath.

"Gabriella! You're safe now," he exclaimed. I noticed something different about him—his hair was disheveled, his suit jacket was off, and his sleeves were rolled up. I quickly held onto his arms for support. My shoulders started to relax, as I realized where I was. Tears were still rolling down my cheeks.

"What did you see?" Hannibal soon asked.

I didn't want to say anything.

"I-I don't know..." I stuttered, lying.

"I just knew I was in danger." I added.

Hannibal was ready with two little pills in his hand. Without thinking, I swallowed them immediately, not even pausing to ask what they were. He looked surprised at how quickly I reached for them. My hands were trembling, and I was unsure of what I had just seen.

"I know these sessions are intense, but I believe that this is only a purge. This is a good thing. " Hannibal said, brushing back my hair from my shoulder.

If only I believed that. My face felt sticky with sweat and tears. Hannibal led me to a small bathroom where he cleaned me up, his touch gentle and methodical. It was such an intimate moment, and it washed away all my reservations and fear. I hated this feeling.

I knew there was something wrong with him, a dark side he did not show. I thanked him, and it was agreed: same time next week. I was a masochist through and through.

"I would like for you to meet a colleague of mine tomorrow night, over dinner." Hannibal said, stopping me in my tracks. Silence settled in.

He couldn't be serious. The last dinner was bizarre enough.

"I want you to wear the dress you wore last time." He added.

I could do nothing but stare at him. The combination of the light therapy and his unexpected dinner invitation threw my mind into a spiral of confusion. I responded in the only way my body could manage: I simply nodded.

Upon walking out, something caught my attention. A glance at his desk revealed a sketchbook, opened. I stopped, my heart sinking. It was a graphite sketch of a woman, naked in bed. It was me—the night he said he wanted to watch me sleep, he was really just sketching me.