One shots

Silent Patient - The breaking point

I stood in front of her again—Alicia Berenson. Silent. Still. A hollow shell of the woman I had read so much about, whose paintings had once been vivid reflections of a soul in torment. Now, she was just a shadow, locked away in this psychiatric unit. She didn't look up, didn't acknowledge my presence. But I knew she could sense me, feel the weight of my gaze.

She was always watching, even when she wasn't looking.

I took a breath, letting it steady the racing thoughts in my mind. I had been working with her for weeks now, and we were still here—me, talking into the void, and her, offering nothing in return. But there was something beneath that silence, a darkness simmering just below the surface. I could feel it, like the pressure before a storm.

Alicia remained motionless, her eyes fixed on the window across the room, the one that didn't open. It overlooked a courtyard filled with gray stone and weeds, nothing that could stir even the faintest glimmer of life in anyone. And yet, that was where her focus stayed, as if she could see something beyond it. Something I couldn't.

"You know, Alicia," I said, my voice quiet but firm, "I've read your diaries. I've seen what you wrote. The pain, the confusion. The love."

The word lingered in the air, sharp as a knife.

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment—a flash of movement so quick I almost missed it. But I didn't. It was the first crack in her carefully constructed armor. I knew love was the key, the thing that had brought her to this point. It was the thread that tied everything together. I just had to pull it.

"I know you loved him," I continued, taking a step closer. "Gabriel. You loved him more than anything, didn't you?"

Her hand twitched. It was subtle, but there. A crack.

"And he betrayed you," I said, lowering my voice, leaning into the words as if they could slip past her defenses. "He lied to you. And you couldn't take it, could you?"

She was still silent, but there was a tension in her now, a stillness that felt more like the calm before an explosion.

I pressed on, unable to stop myself. "That's why you killed him, isn't it? Because of the betrayal. Because he made you feel invisible. Silent."

There was a sudden shift in the room, a sharpness to the air that hadn't been there before. Alicia's fingers tightened in her lap, her knuckles white. My heart raced as I saw the change in her, felt it. The pressure building, like a dam about to burst.

"I understand, Alicia," I whispered. "I understand why you did it. Why you felt like you had no other choice."

My words hung in the silence. For a moment, I thought she would stay locked inside her fortress of silence forever, unreachable. But then, slowly, painfully, she turned her head and looked at me.

Her eyes met mine, and I felt a chill run down my spine. There was something there, something dark and deep, a well of emotion that I could barely comprehend. Her lips parted, just slightly, as if she were about to speak, but no words came.

It was enough.

"Alicia," I whispered, stepping even closer. "You don't have to be silent anymore. You can tell me. You can trust me."

For a heartbeat, I thought I saw her soften, her defenses crumbling just enough to let me in. Her lips trembled, the barest hint of movement.

Then, without warning, her face hardened again, her eyes turning cold. She looked away, back toward the window, retreating into that impenetrable silence once more.

I felt the sting of frustration, the familiar weight of failure settling in my chest. I had come so close, so damn close to reaching her, to pulling her out of that silence. But she wasn't ready. Not yet.

Still, I couldn't stop thinking about the flicker in her eyes, the brief glimpse of the woman trapped inside that fortress of silence. She was in there, somewhere, buried beneath the weight of whatever had happened between her and Gabriel.

I glanced at the painting propped up in the corner of the room—the one she had made after Gabriel's death. Alcestis, the tragic figure, silent and suffering. Alicia had chosen to become her, to slip into that silence as a shield, as a way to protect herself from the world that had betrayed her.

I understood that. More than I wanted to admit.

As I turned to leave, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had missed something. That the truth was right there, just out of reach, waiting to be uncovered. Alicia's silence was not a void—it was full of meaning, of secrets buried beneath the surface.

And I would find them.

Even if it destroyed me.