Arresting Attraction: How To Create A Criminal

Chapter Nine

 Charlie sat beside me, eyes closed, his head cocked to one side as he listened to a song playing softly in his head. He hummed a slight tune, indistinguishable to me, as he shook his head from side to side, only slightly, the music absorbing him.

One of his hands was free of its cuffs, currently fisted on the table, awaiting his sedative dose of the day.

I fiddled with a needle, preparing it for his injection. I took Charlie's fisted arm when I was ready, and placed it on my knee, as I rubbed his shoulder with an alcohol wipe.

His hand gripped my leg softly, tracing small lines and patterns into my pants, a calming gesture for him. Something I'd slowly gotten used to.

He made no move to stop me, having become used to the sedative and its purpose. His arm was limp, if anything, as I positioned it and jabbed the medical needle into him, breaking the skin.

Charlie let out a deep breath from his nose, his eyes still closed, meditating on it not hurting. He didn't move away, or try to fight me, instead, just taking it.

He knew the drill.

When I finished,I removed the needle, and placed it and the now empty bottle of anti-psychotic in the little yellow box it had originated from.

"I'm going to let you have one hand free, okay?"

Charlie nodded, mute for the moment.

I stood, making my way to the other side of the table, and sitting across from him, crossing my hands over the patient file in front of me.

He kept his eyes closed, clenching his free fist open and closed, relaxing. I just watched his face. His freckles were becoming more prominent with the amount of time he spent in the sun, and his hair was growing more and more coloured, more oil slicked.

"What do they want you to get out of me today?" he asked, voice deep and raspy.

I looked at the paperwork, "They want to me to discuss your mania."

"Boring."

I blinked rapidly, looking down, insecurity plaguing me.

"Um, okay."

"Give me something interesting to talk about."

"Have you always been so angry?"

"Next!" he raised his voice from its soft calibre, frightening me.

I jumped in my seat, flicking through the pages. Using my finger, I scrolled down, line after line, skimming the written words I was meant to ask.

"It says here—"

"What do you want to know?"

"I want to know more about your mania."

"No. You don't. They want to," Charlie nodded towards the guards waiting outside the Psych Room, who were staring in, waiting for a movement, or action. Once they caught his gaze, they turned away, frightened.

"I do."

He rolled his eyes, "When you want to stop lying, I'll consider talking."

I stared at him, wide eyes. I blinked a couple of times, leaning into my notes, trying to make sense of the overwhelming job I was meant to do.

Talking to Charlie Thomas was harder than I first anticipated. I'd always been able to talk with him, it felt almost natural. I considered myself a people person. But, having the added pressure of being his primary psychologist made it hard. I hadn't had proper psychology training. Everything I knew was from a couple of books, I'd somehow fit into my daily schedule over the last week. And, even then, I wasn't so sure.