THIRTY

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THIRTYd a l l a s

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THIRTY
d a l l a s

"Dallas, you're doing very well. You've been in everyday for two weeks now. Can you tell me what's changed?" Morris asks, less frustration and more happiness in her voice today.

"I've found someone I can talk to and spend time with without feeling the urge to rip their head off."

"And you get that feeling with some people? A feeling of aggression and anger towards them?"

"Yes." She glances to the clock.

Ten minutes to go.

"Who?" Dallas is pursued further.

"My ex boyfriend and my old best friend, Allison. The way they talk to me angers me a lot. Especially Allison. Every time she opens her mouth she tells lies and I know she'd lying to me, it makes me mad."

"Have you ever attacked her?"

"No, not yet."

"Yet?"

"Not yet."

"Do you intend to harm her?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"On how bad of a mood I'm in. If it's a low mood, I wouldn't put it past myself to punch her."

"Then you should not be around her."

"I'm never around her on my own. I'm always with Violet or Marnie and they usually defuse the situation before it reaches that point." Dallas glances at the clock again. Six minutes to go. "Don't worry, Morris, I'll be careful for you."

"Just keep your anger in check. Remember the exercises we talked about?"

"I told you, counting to ten doesn't work anymore."

"Right," Morris replies lowly. "Now, Dallas, before you go there's something we need to discuss. It's very important that you listen to this."

"I'm listening, of course I'm listening." She rocks back in her chair, grinning. Five minutes to go. "Hit me with it."

"I know it's been a long time since we've been meeting like this, but I've finally come to the conclusion as to... as to what mental illness you have. I-"

"Morris, I told you I have depression. You didn't need a detective to figure that one out."

"No, Dallas, it's more than that." Morris clasps her hands together. "You have bi-polar disorder."

Dallas lets the chair fall back onto all fours, her grin falling with it. "What?"

"You are bi-polar, Dallas."

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Dallas hisses, rising from her chair so suddenly that it flies back. Morris visibly shrinks in her seat. Dallas' fingers curl into fists and her jaw clenches. "Well?"

"No, this is a diagnosis."

Hearing the label made her blood burn as it rushed through her veins. She snatches her bag from the floor and storms out with two minutes left. She slams the door as hard as she can behind her, numb to the noise as she storms down the corridor fuelled.

[END OF PART THREE]

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