The first semester in Oxford has already started. Balancing between studying to become a lawyer and life in general, Julia Eden has found herself sitting across from a shrink, or in better words: a psychologist.
It only gets worse when the old man s...
Such a late update. i am a bit busy with college and everything. hope you're enjoying these chapters. do let me know.
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Aunt Millicent used to say that a man is what he eats. Now take a look at what I'm downing, Alec Michelson thought resentfully, looking down at the small round tablet sitting on the middle of his open palm. Below it, just where his wrist began, there was a mark that could easily be confused as a vein. No, the protruding mark wasn't a vein. The mark came from a pocket knife, something he had attempted a few years ago when he was in the asylum. Rest of the world knew he had been sent to a boarding school. The pocket knife didn't belong to him although he had the receipt stacked in the back pocket of his then-favourite jeans. He didn't remember when he had purchased the knife. Dr. Dench said that that it had been James, the twenty-three year old alter who had a fixation with knives. He once claimed that he had held a pocket knife beside his father's throat and clicked the knife open, just to watch it slide inside the man's pale wrinkly throat.
You can try that as well, Alec. That was the most exhilarating thing I had done in years.
Alec didn't like James much. Out of all the other alters, James was more dominant and took the light more than the others. But when James was gone, Alec would always be in trouble for something James had done. Dr. Dench always told him that it was better not to dig around for what James had done. That would only upset Alec.
This time, however, Alec didn't even have the slightest idea of why he was being summoned to Headmistress Lewis's office from the midde of his finance class. He had told Lewis's assistant he'd be there in a minute and had excused himself for the washroom.
Standing here before the sink, with his trembling hands holding a Zoloft, he stared at his own reflection. He was a pretty boy. His mother never failed to remind him that.
Alec was more curious to know what James must have looked like if he had his own body. Perhaps tall and lanky with blue eyes that were icy and a head full of shiny back curls? That was how Norman Bates looked like, right? Norman Bates from the Psycho? Had his eyes been brown? Whatever that was, James surely shared some similarities with Bates.
Alec downed the pill hastily and then splashed water onto his pale face, murmuring to himself urgently.
"Please don't snap," he murmured, rubbed his stony blue eyes and then left the bathroom, forgetting the aspirator he had slipped out from his blazer pocket. He was a tall boy, with a thin, sallow face that complemented his sleek platinum golden hair that he liked to wear in a quiff. When James would come forward, he'd probably flatten the quiff and brush it backwards for more of a prominent look.
Halfway towards Headmistress Lewis's cabin, he felt his throat tighten at something he just remembered. His aspirator, no, Amy's aspirator. He had left it perched on the marble edge of the sink inside the gents washroom. Minutes later with the aspirator on him, he was inside Lewis's office, filled with fear that he usually didn't feel.
