Dystopia

-6

Life had gone as usual for the past two weeks.

Well, as usual as things could possibly be for someone like William Hartford.

Which was funny, in sort of a morbid way, due to that fact that "usual" involved that treacherous and unforgiving chain of nightmares binding him to hell.

And they became worse.

They haunted him in his wake, countless desperate messages he was unable to read, and oblivious to the fact that they were written to be read in the first place.

His condition was growing worse, almost to the point where it was unmanageable. Yet, he was far too stubborn to admit that, and he marked it as a casualty, just a element in his daily life, or, "as usual", if you may.

Except for today.

Today, he sat upright on a cream couch, knee bobbing up and down uncontrollably and constantly commanding himself to breathe in, then out, in, out.

"How are you doing today, William?"

Miss Natasha asked, and just the tone of her voice alone was able to piss William off.

She spoke to him like he was a toddler, a mindless child. And William didn't like to be treated as if he were stupid.

"I'm fine." He lied.

But how was she, an insignificant psychiatrist, deserving of the truth anyway?

"That's great! You look significantly better than the last time I saw you." The lady smiled, a curly wisp of hair falling out of grasp from the many bobby pins William pretended he didn't notice.

And what a world of lies we live in, because Mr. Hartford knew he looked just as bad, if not worse than when he last visited her a couple days ago. Although, optimism, William discovered, was one of Miss Natasha's policies.

"Um, thanks."

She smiled a bright, synthetic, smile in response, and the look her eyes said nothing other than,"I'm tired of your negative bullshit."

Being a passive-aggressive bitch, William discovered, was also one of her policies.

"So Will, is-"

"Don't call me that."

"Excuse me," she smiled almost painfully. "William, is there anything you would like to get off your chest?"

"Yes, actually, Natasha." William said, his voice quipped. "I don't take very kindly to the fact that you think you can deservingly call me William, let alone Will. You should adress me by my last name because, well, I'm the one that's paying you, aren't I? And I see that you have a doctorate, Ms. Carr, I really do. But, it's a chiropractic PhD, the laziest doctorate out there. And thats why I can call you Natasha, Natasha, and not by your formal buisness name."

The therapist didn't looked hurt in the slightest by his words, she was simply angry, to put it kindly,and William smiled to himself, knowing that his plan was working seamlessly.

Although, she maintained her professional composure, smoothed out the creases in her pencil skirt, stood to her feet, and said, with this eerily calm voice, "Thank you for coming, Will, but I'm already aware that this session, and all are other sessions after will have to be cut short. Canceled, actually, if you want to be pessimistic about it."

She half-gestured, half-forced Mr. Hartford out the door of her office, mumbling a slow, "goodbye."

And the way in which she spoke was so sympathetic that it was really unsympathetic, in this strange paradoxical way.