She Will Always Hate Me

viii: dive into the psychology behind that little spiel

This chapter is edited.
WARNING:
This story deals with some heavy topics i.e. mental health, depression, mentions of suicide, physical abuse, as well as eating disorders. Please read at your own risk.

As soon as Dipper entered the office, he donned his cold persona and tried to crush any of the happy feelings he got from Pacifica out, that way Preston wouldn't find them.

He was always spectacular at keeping his emotions under wraps, so hiding that shouldn't be too difficult for him to manage.

"Ah, Dipper, come on in. Sorry for being late, I had another patient in here earlier." Dr. Southeast explained as he carefully placed a file into its respective place in the cabinet.

"I'd like you to know that I was waiting for twelve minutes." Dipper replied coldly. "As a psychiatrist, I expected you to have your time-management skills down to a tee. However, it hardly shocks me that you don't."

Donning his cold personality allowed him to remain in control of the situations he was placed in. There were only two places where he could relax his harsh personality just a smidge; his home, and with his lost boys.

Maybe three places? He certainly let down his guard with Pacifica. And he was still deciding if he liked that or not.

Dr. Southeast hardly seemed phased by his comment. "Mason, would you like to talk about time-management skills?"

"I'd rather you not call me Mason, as we discussed last time I was here." Dipper bristled lightly. "Unless you want this session to be cut short once more?"

Dr. Southeast frowned, appearing to be frustrated with Dipper's antics. Finally, after a long drawn out sigh, he complied. "Very well. Dipper, was it?"

Dipper nodded. "Correct."

The two sat in uncomfortable silence for a little bit, before Dr. Southeast sighed once more and began to speak. "What have you been doing lately?"

Dipper frowned. So Preston did see him at the diner. With the boys. He was asking around the question, trying to get Dipper to be open about it. "Is this about you seeing me at Greasy's Diner?" Dipper inquired, keeping his tone light. Wouldn't want to give his hand away first turn.

This phased Dr. Southeast. "So that really was you there." He mused, his tone quieting. "What were you doing there?"

"For your information, I can go wherever I want." Dipper rolled his eyes. "I may be a mentally unstable teen, but is that truly a crime? They simply worry about my mental state. I can go out and about without people needing to fear for their lives."

"But why were you there that evening, Dipper?" Dr. Southeast asked patiently. "Nothing will get solved if you don't comply with what I'm asking of you, Dipper."

Dipper crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. He didn't want to tell the doctor anything, but he had a few things he needed to sort out. Maybe, just maybe, he could lightly touch some subjects without allowing the crazy doctor to dive deep into the meanings behind anything he mentioned.

Time to test it.

"Well, I was meeting with a few old friends of mine." Dipper expressed slowly. "They hadn't seen me in some time, given the fact that I've been M.I.A. as they so call it."

"Why do you call it that, hmm?" Dr. Southeast jotted a few notes down before turning back to look at the teen.

"Why do I call it M.I.A.?" Dipper raised a brow. "Because they believed me to be missing in action. It's as simple as that."