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journal entry three

Journal Entry Three

Today I have another session with Allison, and I am beginning to dread leaving my apartment.

The voices cannot not stop repeating her name over and over in my mind and I feel as if taking my own life is the only option to keep that infuriating woman from fucking with my head.

My doctor advised that I see her twice a week; on Monday and on Thursday. If I didn't adhere to his foolish demands, they would institutionalize me, and God knows how I would manage in a space which a bunch of people like me.

I recall two days ago when I happened to run into Allison at the cafe near my apartment, and couldn't help but wonder why someone would choose to date such a... cretin like herself. Her job is to get into the minds of mentally insane, and not to help them, but to actually pinpoint what makes us tick and use it to their advantage.

Therapists are even worse than the mentally ill. At least people know we're crazy.

-H.

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Harry sat in the same office waiting area, his journal clutched tightly in his hands. He glanced around and grimaced when he saw a shaky handed patient spill his cup of water onto the polished wood floor.

He hated anything unclean or messy. People said it was because of his neurosis. He says it's just the way he is.

"Harry?" His eyes moved towards the source of voice, which was Allison standing at the door with her blinding smile. "You can come in."

He stood up and brushed imaginary crumbs from his lap (God forbid there were actually particles of leftover food left on him. He just picked these jeans up from the cleaners) and sauntered into the office and past a still smiling Allison.

"So," she started once they were both settled on their respective couches, "how was your week?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't really do much since last session."

She raised an eyebrow, and shot him a curious glance. "What do you mean 'didn't do much'? You don't work, attend school...?"

Shaking his head, he played with one of the sliver rings on his finger. "I finished business school and retired from my job after I got my inheritance."

"Inheritance?"

"Yeah, my father died six months ago, and he left me all of his estate," he explained carelessly. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"How did you feel when your father died?" Allison asked, ignoring his previous question. "What were the emotions felt when you found out he passed?"

"I was numb," he answered truthfully. "I didn't feel anything. He was barely ever home, and I became an emancipated minor from my parents at seventeen."

Her eyes widened, as if she wasn't expecting that to come out of his mouth. "What-"

"Enough about me," Harry heckled suddenly, leaning forward and training his eyes on her own. "Let's talk about you."

Allison laughed. "Harry, this session is designed for us to talk about you, and only you. I'm just hear to listen."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm bored. I don't want to tell you things about myself."

She sighed, before sitting back and closing her notepad. "Well, my name is Allison McIntyre, I am a therapist and a native to New York City."

Harry nodded and smiled. "Tell me more."

She continued on. "I graduated from Columbia last year, and I have a boyfriend named Evan."

Harry's jaw clenched at the mention of Evan's name. Why did she always manage to bring that man up in their conversations?

"It's nice to actually talk about other people," he told her truthfully. "Even at my old job, I worked alone."

"What did you work as previously?" Allison asked, her eyes filled with curiosity.

"I was an accountant for JP Morgan," he told her, leaning further back into the expansive couch. "It was just numbers and numbers all day."

"JP Morgan?" She asked, surprise written all over her face. "That's a large corporation for such a man your age."

"My age doesn't determine my merit, love," he shot back, now getting comfortable in his chair.

She squirted at his careless use of an endearment, which made his brows lift. Despite what little emotion she gave off, he picked up that she seemed to be already quite fond of his accent, and was just asking questions just to keep him from halting his speech.

She cleared her throat and scribbled down his basic facts he stated into the notepad in front of her, which he found pointless. It's not as if she didn't know almost everything he just told her. There was a reason for all the patient files lined up in the cabinet.

"Okay, Harry," she concluded, glancing at her watch. "Your appointment is over. How are you feeling today?"

He raised an eyebrow at her question, before shrugging his shoulders. "Numb."

She nodded before smiling brightly at him. "Well, I hope we can change your answer by the time you feel as if you don't need these sessions anymore."

"One can only hope," Harry retorted, his hands playing with the frayed ends of his leather notebook.

"I have a lot of faith in you," she told him, the smile still present on her face. "I think you can do it."

"I didn't know that what you thought could predict my next actions," Harry spat, rolling his eyes. He absolutely despised when people told him what to do. It was one of the reasons Harry was so quick to retire from his job after he received his inheritance.

It was quiet for a moment before he heard a sigh leave her lips. "I just hope you know that in this world, not everyone is out to get you."

He wanted to roll his eyes at her stupidity. Everyone in this world was out to get you. The only people you can trust are the ones in your head.

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a/n: DISCLAIMER: Allison is African-American. I reread the first chapter, and I made Harry seem racist because he said he hated everything about her, and even the way she looked (which includes skin tone.)

I didn't want to come off like that, but I think it might fuel the plot a little, so I'm leaving it in there for you guys to decide how that should play out.

other than that, how'd you like the chapter?

-rachel.