Not Your Typical Event

Luka's POV

That night, around seven o'clock, a woman I didn't know entered my room. I looked at her briefly, before turning away," Get out." "Hi, I'm-" She started to say, but I cut her off. "Get out." I told her again, my words not steely, but calm and direct, almost business-like. I had a right to my privacy, I had to deal with things on my own. I didn't care if this point if people thought I was a bitch, when they got into a car accident caused by a pyscho who was still on the loose, then lost the only person they had, they could talk to me about it. Until then, no one could understand what I was feeling, and I felt that I was entitled to a little anger. I needed to feel something other than pain right now.

The woman didn't leave. She merely pulled a chair up to the foot of my bed, writing something down. She wore a gray pencil skirt with a white blouse tucked in, and a light cotton, black cardigan. I could tell, for obvious reasons, that she wasn't a doctor, at least in that sense. I snorted softly so that she couldn't hear. She was a psychiatrist.

I don't believe in psychiatrists, I think they are cheesy and get paid too much to try and get inside your head. But in the end, no one knows you better than yourself. No one can know what you're really thinking but you. I had two ways I could play this; I could make a bunch of shit up to get her out of here, I was an excellent actress. Or, I could totally ignore her and let her think she had me all figured out. I opted for the latter, because chances were that after a while, she would get tired and give up, and become frustrated. "Hello, I'm Dr. Hammon.." What a ham, I thought to myself, joking of course. I stared at her blankly. "They tell me you haven't been eating, would you like to tell me why ?" I kept my face blank again, not showing any emotion at all. I was careful not to do a blank, I-don't-care-at-all stare, or a zoned out stare, just a regular one. Let her think that I was vulnerable, or angry, or depressed. And besides, me refusing one meal is not that big of a deal. She continued trying to coax answers out of me, never assuming anything, which pissed me off a little. Finally, I started to blatantly ignore her, choosing instead to write in my notebook. She finalyl got up and gently pried the notebook from my hand, looking curious after I didn't reply on what I was writing. She knitted her eyebrows together, obviously confused. I wasn't an idiot, I had written everything backward.

I knew at some point someone, somewhere in the hospital would attempt to read what I had written in the notebook given to me by Agent Gideon. I also knew that no one would figure out it was written in code, except maybe one of the agents, after a while. I had thought about just scrambling the letters, but the human brain can decipher almost any word as long as the first and last letter are in their correct places. I almost couldn't hide my smile as Dr. Hammon returned my notebook and left the room. I felt satisfied that I had tricked someone with a doctorate degree. I was also satisfied that she had not been able to realize what I had written about; Mark.

Dr. Hammon's POV

I entered the room of my new patient, a young teenage girl who had been targeted by a highly sought-after serial killer. Her case was particularly difficult, because not only was she injured herself, but her caretaker as well. Not to mention, she would probably be ridden with survivor's guilt, all of the other victims of the killer had not survived. I walked in, ready to introduce myself when she immediately told me to get out. I attempted to tell her my name, when she interrupted me, once more telling me to leave. So that's the kind of case this is gonna be, I thought.

The whole session was very difficult. She gave me nothing, she never spoke after that. She only stared at me, with expressionless eyes. It was a little unnerving, to have someone stare at you for an extended period of time without communicating. I kept my cool exterior though, until she finally turned her attention away from me. I wiped my eyes as soon as she directed her gaze elsewhere. I had just gotten out of school, this was only my third case. I had planned to start out primarily by counseling hospital patients, but now I wasn't so sure. She scribbled furiously in a notebook, never looking up at me again. I casually walked up to her, gently taking the notebook from her. I stared at the pages; not only was her writing loopy and unusual, but I couldn't understand it. It almost looked as if it wasn't even written in English. I set it down, hurrying out of the room; I wouldn't let her see that she had broken me.

I hurried down the hall towards the bathroom, ready to cry in a stall. I walked past one of the FBI Agents on her case, Agent Morgan. He looked at me with concern as I passed him, then he hurried into her room, shutting the door behind him. I broke down once inside the bathroom. Who knew helping people would be so hard ?