90. A Psycho Or Doctor?

90. A Psycho Or Doctor?
Xavier Lance

Control. 

Most people misunderstand the word. 

They confuse it with Power. Dominance. Authority.

Control has nothing to do with any of those things.

Nature understood control far better than humans ever could.

The planets rotate in controlled precise cycles, obeying their orbits.

Moon is placed at a perfect distance, which stabilizes Earth’s axis at 23.5 degrees. This perfect axis gives us seasons, regulates tides, and plays a critical role in the evolution of early life.

If the Moon were placed much closer or farther away, it would radically alter Earth’s axis, climate, day length, and threaten all life.

Every object in the universe is sitting exactly where it belongs. There is no coincidence.

Just like this room. 

Everything in here is perfectly aligned at its rightful place.

The books on the walnut shelves are meticulously arranged in alphabetical order. The marble table sits sublimely at the center of the couches, with a black oak wood coaster placed perfectly in its middle.

My white porcelain cup rests right in the dead center of the coaster, with its handle aligned precisely at forty five degree angle.

A perfect symmetry.

From this angle on my sofa, I hold complete command of the space. It is strategically placed at an angle just enough so that the cool air from the AC vent brushes gently against my neck and shoulder. 

Not too direct. Not too distant.

I can see anyone entering the room. Even grasp every subtle expression of the patient sitting across from me, and when the conversation grows tedious, I can simply shift my gaze towards the fish. 

Each and every aquarium is clearly visible from this spot, beautifully lit, and arranged in harmonious balance.

This room is an extension of my mind.. Calm. Controlled. Synchronised.

Except for her.

Emara. 

She sits on the long couch directly opposite to me, disrupting my carefully constructed harmony.

She didn’t choose the center like most do. Instead, she is slightly offset to the left with one shoulder slightly elevated, breaking the clean symmetry in the room.

Also, her hair parting is crooked, slanting noticeably to the right as if she roughly combed in a hurry or probably brushed it nervously before stepping into my office.

But what truly tests my restraint is that single dark strand of her hair, clinging persistently to her glossy lips.

And every time she speaks, that pesky hair strand moves along with her lips. On her lips.

It is bothering me more than it is bothering her.

And she hasn’t removed it yet.

She is sloppy!

I wonder what made Dakota completely lose his brilliant mind over this little girl, who is completely out of order, and discipline, which are his core pillars.

An exquisite, intricate puzzle.

And the only way to solve a puzzle is to open it.

“So, if I make a deal with you right now..” I whisper, making an offer.

I watch her pupils dilate, the sharp intake of breath, and an increase in blink rate as she waits for me to ask..

“Will you stay with me, and let me do anything to you for seven nights?” I note her reaction with clinical precision.

Emara’s eyes widen dramatically, as my question registers in her brain.

Her mouth opens up, and that annoying strand of hair flows away from her parted lips as she exhales sharply, “What the hell! I would never make such a deal.”

Hmm. Immediate rejection.

“Why not?” I ask her, tilting my head with interest. Genuinely curious!

“Are you crazy?” She yells at me, shifting into a defensive posture.

“No. I am perfectly fine, Emara.” I reply to her rather calmly, “I am a doctor. I would know if I were having any crazy episodes.”

“I think you yourself need a psychiatrist for any shit you are speaking.” She snaps back.

Classic deflection.

Instead of addressing her own discomfort about spending nights with me, she is attacking my mental stability. How typical!

“I already have a psychiatrist.” A smile curve my lips evenly as I tell her, “Every Friday. At 10 Am.”

“Huh!” Emara raises her right brow in peak confusion, “What are you? A psycho or a doctor?”

“I can be both, but here the topic is you.” I inhale slowly, keeping my hands perfectly still on my lap with my fingers symmetrically aligned.

“Tell me, Emara.” My curiosity makes me lean towards her, “Why didn’t you report Dakota?”

This question has been unsettling me for months. But what fascinating is.. It is unsettling her as well!

I notice micro-shifts in her expression, and macro-shifts in her posture as her hands slide to the edge of her seat, and grip the couch with chagrin.

I wonder if she would fight, flight, or freeze?

My stakes are on flight.

“Someone like me would assume that you have a crush on him.” I smirk, slowly whispering, “And maybe, you secretly liked all those dark, sexual things he did to you.”

“What the hell!” Emara bursts out, shooting up on her feet, “Who made you a psychiatrist?”

“Um.. The State Medical Board.” I point at the rows of degrees and certificates hanging on the wall.

“They are displayed quite prominently for a reason, you know. To be noticed.”

Emara scoffs loudly. “You think you are smart? Genius of a kind?”

I rise from my seat, straightening my shirt cuffs and smoothing the front of my shirt before looking point blank in her eyes like a challenge. 

“There is no doubt in that.”

Emara crosses her arms over her chest in a defiance, and hits me a sarcastic smirk. 

“Then I’ll tell my friend Analisse Helsin to leave you alone for the sake of your creativity.” She says sweetly, “After all, her presence will only de-track your intelligent brain from science and studies. Correct?”

I freeze for a second. Stunned how she turned my own logic against me like a weapon.

“You are confusing two things, Emara.” I explain to her calmly, “Analisse is a student of mine, and-”

“A student who is 10 years younger than you.” She cuts in boldly, “And you asked her out to a public event where you kept your hand on her waist the entire night.”

Emara stands there, glaring at me with raw accusation in her eyes, as if I have done something wrong, that I haven’t done yet. Not yet.

“You are not the only one with keen observation skills, Mr. Lance.” She smirks, cunningly.

I narrow my gaze and correct her, “Dr. Lance.”

“Well, someone like me would assume the Dr in your name stands for Delusional Racoon, who thinks he is always right.” She grins wickedly.

“But I am always right.” I retort with a smirk of my own.

“That’s why I said delusional.” She shoots back with a touch of arrogance.

I watch the little nervous girl, stepping towards me with fire burning in her gaze as she pins me down sharply.

“Whatever your intentions are with my best friend, make sure you keep them in your pant’s pockets only.” She warns in a lethal tone.

“Because if you hurt her.. I will not warn you before shredding you apart.” 

I stand there, frozen on my feet as I watch her walk out of my office carrying that same unpredictably dark and dangerous energy, I felt around Dakota.

Not Dakota. Alpha!

Emara is chaos in human form.

No wonder why she doesn’t feel the need to run away from Alpha, because she doesn’t understand he is a threat.

And she probably feels like home to him.

Interesting!

I walk over to the aquarium, my gaze narrowing at the faint smudge of fingerprint Emara had left on the glass. 

I pull out my handkerchief and meticulously wipe the surface until it is spotless once again. 

Perfect!

As I fold the handkerchief and return it into my pant’s pocket, my fingers brush against a soft paper texture.

I pull it out to see it’s a tissue with a red lipstick mark on it.

Her lipstick stain.