The clock was ticking the seconds away. Mercilessly. Relentless. Echoing in the office like a perpetual reminder of eternity.
Sebastien felt as if the noise alone was driving him into a state of insanity. Slowly but surely he could feel his sanity edging toward the abyss. Was he losing his mind? Were all the nightmares real, in the end? Had he already lost it and was he merely clinging to what was 'socially accepted'? Like a clone, doing what was expected of him. Functioning instead of living.
"How do you feel today, Mr. Vanderbilt?" - it was the voice, suddenly forcing its way through the ticking noise that wasn't even really there. Only in his imagination, maybe. The mind was such a wide field, after all. Like a minefield, stocked with dread and danger. There was no reaction, not at once, after the question cut through the silence. Yes, silence. No ticking noise. No clock on the wall. It wasn't there. Nothing was there. Just his imagination filling the psychiatrists office. Leaving no room for reality - or so the young man thought. 'How -do- I feel?' Inhale. Exhale. His gaze still upon the window and beyond, studying the bare, naked trees outside in the garden, draped in fog and gloomy November weather. One single leaf still clinging to the dying branch, slowly swaying in icy gusts of wind. But it all vanished the moment he closed his eyes, giving room for his mind to paint its very own pictures. "Aware."
Silence. Breaths filling the room once more, but the young man could feel the psychiatrists eyes on his back. Burning, searing like a hot poker. Sebastien almost could smell it. The burning. The reminders of what would be left after the fire. "Good. How do you feel about what had happened with your sister, Sebastien?" How did the young man feel, indeed? He felt no guilt, even if he thought he was obligated to feel it after what had happened. It was 'normal' to feel guilt, was it not? Expected, too. Guilt and repentance. 'Fuck. That.' The young man gave no voiced reply, merely a slow rise and fall of a shoulder. He knew by now, more than a little likely. Fear notwithstanding.
The young man finally had turned his head after what must have seemed like an eternity, staring at the other man over a shoulder. Intense eyes, searching, trying to find something kindred in the psychiatrist. Something akin to understanding, maybe. No redemption because there was no redemption from dark places. Only more. "You will have to face your fears, Sebastien. Admit to what you have done. Only then you can rise above it and be what you are meant to be. I know you can do it." the psychiatrist said in his soothing, almost maddening tone, with a smile that was neither kind nor nice. Icy and intuitive. Most of all intuitive. It hit Sebastien like a sledgehammer. This realization. The doctor knew. Knew it all. The guilt and the pleasure that had been bestowed upon the young man. Terrible pleasure without redemption - or so he thought. Sebastien squeezed his eyes tightly shut and the images of this one, fateful night came quickly. And this time he even invited them. Willingly and fully aware of what they would show him. Dark places, indeed. Flickering, so clear in his memory, like a lovers kiss. There it was. All the blood, the screams and then... the silence. This almost peaceful silence afterwards. Sebastien never had felt so powerful ever before. So in control of everything.
"Am I insane, Doctor?" a mere whisper, dark, deep eyes upon his psychiatrist who merely smirked and shook his head. "No. Not insane, Sebastien. Aware. Now you are ready for the next steps and I shall guide you."
Now he was there. At long last. At this turning point. A watershed, indeed.
Or maybe just another crossroads in the labyrinth that was his mind?
