Once again, I step into this suffocating room-the same one that has witnessed the burning of my heart and the wreckage of my hopes.
My gaze drifts across those around me, empty, hollow, my eyes scanning the room.
They are just like me-souls devoid of life.
"Liam Rodam!"
My eyes snap toward the source of the voice as awareness returns to me. The assistant calls my name again:
"Liam."
I jolt to my feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor with an irritating screech.
My gaze settles on the woman in front of me, examining her-standing with squared shoulders, her feminine figure etched into my mind for the past two years. In her hand is a sheet listing the patients' names.
She wears high heels that unsettle my mind every time she moves. Their sharp sound clashes with the creaking wood beneath her feet, sending a tremor through my body that refuses to leave my thoughts.
She pulls me out of my daze when she raises her hand in front of me, stopping me from heading toward the familiar room I visit every week.
I look at her-she appears to be in her mid-twenties-her expression rigid, accustomed to situations like this... perhaps even expecting my reaction to the new instructions. I could hardly believe what I had just heard.
"Before you enter the doctor's office, you must leave all your belongings here. You will get them back when you leave."
I raise an eyebrow in disbelief.
"And since when is this nonsense? I've been coming here weekly for two years. This has never happened."
"These are the rules, Mr. Liam. You won't be allowed in unless you leave everything here."
I sigh, placing everything I have on the desk in front of her in resignation. Does Camila really think I could hurt her?
A large, muscular man approaches me-it's the clinic's security guard.
My palms grow damp as I watch him move closer.
The moment he stands in front of me, I instinctively raise both hands and place them behind my neck... as if I were a fugitive finally caught.
He checks my pockets, making sure I haven't kept anything. I no longer have the energy to argue.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself to see her.
My fingers wrap around the cold handle.
I open the door once more.
My eyes fall on her-sitting before me with that clinical gaze, seated in her leather chair, waiting.
I close the door behind me and walk toward her with unsteady steps, speaking with a hint of sarcasm after swallowing hard, trying to ease the tension. I take the seat opposite her.
The silence between us is heavy-until I try to break it.
"Why did the rules suddenly change, Camila?"
She lifts her eyes from her phone. Her gaze is cold, locked onto mine, yet she says nothing.
I swallow, trying to ignore the tightness in my throat. Of course, she is a well-known psychiatrist across California-but she is not just a doctor. She is Camila.
Her lips part as she speaks, directing her words at me.
I'm certain she knows exactly how I'll react, despite the simplicity of her words. Still, they pierce straight through my chest.
"Dr. Camila. I am not your lover, Liam. And why should it matter to me whether one of my patients doesn't want to harm me... or whether my patients confuse closeness with treatment?"
I exhale slowly.
I hum in reluctant agreement, pushing past the fact that she even mentioned "lover."
I avert my eyes, trying not to look at her.
"Even me?"
Her lips part calmly. I wait for something gentle-something softer-but instead-
"Especially you."
I inhale sharply, forcing air into my lungs.
"Speaking of her... do you still see her in your dreams?"
My dry lips part, as though they no longer belong to a living body.
A sudden chill runs through my limbs.
"I see her everywhere... not just in my dreams."
She folds her arms across her chest and presses the recorder on.
Her gaze fixes on me as she sighs heavily-almost abandoning the professionalism she's tried to maintain with me for years. I can feel it-I'm not responding to treatment.
"We must accept death, Liam. As painful as it is, it is a mercy for humans."
I should have believed her words... but her actions, her gaze, her touch-they speak things left unsaid.
"No. I want her with me. I won't let anyone abandon me again... even if death separates us."
My own words leave me breathless, scattering what little remained of my focus. I wish Camila could read between the lines.
"You have to accept reality, Liam."
I look at her, my gaze turning sharp against her cold eyes.
"I'll kill myself to be with her. I won't let her go."
Sweat begins to form on my skin despite the cold that grips my limbs.
She picks up her pen and writes something in her notebook.
Then, abruptly, she speaks-her words sharp:
"Stop shaking your leg. And wipe your tears."
She closes the notebook and pushes it aside, her tone turning almost venomous-forgetting, for a moment, that she is my therapist, crossing the boundaries of her role.
"We must accept separation."
"Life doesn't stop because someone leaves."
Tears spill from my eyes.
Her harshness cuts deeper at the moment I need her warmth the most. I shake my head repeatedly, my chest rising as I struggle to breathe.
My still features-my tear-filled eyes-reveal more than I intend.
She grabs her keychain, opens one of her desk drawers, and pulls out an inhaler.
She stands, walks toward me, and tosses it onto my chest. I catch it instinctively.
Then she moves to the window, inhaling the cold air as it tangles with her hair, lifting it away from her neck.
Suddenly, she turns back to me.
"Didn't you love her? Didn't you?"
"Stop."
"Why? Don't you want to indulge in your illusions? I'm only saying what your mind wants to believe-what it longs to hear before your ears do."
"Stop. I said stop!"
I shout sharply, bringing the inhaler back to my mouth.
And then-she truly falls silent.
Because she knows exactly what is about to happen.
Now... as I struggle through a severe panic attack.
---
She watches Liam's condition.
She walks to her desk, pressing the intercom button.
"Emily."
"Go to my other office and bring me a sedative injection. Now."
She doesn't wait for a response.
Minutes later, Emily enters with the injection and hands it to her.
She looks at Liam-his head shaking violently, the sound of heels echoing again in his ears. His mind is on the verge of collapse.
His eyes widen-he lets out a piercing scream as the injection is administered, then slumps back into the chair, his body limp.
Emily looks at him, swallowing hard. Despite being used to such scenes, something about this feels different.
She hesitates... then speaks:
"But it's just a panic attack. You shouldn't give him a sedative."
Camila looks at her sharply, still holding Liam's arm until she's sure he's fully unconscious.
Then she lets go.
She stands before her, one hand in her pocket, exhaling slowly, trying to maintain control.
"Are you teaching me my job now?"
A pause.
"Leave. And send the next patient in five minutes."
Emily freezes, glancing at Liam's arm-covered in bruises from repeated injections.
She swallows, then leaves.
---
Camila walks to the couch and drops onto it, waiting for him to wake up.
She hides her face in her hands-her leg shaking with anxiety.
She had to be harsh.
She has to remain just his doctor... nothing more.
---
A minute.
Two.
Three.
A sharp gasp breaks the silence.
"Damn it... what did you do to me?"
She quickly lowers her hands, her eyes trembling slightly before she regains composure.
"Good. You're awake. You can leave now. Collect your belongings from Emily. Our next appointment is Tuesday."
His fist tightens, his burning gaze fixed on her indifferent figure.
---
(At a police station in the outskirts of California)
A knock on the door.
"Come in."
A police officer enters, holding a case file.
"Mr. Aston, a new murder has been reported on Lombard Street, San Francisco."
"I won't take it. Give it to Ethan."
"But sir-he was only assigned a few months ago-"
"What I said stands."
---
Ethan.
Papers scattered everywhere across his small office.
He lies on the couch, trying to sleep-three months of insomnia from nonstop work.
"Mr. Ethan... Mr. Ethan..."
A hand nudges his shoulder.
"Hm... what?"
"These are your new case files."
He groans.
"Fine... I'm coming."
---
Inside a high-rise building.
No signs of forced entry. No broken windows.
Strange.
"Are you sure the crime happened here?" I whisper to Max.
He nods.
I step inside.
My feet carry me toward the only lit room.
The sound of sobbing grows louder.
Then I see him.
A man-clutching the body of a woman in her fifties-kissing every inch of her face.
"Please... don't leave me too..."
I signal the officers to pull him away.
He struggles, screaming.
"Don't take her!"
I grab his arm, stopping him.
"Who are you?"
He looks at me, tears streaming down his face.
"...I'm her son."
My eyes fall on his wallet on the floor beside the blood.
I pick it up, flipping through it until I find his ID.
I murmur:
"So... what happened, Liam Rodam?"