Unconscious Desires Chapter Two
Summary: Ilya and Shane meet during their first session (s). Ilya opens up briefly, but at what cost? A/n: AU Ilya and Shane’s dynamic is slowly growing; patience. Next chapter should be out Thursday! the best beta @ameliyaonline!!!
ـــــــــﮩ٨ـ ـــــــــﮩ٨ـ ـــــــــﮩ٨ـ ـــــــــﮩ٨ـ ـــــــــﮩ٨ ــ
Unconscious Desires: Deep relational attachments or attractions driven by hidden emotional templates, past childhood conditioning, and psychological projections rather than rational choice.
My eyes were glued to the file in front of me. Racking my brain with thoughts of how I'd receive information from the ex-gang member. Knocks against my office door jolted me out of my focus. A guard greeted me, and behind him was Ilya. Various tattoos covered his forearm, an orange jumper displaying his inmate ID, messy curls, and a black eye. He looked like he belonged here. The correction officer forced him by his arm into the seat in front of me. His body made a loud thud against the chair. Ouch. I offered a polite smile. I often winced at the treatment these prisoners received. Ilya stared blankly, almost as if the lights were on but no one was home.
I nodded, signaling the officer to leave. He hesitated before exiting; I could tell he didn't go far, as if waiting for something to happen. My eyes found Ilya's, and for the first time we were alone. It seemed so hazy, almost as if it was a lost memory.
"Hello Ilya, I'm Dr.Hollander." I skimmed over my files before meeting his empty gaze. "It says here you’re on an antipsychotic, mood stabilizer, and an antidepressant. Is that correct?" Ilya was slouched in his chair; I could tell he wasn't interested. Maybe he'd just recently taken his medication and was feeling flat, plus I'm sure he's heard this all before. I decided to make things a little less tense. I scooted my chair in so my body pressed firmly against my desk and pointed to a picture of me and Anya, an attempt to break the ice.
"That's my dog, Anya," I said softly, grabbing the picture frame now. Ilya's focus lifted from the ground, and I thought I'd finally gotten his attention. He briefly glanced at the photo of me and Anya before his eyes went back down. Right. Conversations were never easy with prisoners. They had no respect for anyone, especially authorities.
I tried again. "I'll tell you a little about myself." It was like pulling teeth, sure, but if you used the right technique, the tooth quickly became loose.
"You've seen my dog. She's my best friend." I continued, "Her favorite toy is a squeaky duck, and she likes swimming at the lake." I offered a soft smile.
Ilya leaned back in his chair before he finally spoke. "That's about your dog, not you," he mumbled. His accent was thick and sharp. Patients were usually hyper-aware of your every word due to trauma; they would hold your word against you at any given chance. Which is why I briefly described Anya to see how engaged he was; he was listening, but choosing not to respond.
"Yeah, that's right. My bad. " I said before jotting down new notes; Alert, responsive, and quick to assert.
I purposefully let the silence linger. Stillness created an uneasiness within patients. They assumed they were there to talk, and silence contradicted that. As if on cue, Ilya's eyes were set on my notes. I raised my head and spoke, "Can you tell me a little bit about yourself, Ilya?" If he didn't respond, we would sit in silence, and he knew that.
Ilya shifted in his seat; he sat up more properly in his chair now, and I anticipated a response. Silence... We sat there staring at each other for a few seconds before I finally spoke again.
"I'm here to help you, Ilya. We can either work together or not at all." Ilya's dead stare continued.
Okay. "Guard!" I yelled. This wasn't going anywhere today, and he wasn't going to waste my time. The officer entered my office and pulled Ilya up roughly by his arm, leading him out. I spoke one last time before Ilya exited, "Come back when you'd like to talk; I'll be here." Sometimes patients were hesitant at first. A part of me hoped he'd return. And I'd find out who killed Hayden.
One week had passed since my first session with Ilya. As expected, he never came back; people like him usually accepted their sentence and refused further assistance. I'd seen it many times before and was anticipating a new client within the next week.
I faintly heard footsteps down the hall before I was greeted with a knock on my door. "Dr. Hollander?" A guard peeked his head in.
"Yes?" I looked away from my laptop.
"I have Inmate Ilya Rozanov; he would like to speak with you. Do you have a moment to see him?"
I smiled to myself and closed my laptop. He's back. "Yes, bring him in," I replied before pulling his file out of my locked drawer. He appeared more relaxed that time. He settled in the armchair opposite my desk.
"Mr. Rozanov, I thought I'd never see you again." I stood up and extended my hand; he locked his hand around mine. I instantly noticed the dark, broken skin across his knuckles and the tight cuffs around his wrists. Evidence of a system where violence was punished by restraints.
Ilya's lips stretched into a thin, forced grin. "Well, the guys told me you can get my sentence cut, yes?" He appeared unbothered.
I hesitantly nodded, "That's partially true, Mr.Rozaonv-"
I acknowledged his request and continued. "Do you know why you're here, Ilya?" I asked.
"Yes, I hurt some people," he answered simply. His stoic expression cracked for a moment.
I smiled warmly. "No, I mean in my office."
He swallowed before speaking, "They think I'm crazy."
Ilya seemed like a man who didn't beat around the bush; I was willing to set aside protocol and push the boundaries if I wanted to understand him. "And?… Are you?" I asked. For Hayden.
He sneered in my direction and snapped. "The fuck? No!"
I set my pen down before addressing him again. "The court ordered a psychiatric evaluation for you, Ilya. Depending on your results, you could have several outcomes. You may be transferred to a specialized psychiatric facility to receive proper treatment, Or, ordered to a mental health court that pushes rehabilitation over incarceration. On the other hand, you may end up staying here to continue your sentence." I watched as Ilya mentally juggled his possibilities. "…What do you wanna know?" He groaned.
"Well, anything." I nudged my glasses further up my nose. "We're gonna be seeing each other pretty often these next few weeks, and I'd like to know who I'm working with. If that's okay?" Always end commands with a question; less likely to activate defiance. Ilya shifted in his seat and straightened his posture.
He let out a sharp breath, "I'm from Moscow. Moved to Canada at thirteen. Dropped out of high school, and now I'm here." Ilya shrugged. This much I already knew from his files. Though his brief introduction gave me a glimpse into his self-image. Russian, high school dropout, and prisoner.
"Yes, and how'd you like the move? Was it something you wanted?" I pressed further. Relocation during adolescence can disrupt neurological pathways connected to emotional processing.
"It was fine," Ilya responded calmly. Although he remained closed off and gave little information, his engagement was a good sign.
"Moving can be difficult," I replied. "I'm curious what your favorite part about Canada was when you first arrived?" I laid my clasped hands on my desk.
Ilya faked an amused expression. "The boring Canadians who I could boss around." He said arrogantly. He was showcasing power. I made note of this exaggeration. I anxiously checked the clock hanging behind me. There was so much I wanted to discover about Ilya in so little time. I'd rated Ilya's threat level fairly low. He was quick to anger, but he wasn't going to harm me; I knew that for sure and decided to test that theory.
"Okay, do you mind if we talk about your childhood a bit? What was that like?" I flipped through his files and skimmed over the words. "Childhood information: Null"
Ilya let out a heavy sigh before speaking, "Can I have a cigarette?"
Why not? "Maybe, but I only ask one thing from you," I stated…
"And..?" Ilya waited for my response.
"You have to be honest, completely true. For you to-"
Ilya interrupted, "I will if I can have a fucking cigarette."
I needed him to talk, so I paged the guard channel from my walkie-talkie, and within minutes he arrived with a pack of American Spirits and a lighter. He handed them over with a subtle nod. Once he'd disappeared behind the door, I slid the cigarettes in Ilya's direction.
"Thank god," Ilya mumbled as he managed to open the box with his cuffed hands. I watched in silence as he placed one between his lips and flicked the lighter.
Ilya slapped the lighter against the table before trying again. "The fuck." He hissed; the cigarette bounced between his lips as he cursed. I couldn't watch him struggle anymore. "Here." I reached into my drawer and pulled out the spare I used for candles. Leaning over the desk, I lit the cigarette for him. He took a long drag before nodding his head in appreciation.
He raised his confined wrists to hold the cigarette.
"My dad was fucked up." he took another long hit.
Here we go. I thought, grabbing my pen.
"He was violent." Ilya looked down in thought before twisting his cigarette between his fingers and continuing. "He'd never just yell," Ilya said flatly.
I reclined back in my chair so my notebook rested in my lap. My eyes remained on Ilya, encouraging him to keep going.
"He would grab anything he could find to hurt me." Ilya continued. My face morphed into an expression of sympathy.
"He would only hit me and my mother, never my brother; even though he's a dick." His voice went hoarse as the word mother slipped his lips. I took notes as he continued.
"I came home from school one day. My mother was on the couch and was so bloody I thought my father had finally killed her. She was just another thing I loved that he could take away." Ilya's voice became drier. "When I tried to help her, well…" His sentence was cut off by a chuckle. "It didn't go too good for me." Ilya leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. I could see the memories playing behind his eyes. Usually patients weren't vulnerable so quickly. Traumatic memories often took several sessions to appear.
"My brother would just watch." Ilya lowered his head to face me. "And you know.. stuff like that messes you up. My mother was never the same again." Ilya put out the cigarette on my desk.
I ignored the act of blatant disrespect. "I'm sorry about your mother. How did seeing that make you fe-"
He interrupted my apology. "I don't need your sorry; I need a shorter sentence." He stood up from his chair, looking down on me.
"Okay, Ilya. Please sit back down. We'll work something out." I tried to calm him. This was not the same man I had been conversing with seconds ago.
"No, I will not sit the fuck down! You don't get it, do you?" Ilya turned to pace my tiny office.
"Ilya, if you'd like to continue, I'm gonna nee-" I attempted before he quickly faced me; his face was red, anger bled from his eyes, and his breath was heavy.
"What? Are you gonna go cry for the guard?" Ilya grabbed the photo of Anya and threw it across the room. The harsh noise of glass breaking filled my ears; it shattered everywhere, and a guard came rushing in at the sudden noise. Ilya's eyes locked onto mine.
"Ilya!" The guard screamed as he forcefully wrapped his arms around Ilya's aggravated body. He screamed something in his native tongue before two more guards rushed in. I began biting the inside of my cheek as I watched the scene unfold before me. Ilya continued to fight their grip as the three men tried to contain him.
"Calm down!" One of them authoritatively yelled before successfully removing him from my office.
"You're the fucking crazy ones…-" Ilya's screams continued to echo through the hallway as the three guards forcefully escorted Ilya back to his cell.
I looked down at the remaining glass from the frame before walking over to it. I picked up a piece of glass, covered in Ilya's blood— Ilya ruined that photo in an attempt to upset me, a way to hurt me, the only way he could in this prison.
A few days had passed since the incident with Ilya, and I was frustrated. Although this was typical behavior coming from him, he may have gotten away with things like this with other doctors, not me. That following Monday, I submitted a request to meet with him.
I need to speak with Ilya Rozanov this week. Please transport him from the housing unit to my office in the medical wing immediately. This is an important matter, and I'd prefer sooner rather than later.
Ilya is in solitary confinement at the moment due to a severe mental health crisis. I am unaware when he will return, but I will send him to you once he's out.
Two days later, Ilya was back in my office. Bringing up his childhood wounds so quickly and forcing him to replay his mother's death might have triggered him. His under-eye bags were more prominent than before. And a new cut lay from his eyebrow to his eyelid. Solitary confinement was difficult; I can imagine it was ten times worse during a mental health crisis. Ilya sat across from me, his typical dead stare and uninterested face.
I finally spoke. "How are you? I heard you were in solitary confinement." Ilya continued to stare.
I folded my hands together and leaned in closer.
"Why'd you break my picture?"
Ilya blinked hard before speaking, "Because I can," he said casually.
"My reason is that you're fucking useless." Ilya spat on my desk.
I sat back quickly to avoid getting hit with the fluid.
His behavior was out of control at that point; I attempted a new tactic. "Alright, I will move on to my next case. Patient and doctor relationships should be safe, and if this isn't working for either of us, you should find another psychiatrist that fits you bes-" I said calmly before he interrupted.
"No?" I tilted my head to the side at his quick resistance. He fell for it.
"What? Too difficult? You're gonna drop my case?"
"You're not too difficult, Ilya. It's about respect."
"Respect?" He says in a mocking tone. "Why should I respect you?"
"Because, Ilya, I'm the only person who can help you… the one who can cut your sentence."
It was silent for a long time. His eyes rested on my desk.
"Okay." Who was he to deny such an opportunity? He was facing forty years.
"Will you respect me and my personal belongings?"
"Will you cooperate and remain honest?"
"Fucking hell, yes, I will do whatever; just ask your questions already." Ilya waved his hand, gesturing towards my file next to my notebook, flooded with notes already.
I got him exactly where I wanted him."First, I want you to understand that what you did was very disrespectful; the damage you cause when you're angry doesn't just go away when you feel better. Actions are permanent. Promise me you will never damage anything of mine again." I said sternly. "If we continue, I am to receive respect, and you will receive mine; that's how this works."
"Sure," Ilya said sarcastically. "Promise."
"Last session we discussed your childhood briefly; I will give you another option today. Would you like to continue that discussion, or would you be more comfortable telling me about your involvement in the Iron Gates?" This was exactly how I'd begin getting information from him.
Ilya scrunched his face in a confused expression. "Iron Gates? Why the fuck do you want to know about that? You're a doctor, not a fucking fed." Ilya replied.
I smiled softly, "Yes, I am a doctor, but any insight from your life is enough information for me to evaluate you properly." I lied before leaning down once again, "That is, if you'd like the opportunity to get your sentence cut."
I saw the curiosity flash on his face before it quickly faded; he didn't question me again.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Right..." He hesitantly replied. "What do you wanna know about them exactly?"
I leaned back and took a sip of my water. "Start from the beginning."
"I joined cause I was bored," Ilya said simply.
"Great start," I wrote down this fact before continuing, "go on." I encouraged.
Ilya leaned back and placed his legs on my desk. I shot a warning look in his direction.
Ilya threw his cuffed hands up to protest before they landed back in his lap. "What? I can't get a little comfortable before telling you my life story?"
I shook my head in annoyance before signaling him to continue.
He smiled widely at getting away with his position. "So anyways, I started off working the corner, you know the typical job for the new guy."
"What did you sell?" Not that it mattered, but any evidence towards Hayden's case was enough.
Ilya gave me a confused look. "Drugs," he continued, "No, actually I was selling ice cream." He laughed to himself a little too hard, and it echoed throughout the room. I noted his increased mood and fast-talking pace. Mania.
I stared blankly at him, disregarding the sarcasm, attempting a tight, forced smile. I spoke again."Ok... prescription drugs, controlled substances, or street drugs?
"All of them!"Ilya joyously celebrated.
"Basically, I started selling because my best friend Svetlana moved away to America for stupid university and left me in boring Canada. I hated her for a while after that. Mostly sad because she was my only family here. These guys I met at a bar asked if I wanted to party with them. And I did! We did so many drugs, we did it all! MDMA, Fent, LSD." Ilya rolled his head back and continued. "I was so high that night, wish I could get some of that in he-"
"What were these guys' names?" I interrupted before his fast speech continued. I needed names of potential culprits, not the several drugs he experimented with.
Ilya squinted his eyes and questioned. "Their names?"
"What? So you can find them and tell them I'm a traitor?"
"Ilya," I said flatly. "Everything we talk about is confidential. Please put your trust in me, and we can both get what we want in the end."
"And if I don't, Dr.Hollander?" Ilya continued smiling before bringing his feet down from the desk and leaning in closer. "I can't be curious about you?"
"I don't wanna disappoint you. It makes me feel very uneasy when I do."
"Ilya, you're not gonna disappoint me. I just need-"
Ilya sighed. "You make me feel like I'm in order."
"If you cannot behave appropriately, I will call the guards, and this will be the last time we ever speak."
"I don't think that's true, Doctor."
"You need me, and I now know that." Ilya looked up as if he was thinking, "I just wish I could find out what for…"
"Ilya, it seems like you're getting paranoid-" I said before Ilya cut me off again.
"Will you cooperate and remain honest, Shane?" Ilya repeated my words from earlier.
"I'm not quite sure what you mean by that."
Ilya sat back against his chair and crossed his arms. "I can request to never see you again, and it's more of your loss than mine." He shrugged.
He wanted to feel needed. In a sense, he was, but I'm sure he wouldn't be the only prisoner from the Iron Gates in need of psychological support, at least not for long. Therefore, I didn't need him; he was simply a resource. And I was willing to play into this fantasy that he created if that meant he'd tell me what I needed to hear.
I forced a tight smile before responding, "That's right, Ilya. I do need you." I continued. "And honestly, I think we' d make a pretty good team." Whatever he needed to hear.
"Really?" Ilya leaned closer to me and beamed.
"Yes. You tell me whatever it is I want to know about Iron Gates, no questions asked. And I will label you as mentally unfit for this facilitation, or prison in general for that matter. Meaning you'd most likely end up in rehab or on parole." I set my pen down. "How does that sound?"
"Fine. I guess… Can I just ask one question first?" Ilya held up his hand as if he was asking a question in class.
"Why do you care? Did the Iron Gates do something to you personally?" Ilya chuckled to himself.
My jaw clenched.I swallowed my anger before speaking. Keep it professional. "That doesn't matter, Ilya. Now, do we have a deal or not?"
I anxiously tapped my pen against my notebook. "Right. Okay, so tell me the names of the guys you met the first night."
"Riley and Graham. They were the hit men at the time." Ilya said. Were they the ones who shot Hayden?
"They ran off with millions of dollars one Saturday night, and no one's heard from them since." Ilya began laughing to himself hysterically again. "Probably Texas or some shit!"
Right. I crossed those names out of my notebook. "So, after you worked the street, what did you do?"
Ilya hesitated for a moment, and his smile dropped completely. "Ilya, you're already arrested. And we have a deal, remember? I'm not gonna tell anyone." I stated.
"You asked to know about the Iron Gates, not my role in it," Ilya said with a straight face. His previous elevated state was now gone.
"Not really. I said you tell me whatever I want to know about the Iron Gates; that didn't exclude you-"
"You fucking liar!" Ilya stood up abruptly. Again?
"Ilya, sit down, please." I sighed.
"I tell you yes, and I'm willing to be open with you, and you already lie to my fucking face!"
A guard immediately entered my office at the sound of yelling and began walking towards Ilya.
"Is everything okay in here?" The guard stood inches above Ilya.
"No!" Ilya yelled in contrast.
"Ilya, if you want to continue, you have to calm down. I will be honest, okay? I apologize for the misunderstanding." I replied calmly.
Ilya's face was still tense. "I'm not fucking paranoid!" Traumatized individuals often react aggressively at perceived threats due to their hyper-vigilance and profound sense of threatened safety.
"We're working together, remember?" I offered a soft smile. Attempting to de-escalate the situation. The guard stood still beside Ilya as he sat back down.
I waved off the guard. "Thank you; we're good."
"No more lies," Ilya mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
"Okay, Ilya, I'm sorry. But I would also like to know about your role. If that's okay?"
gamechangershow
vaporwave
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
