𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋 : the cold shoulder
Victor Fries looked up from his newspaper to glance at the only other person sitting in the rather dull looking waiting room . Pale blue eyes blinked a couple of times as he drank the man’s appearance in (even if a bit apprehensively) . He looked, above all things, tired ; far more tired than Dr. Fries. And he would have said he fit right into the psychiatrist’s severe looking decor were it not for his brightly colored jacket . There was some fun there , SOMETHING DARING .That was good, Victor thought . Since his wife had found out about her illness all she did was dress in BLACK AND GREY , trying to sink into the background, become part of Gotham’s asphalt , allow herself to fade away without anyone noticing . But Victor couldn’t worry . He had no time for it . HE’D FIND A WAY TO FIX THIS .
The Doctor folded his newspaper , his head bowing down a bit sheepishly when realizing he had left the man’s sentence hanging for a second too long . ❝ ━━ I can’t recall the last time I’ve had a nightmare. ❞ He admitted, leaning back against his chair, offering a small smile at the rather fragile looking man . ❝ My mind isn’t creative enough to horrify me. ❞ There was supposed to be humor in his words, but instead, Victor was met with a bitter taste over his tongue. He too sounded tired. Tired of doctors and psychiatrists and medication ; all that was supposed to make his wife’s end EASIER FOR HER only seemed to bring her more misery . Dear beautiful Nora … He imagined her sobbing behind that closed door to a stranger who was paid to tell her to LET GO. Victor bent one leg over the other, trying to focus on his chatting buddy rather than the outrage poking at his guts .
❝ My dreams are always about the how rather than the if . Solving issues rather than exploring them. ❞ He thought about offering the other man a smile. But whatever optimism he might have hidden in the corners of his lips died out at the sight of his wife, shutting the door behind her with swollen red eyes . ❝ But I’m not entirely sure that’s an healthier option . ❞
his posture seemed to give sight into his emotions. his hands were nervously clasped together. hunched forward, legs crossed. it was as though he didn’t want anyone to notice him. but his brightly colored outfit said otherwise. a blue and orange pattern shirt hung from scrawny body. barley fitting him at all. not at all. his stare was haphazardly laid upon his company. arthur was always here. every other day in fact. he had come to get to know the other patients quite well. that wasn’t to say he would consider them acquaintances. he rarely spoke to them. he didn’t even know of them outside these walls. walls that held such secrets. such tears. such agony. but he didn’t recognize him. nor his wife for that matter. he was intrigued. but his comment may have come across as somewhat off putting.
arthur was getting WORSE. he hadn’t shown any progress for quite some time now. not since his mother’s death. it seemed as though he didn’t even try anymore. like he didn’t want to get better. like he didn’t see a POINT in doing so anymore. his words were often cryptic now. off handed riddles that made sense seemingly only to him. it was sad. just a few months ago arthur had made real progress. he came out of the deep end. but he always got thrown back in. again and again and again. never ending. relentlessly. the psychiatrist saw arthur at his worst. they saw his tortured mind. AND THEY WERE AFRAID. there was nothing they could do to stop it. there was no telling what he might end up doing. and they were afraid.
a hand raises. gesturing a finger toward the other. “ maybe your dreams are having pity on you because you’re LIVING in a nightmare ” another strange statement. yet somewhat profound. perhaps this mad man had more sense to him than was first let on.
