"Understand the cause or -"
"I wanted to understand the nightmares, Doc. There has to be a reason for them, right? Like now?"
Scratching his chin, the doctor scribbled notes. "What you're talking about sounds more like the realm of psychology."
A burst of laughter escaped her throat, a chortle that surprised her as much as it made her cringe. Politics and polite behavior be damned.
"Psychologists are nothing more than glorified psychics."
Slamming a hand to her mouth, she attempted to catch words that flowed through her fingers like water. She wished to take them back, her eyes peering up at the man she'd just insulted and condemned.
An easy smile creased his lips despite the insult. "Explain."
Embarrassment was an acrid taste on her tongue. She hadn't meant to belittle his profession. Perhaps logic would ease the sting.
"Psychology, for the most part, is subjective. You ask me a question. I answer the question and explain what it makes me feel. Based on those answers, and my behavior, you calculate possible causes, and determine likely physical stressors that influence my behavior. And after that, you determine a treatment plan."
His eyes widened. "That's a thorough and well thought out response, Alice. I'm surprised."
Her head jerked to the side, her body reeling against her attempt to follow the logic of the conversation. Reality was no longer simple. Not when dreams continued to taunt her from within.
"Why?"
"Your response was linear and logical. That's atypical for you. But I'm confused as to your statement. You laid out a formula for my profession that is clinical in nature, yet you mock it as a psychic, and thus non-clinical, profession."
The tic in her neck was fierce, her hands working over the tissues she pulled from the box, one after the other, until they were nothing but scraps in her lap. Aggravation fought her ability to think clearly.
"Because it's subjective. You missed that part. The answers I give you could be lies. You base your diagnosis on lies."
Tapping the tip of his pen against the paper, he studied her. "But behavior doesn't lie, does it, Alice? Like you said, it's a factor in what I do."
Reality fragmented around her, the frustrating conversation slipping from her hold until she could no longer stay on topic.
The scraps of tissue fell to the floor when she answered, "I want to talk about the dreams."
A beat of silence, the clock ticking from the wall, the intervals of sound unevenly spaced. Had her mind shattered so much that even normal rhythm had been lost to her?
...drip...
"Fine. Let's talk about the dreams. We can come back to other topics at our next session."
He sighed.
"Tell me about the first dream, Alice. What do you remember?"
It was disorienting, the ephemeral glow of fractured light, filthy windows lining the top of a room, her exposed skin practically frozen against a floor as cold as ice. Blinking open her eyes, she watched the barren walls morph and bend around her, the ability to focus on any one thing stolen by her confusion.
Where am I? Alice thought, metal links clanging together as she lifted an arm to push the hair from her face; bracelets slapping against each other over her wrists.
Damp and dirty, the room was unfamiliar. A destitute place with crumbling plaster walls and a sickening stench of mildew and filth. Everything was out of focus, not one object settling within its own perimeter lines.
Pure panic flooding her heart, she opened her mouth to scream. The sound tore at her ears as much as her throat, an echo of her fear encompassing her in a room she'd never seen before.
"Scream all you want. Nobody will hear you. Although, I prefer that you stop." Calm, cool, collected. Not a worry in the world. Not a trace of the visceral terror that flooded Alice's veins.
Flinching in response to the deep timbered voice that responded, her eyes searched the myriad of shadows, but saw nothing that would explain the presence of another breathing body in the room. She screamed again, her mind reverting to primal instincts, a victim made helpless by chains.
Her throat was hoarse and raw, the sound of her voice dying off into a ragged burst of uncontrolled breath.
"Are you done? Or will you continue going until you pass out?"
He was amused, the humor evident in his eerily calm voice.
"Who -"
"Stop talking," he demanded, cutting off her question before she could ask it.