chapter 4: The Shitty Doctor from Hell

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IV

The Shitty Doctor from Hell

Warning: strong language, mentions of suicide.

“I’m sorry,” She apologized for the thousandth time.

He rolled his green eyes. “I’ve already told you that it’s fine.” She was about to apologize again but he sighed dramatically, cutting her off. “Can we just forget about it?”

“No.” She tugged at the blanket Percy had wrapped tightly around himself. “Percy, we need to talk about this.”

“No offense, Thalia, but you’re one of the last people I’d ever talk to about something like this.”

“It’s unhealthy, and abnormal, and—”

“It doesn’t affect me in daily life.”

He could almost hear her indignation in the silence. “Percy, you can barely take a fucking bath. You had a nervous breakdown because you walked into a room. Are you really feeding me that bullshit right now?”

“Go to your own room, Thalia.”

“Do you have any other triggers I should know about?”

“I don’t have any—”

“Fine.” She stood, relieving a weight from the mattress. Her steps clacked as she left the bedroom. The door slammed shut behind her by no sheer accident.

Now that she was gone, Percy rolled out of the covers and finally kicked his shoes off. He was more tired than anything else now that the initial excitement had passed and his adrenaline supply depleted. And he still hadn’t taken a shower.

He froze at the sudden sound of his neighbor’s voice again, ready to leap back into the haven that was his bed at any given moment.

“Yes, he’s not giving any other hints…” She was saying in a formal tone. A few more words and he suddenly had a sickening feeling sink into the pit of his stomach.

Without thinking of the consequences he threw open the bedroom door and took two long strides in her direction, keeping the couch between them as a buffer. “Who are you talking to?” Her lips had frozen in place the second he’d entered and now, she was speechless for the first time he had ever seen. “Who are you talking to about me?”

“No one, Percy—” She still hadn’t hung up and he was this close to launching himself at her and throwing the device against a wall.

“Hang up, right now.”

“Alright, okay,” She slowly raised a thumb to the red dot on the touch screen and pressed it. Her other hand came up as well in an appeasing gesture, as if she were trying to calm down a trigger happy maniac. (He hated the analogy his brain had come up with.) “Calm down.”

“I told you to get out of my apartment.”

Now she was angry. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

“You do when you’re breaking the rules of common courtesy. Get out.”

“No.”

“Now.”

“No, Percy.”

He hated how she made him feel reduced to a pouty three year old, arguing back and forth over something stupid and getting nowhere. “Who were you talking to?”

She bit her cheek. “Your handler, Dr. D.”

He clenched his jaw. “Why?”

She looked really uncomfortable now. “He asked me to. Uh, give him updates on your moods.”

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