𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

XV

Henry's pov
"My diagnosis is that you have cynical depression, Henry. Not to mention our questions were met with arrogant, bored and manipulative responses. This could potentially tie into Narcissistic personality disorder and other attributes that tie into sociopathic tendencies. This is before we even mention the nicotine and alcohol addiction. Don't you care?" The doctor tells me.

"My IQ doubles yours," I said, already bored. "Whatever assumptions you make of my character; assume you will always be wrong."

The doctor sighed. "You're uncooperative, defiant, hostile and aggressive."

"I'm also a prick, an asshole, a conceited arrogant son of a bitch." I said, giving him a smile. "Don't forget those."

"You think you're so much better than everyone else." The doctor gathered, standing up.

"Yes," Well, almost everyone. "I think the human race has a chronic case of idiocy."

"And yet, you hurt yourself?" He watches me by the door closely. "You have narcissistic tendencies, and yet, you absolutely hate yourself from what I've evaluated." He quiets, "The scars, Henry? The ones all over your body."

It takes a while for me to reply. "Those were accidents."

"All two hundred of them?" He asks, and before I can come up with a defense, he continues. "And what of the scars I can't see? What of the intake of alcohol? Your sobriety here is killing you so much because we estimate a high dependency on it on an everyday basis. You act more sober when you're drunk, and act more drunk when sober. It shouldn't be like that."

I'm tempted to throw a book at him, but I can't bring myself to care enough of what he's saying to do so. I refuse to answer any question or comment he's thrown my way, and he eventually leaves.
—--

"Would you two please quit bickering?" The counselor asks for the second time. She sighs at Jane and I, and gets back to the discussion board. Jane and I thought it best to make the staff believe we hated each other. Something we were amazing at doing, considering our decade of resentment and rivalry.

Dumbass, Jane mouths.
At her glare, I grin.
Heiress, I mouth back.
And though the nickname started out as an insult, its impact of it has seemed to have worn off.

"The person next to you is your partner!" The nurse said too enthusiastically. "You will each be given a piece of paper to fill out and a pencil–please don't hurt yourself with it!-and with that, you will write down the answers to the questions so everyone can get more familiar with one another."

My partner was Jane, and I already knew everything about her. Jane looked annoyed, and though the constant interrogation of my scars and non-stop diagnosis about my characteristics annoyed me on end, I couldn't help but treat this as a small vacation. Xander was taking care of the business work my father makes me do, and since being here he hasn't been on my ass about killing the competition. It felt almost relaxing. Almost.

Jane and I wrote down our answers faster than anyone else, and I tried multiple times to check her paper but she wouldn't let me. We barely paid attention as the other patients answered, and then it was our turn. "Henry, what is Janes favorite color?"

"Red, the color of the pig's blood she drinks." I say nonchalantly, and Jane kicks me under the table.

"Jane, what is Henry's favorite color?"

"Black, like his soul." She answers, but feigns confusion. "Oh, wait. You don't have one, nor do you have a heart."

The counselor tries to intervene, but I reply faster. "You wound me, I do have a heart." And .then mouthed, Careful, they might think we're flirting.