The Patient's Painkiller is a Psycholologist

Chapter 45

Identified Patient (IP). A term used to describe one family member in a dysfunctional or chaotic family background…

“Can you fix him?”

She gave birth young and got youth stolen away. He wanted a son, she didn’t.

“If he wasn’t like this we wouldn’t be arguing right now”

He was always busy working, returning late. She was suspicious he wasn’t loyal and was seeing other women.

“You’re so independent, well done”
“Our son doesn’t ask for anything, he’s so mature”
“All he does is study, I’m proud of him”

He lived for those compliments.

Mother was always too down or preoccupied with friends and spending money on making herself younger, afraid giving birth had made her husband less interested in her.
Father was working hard, always busy to get the bestest of things, to surround himself with money and success.

“This is all your fault”

One day, no one came…
The hand that often shooed his tiny one away when in public or the one that patted his head when saying “not right now” led him away and didn’t come back.

“What do you mean they’re dead?
Peter…do you think your parents-“

Opening his eyes was a mistake. With a low groan at the bright lights, Peter snuggled closer to the warmth nearby him, feeling the pounding of his head and the tugging on his hair.
Things were slightly blurry from the brightness and drowsiness and Peter found himself leaning towards the idea of just returning to sleep. His alarm didn’t wake him after all, that means he can sleep longer.

Wetness dripped on his forehead and Peter blinked awake at the weird sensation, a familiar mumbling voice above him made him look up at last.

There, layed around his head like a crown with a death grip on his hair, was Ellie, sleeping with an adorable frustrated expression all the while drooling on Peter’s forehead.

Well…Peter lightly patted her butt, trying to soothe her in her sleep as he accepted this was how his morning was going to go and simply closed his eyes once the girl’s expression softened into a peaceful one.

He drifted into a half sleep, aware of clicking and beeps, footsteps faraway and the opening of a door. He had been just dreaming about a dog before the dog began to make a high pitched sound that was steadily rising in volume and pitch- Worryingly, really. Peter was perturbed and forced his heavy lids open.

White lenses looked back at him.

Peter had to do a double take, the red mask foreign in the homey feel of Ellie’s hand in his hair and small foot resting on his cheek. Red mask was associated with white and work and-

“Good morning, Petey” Wade whispered, two hands resting on his cheek as he kept looking at him, lenses widening slightly as his hands came to squeeze his own cheeks together. It was as if he was looking upon something adorable-

Right. Ellie. Ellie is Wade’s daughter, father’s do that.

“Good morn-“ Peter tried, voice dry and cracking towards the ends. He could feel himself blush at the unprofessionalism of it and how much he sounded like a teen going through puberty.

“Hold on” Wade stood, gloved hand coming to pat Peter lightly before leaving the small room through curtains.

Oh… Peter is in the infirmary, he realized just as Miss Romanova and Wade returned. The man carried a cup of water handing it to Peter who awkwardly tried to sit up and failed miserably because there was a whole child holding onto his head.