shattered | f.w, d.m

eleven

Keziah.

December, 1997.

—

"Keziah, I'm going to ask you a question you never actually gave me an answer to." Ishaan Lal's dark eyes observed her from where he sat in the black velvet armchair across from her.

"Alright." She nodded and crossed her legs in the matching armchair she sat in.

He waited a beat before he asked, "How did it feel when your parents abandoned you?"

"How did it feel when your girlfriend of six years left you?" she retorted thinly with a straight face.

His head tilted to the side, patient.

She stared back at him, pleasant and calm.

They sat in his office at Crescent House, where she usually had her sessions. Every Sunday and Wednesday at eleven-forty on the dot.

"Keziah." The warning was soft and patient in his tone. He rested his ankle on the opposite knee, notebook in his lap and pen in hand.

"Ishaan."

"Can you answer the question?" His voice was silky smooth, but sonorously deep.

"I don't know. Can I?"

He stared at her without an ounce of irritation or impatience set in his expression.

"I had chicken wings at the pub before I came here," she told him with a smile, winding the wire of her walkman around her finger. "Like usual. I saw Trey. We talked about how he thinks his cat is trying to burn the house down."

"Oh yeah?" he said indulgently. "And what flavour wings did you get? Same one or different?"

"Garlic parmesan, always." She nodded proudly. "I couldn't finish it though. I didn't want to be late for our session."

"Our session in which you have not answered a single question of mine." His eyebrows arched up in confirmation.

"Yep. That's the one."

"Keziah, you know you can't avoid the subject forever," Ishaan said gently, never taking his eyes off her.

"But I can push it back."

"Like you have for the last four years?"

"Let's make it five."

"Or you can try and speak about it, perhaps."

She fell silent and she looked away from him. Her eyes danced around his office, which was very professional.

He had bookshelves that reached from the ceiling to the floor as the wall behind his desk. Everything in his office was dark mahogany, including the wooden panels he had for walls.

He had elegant lamps and chairs, and a wooden coat rack by the door. All of his supplies were expensive and sat beautifully on the surface of his large desk. There was a window next to his desk that looked out into the back of Crescent House.

He had his name plaque on his desk as well. Shiny and gold. The sun reflected against it through the window by his desk. Dr. Ishaan Lal.

"Keziah, can I ask you the question again?" Ishaan's voice turned her gaze back to him.

"Okay, but I won't answer it."

"Why not?" His brows furrowed together softly, looking all professional in his expensive navy blue suit that covered the sleeve of tattoos he had along both of his muscled.