Lamb To The Slaughter ✔️

2

As I sit, I adjust the scarf that's around my neck. I fluff it carefully, watching my reflection in the desk in front of me's paperweight, making sure it covers all of the bruising around my neck. I tasted death for a moment, at the hands of Atlantic Sinclair. 

My boss shuts the door to his office as he enters, rounding the desk and taking a seat arcross from me. I sit with crossed legs and a smile, my hands clasped over my knees. 

"What's this meeting about, Mr. Sanchez?" I question cluelessly, although I know it's about a certain 6 foot 5 man with black hair and dark eyes. 

He narrows his eyes at me as he leans back in his chair, making it creak. 

"You are not a dumb girl, Aria," he states while raising his eyebrows. "So do not play dumb."

If it didn't hurt to, I'd probably take a gulp. I adjust the scarf again. 

He leans forward, placing his elbows against the desk. He gives me a mixed expression - I'm able to pick up on the disappointment, the anger, and even the fear. 

"You were not authorized to go and see him that day," he says sternly. "Three guards are dead, Aria. This is not a game. Atlantic Sinclair is not a project that you can fix, you put people at risk, including yourself. And need I remind you that you're still in residency?"

I roll my eyes and look away for a moment. But he is quick to call this out.

"Do not roll your eyes," he orders. I look back at him, and we stare at each other for a moment. He then sighs, and his demeanour changes to less angry. "You're selfless. Good at what you do. You're one of the best psychiatrists New York has ever seen, Aria."

"So, this is going to be a warning," he continues. "You are one of the most promising employees I've ever had. I can see that all you want to do, is to do good."

I adjust my scarf again. The room falls silent besides the clock.

"I do," I nod and slightly whisper. "I want to do good."

"I know," he nods. "Which is why this will just be a warning. Do not go back to see Atlantic Sinclair again - because if he were to get out....."

His voice trails off. I see behind his eyes the sadness that forms thinking about it. I nod empathetically. 

"I know, Mr. Sanchez," I say gently. "I understand how hard it was for you losing your wife in that hospital."

Watching his face, it's like he relives when he found out. Hurt flashes across his face. The whites of his eyes turn glossy. But quickly, he clears his throat, trying to move on from the moment of vulnerability. 

"Thank you for coming in, Aria," he says while forcing a fake smile. "You may go now."

I press my hands against the armrests and push myself to my feet. I give him a smile before exiting the room, shutting the door behind me once I step out.

My exit is to my left, but I don't move right away. I stand still. I look over to the right, in the direction that Atlantic's room is in. A memory of the live news I had watched flashes in my head.

"Atlantic Sinclair is a monster," the news reporter almost cries, dark flames burning in the background, making the hospital fall brick by brick. "He set this building on fire - he's killing innocent people."

I stand in front of my TV, lips parted and eyes darting around while watching the flames. 

I force a harsh blink and shake my head. I turn my body away from his direction and continue leaving the hospital.