It looked like Dan was right. Working with another therapist was a living nightmare, especially when it was the likes of Weston Moore. While Dan was normally barely on time himself, Weston would always arrive early, even if it meant waiting until the secretary showed up to unlock the building. Dan would try to enter his room unnoticed in the mornings, but Weston kept his office door open when he wasn't partaking in patient sessions which made going unseen nearly impossible for Dan.
Dan was free from Weston until the office's lunch hour arrived. Weston would cross over into Dan's office, bringing his own lunch over before properly asking Dan if he was allowed to join in. Dan wasn't one to say no, even if he really and honestly didn't want to have lunch with Weston. Elaine soon claimed that, judging by what Dan would tell her after work, Weston obviously looked up to Dan.
"I knew he'd be perfect for you when I spoke with him over the phone. He even read your book!"
"I'd fire him if we didn't need the money."
"He can't be that bad…"
To Dan at the time, he was that bad. For well over a month Dan had put up with Weston, and it pitied him to recognize that before Weston showed up he had hardly put much effort into his job. Weston was fantastic at gathering new patients for himself, assuring his work schedule was full. He was popular among clients, much more so than Dan, if not only for his easygoing and fun attitude. Dan was uptight, old and boring in comparison to Weston. Dan struggled to keep up, and his appearance improved as a result.
One Thursday morning Dan decided to go as far as to wear a suit and tie into his office. The day previous, Weston had once more managed another patient. The patient had signed up for 3 months of appointments, to Dan's dismay. It meant that Weston would be guaranteed that patient for 3 months, which was money on his part. As for Dan, he hadn't managed any new patients since Weston started working with him. It was beginning to irritate him, but as he stared his thin-haired reflection back, he wasn't sure what irritated him more; having no patients or wearing that God awful suit.
His lack of time caused him to dismiss the idea of changing outfits before leaving, and so within moments he had taken off for work. He drove slower than usual on his way there, most likely because of the stiff feeling the suit gave to his arms. It was well past 8 when he arrived to his office. He stopped to talk with the secretary, hoping to find that new patients had called in the day previous. Nobody had called in.
Dan rounded into the hallway, glaring down at his bright red tie as he attempted to loosen it from the tight grip it held on his neck. He opened the door to his office, avoiding meeting eyes with Weston, who was sitting at the desk of his own office flipping through a textbook of some kind. Dan heard Weston getting up from his desk before the door closed behind him. He heaved a sigh as he sat down at his desk, and within moments Weston too had entered, a smile plastered across his pleasantly young face.
"Daniel! Good morning! Did you sleep well?"
No. I never do, so stop asking me every damned morning.
Dan would have loved to speak his mind, but his thoughts towards Weston were always much too hostile to speak aloud. Instead of the truth, he spewed out something quite generic. "Yeah, slept great."
"Good, me too!" He straightened out his dark framed glasses as he edged towards the bookshelf sitting at the end of the room, seemingly looking for something particular as he eyed the titles on the bindings. "Actually, I'd been meaning to ask you something. I had another session with that Emily yesterday—you know, the wife from that couple you work with?"
"Oh, yeah." Dan's tired eyes were on the computer that sat on his desk, scrolling through his endless list of unread emails.
"Welllll…she told me you recommended her going to one of the psychiatrists across the street."
"Yeah." Dan said flatly, eyes still on the computer screen.
"And y'know…after just a few sessions, I can see why…" He smiled broadly, glancing over to Dan before pulling a book from the shelf.
"Yeah."
"Oh come off it, Dan!" He opened the psychiatric textbook he had chosen, flipping around as he responded. "What'd you diagnose her with? Lay it on me!"
"Figure it out for yourself."
Weston held the book open to his chest, looking onto Dan as if he had said something whimsical rather than irritable. His dark brown eyes widened in excitement at the challenge his mentor had assigned him. He closed the book and emitted pride as he said "Y'don't mind if I borrow this for today, do you? My textbook's one of the older editions."
Dan didn't see the book Weston wanted, agreeing only so that Weston would leave. "Yeah, sure, go ahead."
And so with that, Weston Moore left, and Dan was free from him all morning. Dan had only 3 patients scheduled for appointments that morning, and luckily for Dan, they went by in the blink of an eye. It used to give Dan a sense of accomplishment to see his patients doing better than when they first arrived, yet now he could care less of their fate. He would go about his therapeutic methods with little tactic, as if a standard run-of-the-mill encyclopedia himself, without bothering to rack his mind as he used to do to find new and unique methods.
Dan always had free time in the mornings, given his lack of patients. He would often let his mind wander until the clock struck noon, and that day he was following the same procedure until Weston suddenly appeared, slamming Dan's door open with excitement. Dan jumped in surprise, nearly falling out of his chair before shooting a hazel eyed glare Weston's way. "What the hell—"
"Daniel!" He shouted gleefully. "Daniel, you've gotta join me for lunch today!"
"Join you?"
"Yeah! There's this great looking restaurant a few blocks down and their lunch menu is half off today!"
"Oh. Fantastic. I've got lunch in the fridge though, thanks."
"It's my treat!"
"I've got lunch in the fridge."
"I'll drive, how about it?"
Dan frowned as Weston walked to his desk and placed the textbook he had earlier borrowed onto his desk. "Thanks for this, by the way. It's much better than my outdated one!"
"I buy the new issues as they're released." He said with disinterest as he pulled the book towards him, examining it for any damage Weston may have obliviously caused it.
"I'll bet! I noticed that you'd written a lot of notes along most of the chapters…pretty insightful, you know. Have you ever considered writing another book, maybe?"
"Nope." Dan said passively, almost childishly.
"You should, though! Oh, and I didn't know you could write in another language…" Weston grinned a little at his own joke, which Dan didn't understand in the least.
"Was that a jab at my ghastly handwriting?"
"No, no! I wouldn't, it was just…oh, never mind it. Are you sure you don't want to join me? Really, it's my treat!"
Dan thought to disagree, but memory of his morning came trickling back to his mind before he opened his mouth to reject the invitation. Within minutes after agreeing the two were in the parking lot, heading for Weston's alleged "chick magnet" of a car. Weston was several paces ahead of Dan, swinging his set of keys on his index finger by their key ring. He was skipping along out of joy that Dan had decided to accept the invitation, leaving Dan to look rather gloomy in his wake.
As the two reached Weston's car, a beat up and old looking Ford, it became clear that Weston had been kidding about it attracting anyone of the sort. They settled into the car. Dan felt relaxed after buckling up, watching Weston flip through his CD collection for an album worthy of their short drive. Dan had been previously positive that Weston was the type who never shut up no matter the situation, but now he was surprised to find that Weston became completely silent as the music he chose began to play.
The catchy tune that blared through the car was suiting of Weston's tastes. Weston seemed engulfed in the song, smiling widely as he watched the road ahead. Soon, with an overwhelming sensation of anxiety, Dan noticed that Weston had turned on to the main roads. He squinted, hoping that the sight of the ever-familiar road was all in his mind. After finding that it wasn't his imagination, Dan managed to calmly say, "Why don't we drive down the back roads? It's pretty nice out today, after all…"
Dan let the last of his words emit an uneasy tone. Weston looked happier than before, as if recognizing some sort of friendship between the two with Dan's suggestion. "You're right; it's just great out today! Though, I really don't have time to take the back roads…y'know, got a patient to see at 1…"
He felt foolish for even asking Weston to drive the back roads; he had known that the restaurant in question wasn't that far down, as Weston had earlier claimed. Dan did his best to stay distracted. At first he had let his eyes examine the world outside the passenger seat window, nervously fiddling with his bangs. His chest was tightening, making it difficult to catch his breath properly, which he was doing his best to ignore. The cars that roared past them along the street only seemed to get closer and closer and closer….
Abnormal scenes began to flash through Dan's mind; particularly of them crashing. At first there was the thought that Weston himself would make a mistake, swerving violently into another. Then, there was the idea (which seemed much more plausible at the time) that someone else would be the one to slam into them. He let his eyes hide in the safety of his hand for some minutes, and the music that Weston had been playing grew nearly nonexistent. The thought of death had him panicked. He couldn't die there like that, out of the blue—there was no way that Elaine would take it well.
Even though they had almost reached their destination, Dan could not stop envisioning a crash in his mind. As he brought his face from his hand, eyes meeting the road ahead, he saw that Weston was slowing down as the red light ahead of them was demanding. Weston noticed Dan, and after looking him up and down, he exclaimed, "Jeez, Dan! You look pale! You okay? You're not car sick or something, are you?"
Dan couldn't answer. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but more so that the lump in his throat had expanded, and he was positive speaking was beyond him. Weston's eyes did not avert from Dan, and moments later the car halted to a complete stop. As it finally did so, Dan didn't stop to think. He simply moved with haste, unbuckling himself from the seat-belt that restrained him, opening the car door to exit it.
"Dan, what are you—Dan, wait!"
Weston was dumbfounded as he watched Dan leave the car and walk down the road in the opposite direction of traffic. He loomed along the sides of the cars until he reached the sidewalk, completely unaware that those stopped at the red light were watching him in confusion. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his polyester suit, struggling still to fill his lungs entirely with air. Although he was free from the vehicle that had been destined to wind up as his coffin, he could not shake the feeling of distress and impending death that had warped its way around his brain.
"Dan!" The shrill sound of Weston snapped Dan awake, and he looked over to see that Weston had brought his car to Dan's side, driving at a speed slow enough to match Dan's pace. He had the window to the passenger seat down so that Dan was able to hear him, and he had since turned off his favorite album, leaving the car void of any noise besides what was produced from Weston's voice. Their eyes met for some seconds before Dan broke away, looking ahead of him once more.
"Hey, buddy…" Weston had lowered his volume, as if speaking with a child. "Where are you headed?"
Dan gave no reply. Weston pursed his lips a little and attempted again. "If you wanted to go back to the office, you could have just said so. Why don't you hop in and we'll head back?"
"Fuck off, Moore!"
"Let's not be hostile, Dan! What's wrong?"
"You! Now get out of my face!"
"Come on—let me drive you back, I can't leave you like this."
"I'm not getting in that piece of shit again! You're going to get us killed!"
"Killed? What in the world would make you think that? I was driving the speed limit, wasn't I?"
"I can't die, you don't understand! I can't leave Elaine alone!"
"Elaine—your assistant?"
"My wife, you dumbass!"
"Wait, wait, what? She said she was your assistant over the phone!"
"Stop following me!"
Weston did not respond nor did he obey Dan's desperate request. He continued to sloth alongside Dan, and the drivers within Weston's lane became agitated. They would occasionally honk or veer angrily around Weston, which only nerved Dan further. At last he halted, and Weston pressed the breaks as he did so, knowing well that Dan would return to the car to escape further humiliation. Weston wore a peaceful sort of smile, glancing Dan's way, assuring his seat-belt was buckled before driving off.
Without Weston's favorite album playing, the silence immersed the car and became unbearable to Dan. Weston had turned around and was heading back for their office. Minutes passed and Dan felt himself calming; the tightness in his chest had vanished and he could breathe normally once more. As relaxed as he was, he still felt the silence cutting his skin as he realized, with shame, what he had let Weston see. He scratched his scalp and mumbled, "Um…sorry about…that."
Weston laughed a bit and shrugged in return, and his carefree expression resurfaced once more. "Don't worry about it. I didn't expect you'd be the type to suffer from panic attacks...I guess I'm not that great at this psychology thing…."
Daniel Phillips didn't remember exactly when it had started, but for nearly all his life he had been prone to such random attacks. Before meeting Elaine he had to deal with his panic attacks alone, and he hardly knew how to handle them. As much as he knew about such attacks and how to deal with them, he was never able to apply his knowledge once an attack hit him. All his logic was tossed aside as he fretted over a nonexistent approaching death. Other symptoms accompanied this, overcoming him; he could never quite breathe right, his heart would pound aggressively against his chest, he would sweat and his skin would grow pale and cold. He always felt ashamed afterwards, as if he had some kind of control over their occurrences in the first place. Dan did his best to hide his condition, for to him it was nothing but mockery. He hated to confess that the attacks had been getting more frequent. Seeing a psychiatrist was out of the question, even if Elaine begged him to do so.
Dan wondered if he had lost Weston's respect. Weston was oddly enough completely quiet the rest of the drive. Even upon returning, he didn't say much to Dan before departing to the lobby just in time to meet his next patient. It wasn't until the end of the day that the two spoke again. Dan had been heading for the lobby to see his last patient out, and as he did so, Weston caught him as he was leaving the lobby himself, having just bid farewell to a patient of his own. "Oh, Dan, you have a guest waiting."
After his patient left, Dan greeted his ever familiar guest. It was one of the psychiatrists from across the street, and the same one Dan recommended to all his patients. Her name was Carly Simmons, and even though she didn't stop by that often, Dan was fond of her and recognized her talent. Without a doubt she belonged with the psychiatrists across the street; that group was renowned for having the best therapists in the city working there. Dan led Carly down the hall and to his office; Carly was a year younger than Dan and had a dark tan color to her skin, and deep brown hair that rested in soft curls at her shoulders. She was tall—almost as tall as Dan, a fact that always intrigued him, for he was so used to Elaine's short heighted-ness.
As he held the door open for her, he saw Weston at his own desk across the hall from them, peaking up from whatever it was he had been writing. They entered and Dan sat at his desk, eyes lingering with annoyance to the door that had just shut behind them. Feeling rather clueless, Carly inquired "Dan, what are you staring at?"
"The door."
"That was your new coworker across the hall, wasn't it? They've been talking about him at my office and I don't know why."
"5, 4, 3, 2—"
"Daniel! Hey, Dan!" Before Dan could get to 1, the door to the room burst open with Weston on the other side. He waved happily at the two and quickly looked to Dan, shouting "Dan, I figured it out! I figured out Emily!"
"Really now…"
"Don't write me off, Dan!"
"Is that what I was doing?"
"Oh wow, he's pretty young, huh?" Carly spoke offhandedly to Dan as if Weston was deaf. Weston straightened out his tie and swept aside his somewhat sloppy bangs, sprucing up as best he could as fast as possible. "Hey there! You must be that Simmons I hear so much about…I believe I read an article about you before."
"It's possible…" She looked uncertain. "So you're the new guy?"
"That's right, Weston Moore, pleasure! Though, you know how it ends up going with me…everyone always wants Moore Weston."
"…Are you screwing with me right now?"
"Well, no, but if you wanna then I'm all for it…"
"Weston, please leave," Dan spoke gruffly over the sound of Carly's laughter.
"Classic! Where'd you get this guy, Dan?"
"Please Carly, don't instigate him. What did you want to show me?"
Weston jumped a little as he watched Carly hand a patient's file to Dan. Such an event only meant one thing and he knew he shouldn't have been there if they were to begin discussing a patient transfer. Dan began to flip through it immediately as it grazed his fingers. Weston was about to leave, but Carly Simmons stopped him from doing so, summoning him over to look at the file as well. He focused intently on what information he could make out from behind Dan's shoulder as Dan quickly flipped through it. Dan spent most of his time eyeing the questionnaires that were stapled together into a small packet within the folder. They contained straightforward questions that would often dwell deeper than any person would like, and the patient had answered them accordingly.
"So this patient's a woman, right?" Weston frowned as he straightened his black framed glasses.
"Yeah," Carly nodded.
"Poor thing, her boyfriend broke up with her! She seems awfully upset about it…"
"So, what do you think then, new guy?"
"Moore, it's Moore. I'd say depression for sure, although…" Weston paused. "It's hard to tell from a questionnaire alone."
"I don't know about that…I'd say a good therapist can tell a lot from just a little…Dan, what do you think?"
Dan shrugged, lowering it from his view to place it open on his desk, eyes brimming thoughtfully. "Depression…but there's something else there, I think…"
"And that is why I'm giving this patient to you. She's already agreed to the transfer."
"Handing her over just like that?"
"I've got too much to deal with right now and I think you could do her some good. You're interested, aren't you?"
And of course he was, and he knew well he would benefit from a new patient. He closed the folder and asked to be forwarded the scheduled date that the patient had since set up. Weston began to praise Dan extensively about his so-called talent, and Carly (having read Dan's book) thought the same. She said goodbye to Dan and wished him luck, taking her leave with Weston on her back calling to her "Wait, let me show you out! I insist!"
After their departure, Dan noticed the textbook Weston had borrowed earlier in the day, which was taunting him from the end of his desk. Weston's earlier comment came to his mind about how he should compile another book. He hadn't looked over his notes within the textbook in some time, nor had he even finished going through all the chapters in it. He moved his new patient file aside to make room for the big textbook. working through it.
His notes often referenced old patients and things he had come to notice about them. There were columns listed to the side where he would detail his patients' odd quirks that pointed to particular disorders. Looking it over then made him wonder why he had lost interest in completing it, momentarily forgetting that it was because he had lost interest in everything else over the passing months. There were a total of 6 textbooks entirely filled that Dan had been purchasing as they were updated yearly, adding to what would eventually become research for his next book.
There was a sudden desire within him to finish what he started now that it had been refreshed in his mind; he smiled as he worked his way to his stopping point which wound up being somewhere in chapter 11. He saw where his handwriting ended and it must have been the last thing he'd written. Though afterwards, right as his own handwriting ended, there was linked to it someone's writing. That is, if you could even call it writing….
The curls of differing proportions sprawled across several pages, and not one bit of it was legible. At first glance, he recognized the handwriting, though he did not think the scribbles would ever wind up in his textbook of all places. Since their son Dustin had first held a crayon he had had a powerful desire to make his mark on everything that he considered mark-able, which included the walls of his room. Dan was able to picture the scenario with ease: without letting himself get caught, the child had chosen Dan's research as his next target, and from the looks of it he had only been trying to imitate his father's hard work.
Oh, and I didn't know you could write in another language…
So this was what Weston had been referring to! Did Weston wonder what the mess of writing could be? No, no—more than likely not. It wasn't as if it was unusual for a man of Dan's age to have a child young enough to scribble illegibly everywhere as he pleased. Remembering Dustin was pleasant and Dan could not deny that. However, it became distasteful when he realized that all the child would ever be was a memory. As he shut the textbook at last, he decided instead that it wouldn't hurt to put off its completion for an indefinite period of time.
Gender:
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