Doe Eyes ✧ Gotham [1] #Wattys2019

chapter thirteen

PLEASE KEEP COMMENTING YOUR REACTIONS TO THINGS THAT HAPPEN DURING THE CHAPTER AND JUST THE CHAPTER IN GENERAL

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              "So Jane, how are you today?"

Jane sat in a cold metal chair in the therapist's office. Dr. Johnson was his name, and he sat right across from her in a similar chair, a notebook and pen in his hand to write notes down and his glasses tipping at the edge of his nose. Dr. Johnson was a young man - maybe around his mid-30's - and seemed nice enough for his job - working with criminal crazies.

On the topic of how she was, Jane was unsure how to answer. She didn't know how she was. She had been locked in this prison for only three days now, but it felt like eternity. Jane felt herself getting worse and starting to become more and more like the people surrounding her.

She felt herself pausing for too long, so she nodded and answered. "I'm doing alright, I guess." She was nervous how this was going to go. This was her first therapy session. She didn't know what to expect.

Dr. Johnson nodded. "That's good." He leaned forward and gave her a smile. "Listen, Jane, I just want to talk. That's all therapy is. Just talking and getting to know you so we can help you." Jane nodded. The man's voice was so soft and calm.

That's sweet that he thinks he can help you.

Let's kill him next.

You're irredeemable. 

You have too much blood on your hands for you to go back to normal. 

"What has brought you here to Arkham, Jane?" The man knew what she did; everyone in here knew. He just wanted her to admit it to herself one more time. 

Jane looked down, feelings of sadness and disappointment flooding in. "I killed fourteen people." She spoke softly. What she did still bothered her. She deserved to be here. She's a murderer.

"Why did you kill all of those people Jane?"

Jane's anxiety started to rise thinking about it.

Because you wanted to.

Because you're a sick person.

Because you're more crazier than you ever thought.

Jane's voice was soft. "I-I didn't mean to, I swear. I didn't think it was real. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me."

The man's voice was deep in thought. "I see." Jane could hear his pen writing on the notebook. The man wrote loudly. There was a pause. "Who is it you see? Who made you do it?"

"T-The voices... I don't know who they are but there's a couple of them." She looked while fidgeting with her hands. "Visually... I see my brother... Jerome. He died almost two months ago."

"When did they start?"

"Right after he died." She took a deep breath. "He wasn't the best person when he was alive."

More writing. More long pauses. Jane didn't like talking about her life. It made her feel worse about herself - made her realize how fucked up her life truly was. 

"What do they say to you when you see them? Did they tell you how to kill all of those people?" Dr. Johnson continued speaking very softly. It was starting to creep Jane out. Did this guy not have any emotions?

"N-No, not exactly." She took a moment. "They like to taunt me - lower my self esteem, tell me I'm nothing and then tell me to unlock my true potential." Jane felt ridiculous telling him that. True Potential... what did that even mean? She listened to the voices, and she still had no idea what that meant. She looked back down at her hands that laid in her lap. "They like to remind me that they're the ones in control."

More writing. Jane wasn't sure whether to continue talking or not. What was he even writing down? 

Probably how crazy you are and how you are worse than any of the other criminals in here.

He can't fix you. No one can.

After another painful moment, Dr. Johnson finally looked up from his notepad. "That'll be it with our session today, Jane. We'll meet again in a few days."

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Therapy was a bust. Jane didn't feel any better after it, and she doubted that she would ever. At least she had an actual diagnose now: Schizophrenia with paranoid tendencies. It was official now and Jane didn't know how to feel. She always knew she had it after she did her own research. But now a professional diagnosed her with it. That made it real. 

Jane slowly walked into the community area, feeling more depressed than before. The bars closed shut behind her and she jumped, still not used to it.

The guard laughed. "Still scared of it psycho?"

That took Jane by surprise. It happened. The first time someone actually called her a psycho. No one had ever actually called her it all this time. The voices and Jerome were right. She was a psycho. 

She continued the journey to her little corner all by herself, not wanting to socialize with anyone. No one had tried to talk her yet but they had been staring at her. Jane didn't mind the stares as long as they didn't say anything to her.

As she sat down, she mindlessly stared in front of her, ignoring all the screams the other inmates were making. A couple of them were in the middle of a brawl and they gathered quite a crowd. What they were fighting about - Jane had no clue, nor did she care. 

Jerome appeared in front of her, looking at the fight. He was making "ooohs" and "ahhhs", playing up the whole fight thing. He then turned to her. "Not interested in the fight, Janey?"

The name made Jane flinch unintentionally. It didn't go unnoticed by her brother. "No. I'm not. The less social interaction I get, the better I'll be."

Jerome pouted. "You're no fun. I wanna see you try to talk to them. Maybe you'll draw some inspiration from the way they killed their victims." Jane ignored that comment. She was done killing. How many more times did she have to say it?

"Ah, I see how it is." He rested his elbows on the table and put his knuckles under his chin as he pouted at her. "You're still all sad because of what you were talking about with that therapist. Bring back bad memories?"

Jane glared at him. "Shut up." Jerome smiled at her with satisfaction. "I'm fine. I just don't like being in here. I want out."

He rolled his eyes. "Well get over it. You're stuck in here and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it."

Jane looked over at the crowd of fighting. This chaos was what she would be surrounded by for the rest of her life. She belonged here. She should be over there, in the fight, watching, whatever - get involved in the chaos. 

Jane frowned. Why was she thinking this? Who was she? Why did she want that?