- 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 -
"It's knowing that this can't go on forever... likely one of us will have to spend some days alone."
In the three years since Hunter Callahan had joined firehouse 118, she had found a family that no matter how hard she tri...
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LET YOU DOWN chapter thirty seven
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HUNTER CALLAHAN WAS A stubborn son of a bitch. Well, daughter of a bitch if someone was being technical. She sat slumped down on the cloth of the couch with her arms crossed and legs stretched out.
"It's been twenty minutes..." the man, the doctor, trailed off, "and all you have said is that you aren't particularly fond of me."
"Would you rather me lie?" She asked, finally speaking to the man. Doctor Bailey, he had introduced himself as. Hunter shifted, leaning forward as she rested her elbows on the knees and stared him in the eyes. "Listen, doc, I don't wanna be in this fucking hell hole— I'm only here to keep my job."
The therapist had met many reluctant patients belfry but Hunter made his brain tick in a new way. She was odd, never breaking eye contact as she silently read everything about him from his body language but he could not do the same to her. Doctor Bailey did not like that as he was normally the one that interpreted the slight movements of people and for once he was unable to do so.
He nodded his head, "so I've been told," he acknowledged, trying to hide a frustrated sigh, "anything you say to me can't leave this room if that's what you're worried about."
"I don't worry," Hunter deadpanned. It was a lie. She worried far more often than she had in the past. The blonde hardly slept through the night and the makeup covered bags under her eyes would prove it. Previously, she would have a flashback every once in awhile while sleeping and she'd find herself waking up in a terror of night sweat and an itch to hold a gun close to her in safety. But now it was worse, she'd have the fits of sweat and memories while awake— walking down the street or even just minuscule sounds, "life is what it is."
"No paranoia or anxiety?" The doctor asked for clarification.
Hunter shrugged, "Less than you experience."
The doctor swallowed hard, pursing his lips at her low blow. It frustrated him when he wasn't able to bait a patient into even just a tiny slip of information to begin a build of trust. But then again, he had never worked with a decorated and cold marine gunnery Sargent before. He could tell simple things about her; she was a fighter, undiagnosed post traumatic stress disorder (and not just from recent events), and she was far too skilled at bottling up her emotions for her own good.
