Prisoner 409

6. Prisoners Threaten -4 - O - 9

Trevor woke me up, via phone call at four a.m just to ask me where the towels were. When I asked him why he didn't just come up to my room, he said he didn't want to disturb me.

I had to admit that I much rather a gentle knock compared to the shrilling sound that was my ringtone.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt drained in every way and every thirty seconds, a sigh escaped my lips.

I pull on a red pencil skirt, with a black and white polka dot chiffon shirt and some red flats before heading for the kitchen. Trevor was already up, and he was shirtless again. This time, with the sun shining through the apartment, I got to see him clearly. His muscles contracted with every movement he made.

I clear my throat to avoid the thoughts in my mind, and he turns to face me. He gives me a small smile and I return it.

"You look exhausted," He says and I nod.

"I am," I admit, picking up my phone from the counter and he slides me a plate of eggs and butter toast.

"Take a day off then," He suggests.

"Thanks, but I can't. I haven't been with the practice that long."

"Do you like it?"

"I wanted to become a therapist, not exactly for criminals . . . it isn't that bad," I look down at my place, pushing the eggs around, "when I was in uni, my professor at the time told me that I wouldn't be able to be a certified therapist because I just wasn't fit to be one. I think he was a little right about that one."

Trevor doesn't say anything, but I can see his veins through his knuckles as his grip on the fork tightens.

"Do you remember his name?"

"Professor James Henderson," I stand, grabbing my bag, "I've gotta go or else I'll be late."

"Have a good day," he smiles, and I nod, returning the gesture.

"You as well."

#

I got fired.

When they called me in instead of just emailing me the client, I thought they just wanted to talk about the client, maybe try to apologize for his behaviour after I filed a complaint, however, I was dead wrong.

They actually fired me, and probably had another therapist just lined up to get traumatized by Denver. I wouldn't let it get to me, it was disappointing, but I wasn't sure what I expected.

While I had free time, I decided to spend it at a café. I thought, why do they call us therapists. The pronunciation is different, but it all comes down to the-rapist. Is it because we try to mind rape you into believing you're okay?

"Why is nothing going right?" I groan, dropping my head on the table. On the bright side, I haven't heard from Dain in at least two days. I wasn't sure if this was a good thing, it was very unlike him, and after the whole shower thing, I just hoped he wasn't planning anything.

"Hi there," I lift my head, and look right into a pair of blue eyes.

"Uh – hi," I smile politely, noticing his suited character.

"I'm Mark and It kinda looked like you were having a bad day. . so I ... I'm sorry I should just-"

"It's okay actually," I shift slightly, "would you like to have a seat?"

#

Trevor's POV

Sitting in the empty classroom, I swung left to right in the big, grey chair. My hands rubbed together as I waited patiently on the aged professor.