"Mrs Beckham?" The psychologist, Doctor Peter Ellis asked softly, as he looked at Lorna quietly, looking down at his folder. "Do you care to retell your story?"
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Lorna sighed softly and asked. "What makes you think I'd tell you the truth?" "I don't expect you too," Peter told her as he sat back.
Lorna raised an eyebrow at that, and sat back, just watching him. "Oh really?" "I don't want you to tell me the truth," Peter shrugged slightly. Lorna frowned as she sat back watching him, tilting her head slightly. "Hmm, I won't be telling you Dearest, it's something that deserves to be locked away, and never opened."
Peter watched her quietly tapping his cheek slowly with his pen, his eyes searching Lorna's blank face. "He really did teach you well."
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"What?" Lorna asked raising an eyebrow. "Samuel Clay, he did a good job," he mused. Lorna felt a worm of doubt touch her and asked. "What makes you think that?"
"Your face, no glimmer of emotions, yet your an emotional mess, your eyes are proud, and confident, but inside your broken, you claim none of it never hurt you, but every once and a while you disappear off the radar, to release that pain, you find people to just give you that affection you crave for and try to warn them about what you do, so you pretend to love them, like you were taught, and so they don't get hurt, but soon enough you'll grow tired of them, and break them in two."
Lorna looked at him keeping the small smirk on her face, and sipped her drink, he knew everything, her heart was racing with that terror, but she just leant forward and purred. "I do a good job don't I?" "Very good job," he sneered. "Samuel would be very proud of you."
Lorna felt herself relaxing into this, and shrugged slightly. "I'm not doing this for him." "I know," he nodded slowly.
