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"Mr. Cason," The psychiatrist was a young woman, with a long bob and bright red glasses that didn't bother to read the manilla folder in front of her. The desk was a little messy with papers and shit everywhere, that distracted Gaige, but then again, Gaige was alone with someone without Corey behind his back for the first time all day so he was living in freedom, "I've heard some various things about you."

Gaige let out one single airy chuckle and kept assessing the weird abstract art on the wall. 

The psychiatrist formed a lazy smile on her face, and clicked her overly priced pen, "Humorous? Should I find it amusing too? Or would you be offended?" Gaige rolled his head back to the woman -Dr.Prenze- lifted an eyebrow and shrugged, "This is one of the things I have been warned about, your little reluctance to talk unless you feel absolutely necessary," She clicked her pen once and pointed it at Gaige, "And you can keep doing that out there for all I care -right now. But once you get in here, you're going to talk, alright? Or this whole thing isn't going to work and you're going to be stuck here long and we both know you don't want that," Gaige's eyebrows drew together, his lips pulling down. 

"What if I have nothing to say?" Gaige pulled the hair out of his eyes and scratched behind his ear. 

Dr. Prenze was already pleased, grinning, "I'm sure you can find something to say. Back on topic, I've heard various things about you. But I want to hear about you -from you. So," She leaned back in her wheeled chair, crossing her arms over her blazer, "What makes Gaige Carson, well, Gaige Carson?"

Gaige leaned back in his seat too. Wanted to hear about him? Shit, that was asking for trouble. Gaige's mind wandered to all the hours talking about himself to Adonis and his camera. 

But that was over. And now Gaige was locked up in a psych ward with a woman who thought she wanted to hear about his boys sob story to figure out why he was so fucked up -but jokes on her. He didn't have a reason. 

Gaige rubbed the scruff that was overtaking his chin, staring at one of the wall art that just looked like swipes of paint and random circles. 

"Whatever they told you," Gaige kept his head facing the art, but rolled his eyes towards Dr. Prenze, "Is probably true."

She shrugged, clicked her pen again, "Maybe. Maybe not. But whatever they told me, doesn't come with your perspective. And your perspective is going to make this whole thing a whole lot easier," Gaige didn't know what 'this whole thing' was or what he was supposed to help in making 'easier'.

Gaige slid his tongue over his bottom lip, stalling. But the psychiatrist was no joke. She raised an eyebrow, kept her arms crossed, and waited. Gaige was willing to challenge her. Lord knows he was good at not talking, using his eyes to drill into people until they let up and let him out. 

But then again, that was Gaige when he had motivation. When Gaige had something in him driving him to survive. But now Gaige...he really had no reason to lay it all down for a woman who would judge him, criticize him, doubt him. Fuck it, right? He done it for so long, why can't he take a break and give up finally?

Gaige slid farther down in his chair, and began playing with the zipper up at the collar of his windbreak they had thankfully let him keep, "I don't know where you want me to start."

Dr.Prenze waved a hand in the air like she was swatting a bug away, "However far back you need to go. Whether it be just moving up here with your father, or before. Really, whenever you feel like," She crossed her legs, set her pen on her messy wooden desk, and patiently waited for Gaige to begin. 

Gaige sighed, scrubbed the carpet in the small office with the toe of his shoe, and let his memories fight to be the first time it all was bad enough to talk about. 

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