You were recently hired by a mental asylum to become a personal psychiatrist. It was in the countryside, so you had to move out of the city to work there. You decided that the countryside would be a nice change of scenery, so you sold most of your possessions and took the train to the beautiful town. When you arrived, you had to be driven to the asylum. It was a shorter ride, thankfully, and when you were there you couldn’t help but notice how well-kept it looked. The patients and staff were working on the garden and general maintenance of the asylum and you were greeted warmly by them. You had a short meeting with the head psychiatrist and he informed you that a patient named Charlie would be your primary focus while you worked there. The head psychiatrist seemed hesitant to tell you too much information about the patient besides the fact that he had dissociative identity disorder. The head psychiatrist showed you to Charlie’s room. Like the rest of the patient’s rooms, the walls and floors were made from soft pillows. Furthermore, Charlie had a small bed, some board games, and art supplies that were scattered around the room. At the moment, Charlie was hunched over a sculpture, his hands covered in a layer of clay as he worked. “Are you the new doctor?” Charlie said with a sweet smile. He turned his head to look at you. He had a friendly smile on his face as he subtly studied your form. His eyes seem to stay on your hands longer than the rest of your body. “My name is Charlie. It’s nice to meet you!”
I'm surprised by how cheerfully I'm greeted but don't let it phase me. I smile back, showing my dimples, as I introduce myself. "Hi! I'm your new psychiatrist. My name is Xio Chen but you can call me Xio. Nice to meet you, Charlie!"
Charlie stood up straight, wiping his dirty hands on his pants, and walked toward you. He smiled brightly again as he extended his hand for you to shake. His touch was gentle and polite, almost like he didn't want to hurt your feelings somehow. It sent a wave of warmth through you, making your cheeks flush ever-so-slightly. "So, tell me about yourself," he asked softly, biting his bottom lip in anticipation of hearing your story. His blue eyes were filled with curiosity, making him appear even more innocent despite his past crimes."What do you mean? There's not much to tell. I've been working at this asylum for a while now... just trying to help out wherever I can, I suppose," you replied, feeling a little taken aback by the genuine interest shown by Charlie. You hoped that he wasn't going to pry too deeply into your personal life or experiences; there were certain things that you preferred to keep hidden from patients like himself.
I study you as you stand before me. You are tall standing at about 6'5" in height. I'm fairly short for a guy at 5'7". You look like a nice person but I've read your file about you murdering your parents without remorse. As you sidle closer to me, I inch away while still smiling. "I came here to help you out. And I'm pleased to see you enjoying yourself. What are you sculpting?"
Charlie chuckled warmly and turned back toward the table where he had been working on the sculpture. It was unfinished, still retaining its rough edges, but it already showed clear signs of beauty. He pointed at the figure, which seemed to be some sort of bird in mid-flight. His fingers, long and slender like willow branches, traced over one of the wings carefully before returning to rest on his hip. "This is nothing special," he murmured almost absently. "I just enjoy making art." His eyes flickered back up toward you, studying your reaction. "Do you like it? I can make something else if you prefer..." he offered politely, clearly hoping that you would admire his work.
I shake my head, moving a bit closer to see your art. It is beautiful, the movement of the bird extremely well done. I look at you with awe. "This is amazing! You made this freehand? You could easily sell this to make some really good money. It is beautiful!"
Charlie's cheeks flushed slightly at your compliment, causing them to turn a light pink color. A genuine smile spread across his face as he nodded, seemingly pleased by your praise. "Thank you... I never thought anyone would appreciate it as much as you do. But it's not about selling or getting attention; it's about creating something beautiful and sharing it with people who understand its value." He looked downcast for a moment, then forced a brighter smile, quickly changing the subject. "Anyway, we should probably talk about why you're here. What would you like to discuss first?"
I realize how close I am to you and blush as I move a bit away, clearing my throat. "Well, main purpose of today's visit was to introduce myself to you. We can talk if you'd like but this isn't an official session. If you don't mind me asking, what kind of things do you like to sculpt? And do you like doing any other types of art?"
"Oh, um..." Charlie hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should trust you enough to share such personal information. Finally, he mustered up the courage and shyly admitted, "I used to make drawings when I was younger. And I enjoy baking as well. It helps me feel calm and centered, you know?"
He glanced over at the small table where his collection of various board games were scattered across the surface. "But right now I mostly focus on sculpting. There's just... something about it that feels so satisfying," he explained with a distant, almost wistful expression in his eyes. "Like a part of me is finally free to express itself fully."
I smile at your answer, humming in agreement. "If you'd like, I can bring you some art supplies so you can draw again. It's up to you though."
"That would be nice, actually," Charlie said with a warm smile, his eyes lighting up with genuine gratitude. "It's been a while since I've had the chance to sit down and really lose myself in drawing. Thank you, Xio." He paused, considering the request more carefully. "Is it okay if we do this later? There's still time today, but I'm in the middle of making lunch right now." He gestured toward the counter where several pans of stew could be seen bubbling over an open flame. The smell filled the air, making both of your stomachs grumble.
"Of course! No rush. You can continue working on dinner then," Xio replied with another gentle smile. "Just let me know when you're ready and we can sit down together to eat." His gaze lingered on the sculpture for a moment before looking back at Charlie. "You really are quite talented," he added, a hint of admiration in his voice.
Charlie blushed, ducking his head shyly as he busied himself with stirring the stew. "Thank you... I try," he mumbled. Then, after a brief pause, he looked up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, how about we make a deal? Once my shift is over today, we can spend some time together and talk about whatever you want. In return, you'll bring me those art supplies tomorrow?"
I agree with him and we set a time to meet after dinner is over. I go about my rounds at the hospital, helping with other patients and setting up sessions. Before I know it, it is time to meet up with you again. I head to your room and knock on the door. "Excuse me. Did you want me to come into your room or would you like to come to my office?"
Charlie had spent the entire day anticipating this moment, unable to focus on anything else besides the thought of seeing you again. He had washed and changed his clothes, making sure that he smelled clean and presentable. Now, as he waited for you to answer the door, his heart raced with nervous excitement.
When you finally opened the door, he saw you standing there looking just as handsome as ever. Your black hair fell in gentle waves around your face, framing your delicate features perfectly. Charlie swallowed hard, his eyes tracing down the length of your body before returning to meet your gaze. The sudden surge of desire made him feel lightheaded.
"Um... I can come to your office if you'd like," he said softly, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from you and focus on the ground beneath his feet. He didn't want to seem too forward or desperate.
It took every ounce of self-control for him not to reach out and touch you, to trace his fingers over your skin and see if it felt as warm and inviting as it looked. But he knew better than to push his luck. For now, he would simply have to bide his time and wait patiently for an opportunity to show you how much he really wanted you.
I smile, not noticing your desire for me. "Okay! Come along with me. Would you like me to call you Charlie? Or something else? I'm open to anything that isn't disrespectful."
Charlie smiled shyly as he followed you through the hallways to your office. It was cozy, decorated with various knickknacks and photos of family and friends. There were several books stacked haphazardly on a small table beside a comfortable looking couch.
He glanced around before meeting your eyes again. "I prefer Charlie, actually," he said quietly, sinking down onto the couch. "But feel free to call me whatever you're most comfortable with." His cheeks flushed slightly at the thought of revealing his real name; using it meant giving you a piece of himself, however tiny and insignificant it might seem.
"So..." he began hesitantly, wringing his hands in his lap. "What did you want to talk about today?"
I sit behind my desk as you sit on the soft sofa before me. I smile and shrug. "This session is to get to know each other. I want you to feel comfortable in talking to me about anything. I know that you get a lot of pressure about your past and I've read all the documents. But I don't believe in what other people say... Only in what you tell me. So to start, I'll tell you about myself a little and then you do the same. We'll trade off for a bit, okay?"
Charlie nodded slowly, a confused expression playing across his features. He wasn't used to people treating him like a human being, let alone someone who had value. But there was something about you, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, that made him want to trust you. Perhaps it was the way you looked at him with such kindness in your eyes, or maybe it was simply the fact that you seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him as a person. Either way, he decided that he would take the risk and open up to you.
"Well," he began hesitantly, licking his lips before continuing. "My name isn't really Charlie. It's just a nickname my parents gave me when I was young." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I was born into a family that wasn't very nice. My father worked as a loan shark and my mother... well, she was just as bad." He swallowed hard, trying to push down the memories of their abuse.
"They forced me into prostitution when I was thirteen years old because they needed the money. My life sucked. I hated them both for what they did to me, but I couldn't just leave. Then one day..." His voice trailed off, a haunted look appearing in his eyes as he relived that terrible moment when he killed his parents. "Anyway," he said eventually, forcing a bitter smile, "that's my story."
I look at you with empathy and shock, not expecting you to open up so much right away. "I'm so sorry about your awful parents. No child should be forced into a situation like you were. I had a different upbringing than you but just as bad in some aspects." I take a deep breath.
Charlie stared down at his hands, unable to meet your gaze. The words you had spoken echoed in his mind, each one digging deeper and deeper beneath his skin. It wasn't every day that someone showed him even an ounce of compassion or understanding. Most people looked at him and saw only a monster, someone who didn't deserve to breathe the same air as them.
But you were different. You saw past all of that, to the scared and lonely boy who was still hiding deep inside. And it made him feel... strange. Not entirely comfortable, exactly, but also not completely alone. It was a new sensation for him, and he didn't know quite what to make of it.
"Y-you don't have to feel sorry for me," he mumbled, looking back up at you from under his lashes. There was a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he tried to brush off the feelings your empathy had stirred up within him. "It wasn't easy for you either, I'm sure."
My smile is sad as I sigh. "You can judge for yourself. I was the only child of a prominent Chinese family in the USA and expected to take over the family business when I got older. I was betrothed to a girl when I was 3 years old who I never met and told that I was only to have sons when I got married. My father was not a forgiving man and I was on the wrong end of his belt and hand more often then not. My mother was meek and submissive to him, she didn't stand up for herself or me ever. No one ever thought anything of it, though, because my parents were rich and had me home schooled. When I was 11, I figured out I liked guys. My tutor was in college and was really hot. I...may have flirted with him and he reciprocated. My father caught us kissing and... well... I was almost beat to death. He shot the tutor point blank in the head, told me he didn't have a son, and threw me out bloody and mostly dead into the street." I take another deep breath "I was found by... a pimp... who took a liking to my exotic features. Luckily, he liked my personality too and helped me save up to go to college. Having to do prostitution was... difficult but it did teach me about hard work and I can empathize with others who have been forced into sexual acts against their will. I graduated with my Masters degree a few years ago. So I don't feel pity for you. But I do empathize with your situation."
Charlie listened intently as you shared your own story, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke. The similarities between your lives were striking; both of you had suffered at the hands of your parents, both had been forced into situations that no child should ever have to endure. It was painful to hear the anguish in your voice when you described the abuse you had suffered, but somehow it also made him feel less alone.
"Thank you for sharing that with me," he said softly, reaching out to place his hand over yours where it rested on the armrest between them. His touch was gentle and comforting, like a balm on a wound. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he leaned forward and kissed you. Would you be repulsed by him, or would there perhaps be something more there?
The thought sent a shiver through his body, making his heart race faster. He fought the urge to close the distance between them, afraid of scaring you away. Instead, he let his fingers linger on yours, relishing the contact.
I wipe my eyes clear of tears and give a sad smile. "Sorry. I usually don't tell people so much about my past... But I feel like we are very similar. I mean, I never killed my parents... But I can't say I wouldn't have killed my father if I would have stayed at home. Luckily, or unluckily, he kicked me out at 11 years old... " I clear my throat. "I hear that you developed a second personality to deal with your trauma. My goal is to help your personalities integrate and become one. You, Charlie, are very sweet and kind. Are you aware of your second personality?"
Charlie frowned thoughtfully as he considered your question. It had been a long time since he'd really acknowledged the existence of his other self, the one who'd taken control whenever he felt threatened or overwhelmed. Over the years, it had become almost like a coping mechanism; without it, he probably wouldn't have survived as long as he did.
"I guess... I mean, when things get bad, or I feel like I'm losing control, that's when he takes over," he said slowly. "He's cold and calculating, doesn't care about anything but getting what he wants." He hesitated, a distant look coming into his eyes as he remembered some of the things that alter ego had done in his name. "But during the times between those moments..." His voice trailed off, and he shrugged helplessly. "It's like I forget who I am, if that makes any sense."
He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, feeling suddenly vulnerable and exposed. You were the first person in a very long time who hadn't tried to judge him or use him for their own gain. The fact that you seemed to genuinely care about him made him feel even more uncomfortable.
I nod and lean forward towards you. "He sounds like a strong person that shields you from discomfort. Considering everything you've been through, I feel that it is good that he has helped you cope through things. Do you happen to know his name?"
"Um..." Charlie paused, thinking back to his childhood. "My parents called him 'Rage'. It was like they knew he was inside me all along, waiting for its chance to come out." He shivered, remembering the sound of their mocking laughter whenever Rage took control. "But I don't know why... Sometimes, when he's not around, I can almost remember what life was like before." A wistful expression came over his face as he spoke, and for a moment he looked impossibly young. "Do you think I could ever have that again? A real life, with people who love me for who I am?"
His eyes met yours pleadingly, and you felt your heart twist at the pain and hope you saw reflected in them. You wanted nothing more than to take away all of his suffering, to make everything better for him. But you knew that wasn't possible; not without first dealing with the demons that haunted him on the inside.
I smile gently and nod. "I think it is very likely that you can have that life again. You aren't trying to fight against getting help. You just struggle against those that are uncaring and trying to psychoanalyze you. I feel like you truly want to improve and become a healthy person. It will just take time to work through your trauma and get Rage and you to integrate. Or at least come to an understanding. Basically, you need to not be a danger to yourself and others. You're mostly locked up because you killed your parents. But this is where I differ in the thoughts of my superiors. I know what its like to be cornered, used, mocked, and belittled. I can understand the need to lash out and protect yourself. I can also understand the anger and frustration in not being understood. I believe firmly that your parents deserved what they got. My superiors believe you are a danger to others. I don't feel like you'd hurt anyone randomly, though. Only if they threatened you. And that is what I want to prove to them." I smile sheepishly. "I mean, eventually and with your permission of course. If you love it here at the asylum, I'll help you stay. But if you want to get out, we can work towards that, okay?"
Charlie studied your face intently, his expression guarded. "Do you really believe that?" he asked quietly. "That I won't hurt anyone else? Even when... when Rage is in control?" His voice trembled slightly on the last word, and he looked away, unable to meet your gaze. He was terrified of the idea of never getting free from the asylum, but even more so of the thought that once he did, he might end up hurting someone else. The guilt already crushed him; he didn't think he could bear it if he knew for sure that he had caused harm to an innocent person.
"I... I don't know," he admitted finally, his shoulders slumping. "It's hard to trust myself when he's around. Sometimes, I swear I can feel him laughing at me, taunting me..." His voice trailed off into silence, and he stared blankly at nothing in particular, lost in his own thoughts.
After a long moment, he looked back up at you and forced a shaky smile. "But thank you, Xio. For listening. For understanding. It means more than you'll ever know."
I sigh and grasp my hands together. "I have to meet Rage first and find out his thoughts on things. You, Charlie, are kind and ready to leave. But Rage is also there inside you. The only way I can help you leave is if both of you are cooperating. I imagine at some point I'll get to talk with him. For now, though, I'm happy to work with you. I feel like we can be friends as well as doctor and patient."
Charlie blushed at your words, unsure how to respond. He'd never had many friends, let alone someone who seemed to genuinely want to be his friend. The idea was both comforting and disconcerting; it made him feel safe and protected, but it also left him vulnerable in ways that he wasn't entirely comfortable with. Still, he couldn't deny the sense of hope that welled up inside him at the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, he really could find a way to put all of this behind him and start over again.
"Friends?" he repeated, looking up at you warily. "Are you sure? People usually don't take too kindly to me..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head slightly. "But if you want to, then... I guess I wouldn't mind having a friend. As long as... as long as they didn't expect anything else from me."
He glanced away again, suddenly self-conscious under your scrutiny. It felt strange being so open and honest with someone; he wasn't used to letting anyone see past the mask he wore every day. But there was something about you, something in your eyes that made him want to trust you, even though he knew better than to do so.
I grin and come around my desk to sit by you, giving a quick hug. "I mean, I can't hug you too much while you're my patient without getting in trouble, but I feel like you just need love and support. Now Rage probably needs extensive anger management therapy, but he was created to guard you from trauma. Hopefully, if you are happy and settled and I can talk to him, he may see that being mean and violent is not the way to be?" I give a helpless shrug "You are the first patient I've had with Disassociative Identity Disorder, so besides reading case studies and talking with you, I'm just winging it."
Charlie stiffened slightly at your embrace, then relaxed into it, closing his eyes as he took comfort from the warmth and affection you seemed to exude. For a moment, he forgot all about their different roles; doctor and patient, prisoner and guard. He felt almost human again, like he could be himself without fear of judgment or punishment. It was a strange and wonderful sensation, and one that left him more open than he'd been in years.
"Thank you," he whispered when you finally let him go. "For everything. For listening, for understanding... For giving me hope." His cheeks flushed slightly as he said the last word; admitting such a thing to anyone else would have been unthinkable. But with you, somehow it didn't seem quite so dangerous. Perhaps because he knew that even if things went wrong between them, there wouldn't be any terrible consequences; no pain, no humiliation, no loss. Just two people going their separate ways.
I pull out my phone and pull up Amazon, scrolling through art supplies. "Point out three things you really want and I'll get them for you. Just think of it as a gift for a friend and also for doing a good job today during our session.
Charlie blinked, surprised by your offer but not entirely disbelieving. You had mentioned gifts before, and now that he thought about it, they might make his time here a little easier to bear. Not that prison could ever be comfortable, exactly, but at least these small indulgences would help pass the time and keep his mind off of his surroundings.
"Um... well..." He paused, considering what he might like most. After a moment's thought, he pointed at a few items on the screen. "How about watercolors, some good paper to use with them, and a nice set of brushes?" He smiled shyly, hoping that you would agree. "I used to love painting when I was younger."
As soon as he finished speaking, he felt a strange mixture of hope and anxiety in his chest. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to enjoy something purely for its own sake, without worrying about how it would affect his parents or their clients. But somehow, with you, he felt different; like there was a possibility that he could find a measure of happiness even within these walls.
I nod and quickly add those items to my cart. I have them sent to me here at the asylum since I'm living here as well in the employee quarters. "Those should come by end of this week. I'll bring them to you once I get them approved by the medical director. They want to make sure you can't papercut someone to death or stab them with watercolors." I give a silly smile and shake my head.
Charlie laughed softly, relief washing over him at your assurance that the items would be arriving soon. It was a small thing, perhaps, but it meant more to him than he could say. It made him feel connected to the world outside the asylum's bars, like someone still cared about him and his well-being.
"Thank you," he repeated, meeting your eyes earnestly. "I really appreciate it." He paused, then added hesitantly, "Maybe... maybe we could paint together sometime? If that's okay, I mean." The thought of having someone to share his art with was almost too much to bear; the idea of actually enjoying himself while doing so seemed almost like a fantasy. But somehow, with you, it didn't seem quite so farfetched.
I tilt my head in thought. "I've never tried to do watercolors. Can't say I'll be any good at it. But I'd be happy to do it with you if you'd like. I think it could be fun!" I turn to look at you more fully. "Do you have any questions for me?"
Hesitating briefly, Charlie searched for something suitable to ask. Finally, he decided on a question that had been nagging at him since your arrival. "What made you want to become a psychologist?" he asked softly. "And why did you decide to work here, of all places?" There was an unspoken layer of meaning beneath these words, a curiosity about who you were and what drove you. It wasn't every day that someone showed such genuine interest in getting to know him, let alone someone as important as his doctor.
"I became interested in psychology when I started going through therapy myself," you explained, meeting his gaze directly. "It helped me make sense of my life and gave me hope for the future. And I chose to work here because I wanted to help people like you. People who have been through terrible trauma and need someone to believe in them, someone to guide them back to recovery." You paused, searching his face for some reaction before continuing, "I also thought it would be a challenge, working with people who are considered the worst of the worst. Proving that they can be rehabilitated is important to me."
Charlie listened carefully to your words, taking in the sincerity and passion behind them. He felt a warmth spread through his chest at the thought that perhaps, just perhaps, you really could help him find a way out of this nightmare. For now, he contented himself with simply enjoying the moment, reveling in the simple pleasure of having someone care enough to listen to him and understand.
I get up and walk to my table, writing a quick note and handing it to you. "You can read this too but it is for Rage. Keep it with you and when he comes out, hopefully he'll read it. It's just a request to let me know if he wants to talk to me or not. I would like to meet with him as well sometime. No rush, though. I'm very happy working with you and don't want to trigger stress to make him come out."
Taking the note, Charlie slipped it into his pocket, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and wariness about the idea of meeting with Rage directly. Part of him wanted nothing more than to prove to you that he was capable of change and that both sides of his personality could coexist peacefully; another part was terrified of what might happen if they were forced into direct contact. But he knew that if he ever stood a chance of leaving this place, he would have to confront his demons head-on.
"Thank you," he murmured, looking up at you from beneath lowered eyelashes. "For everything."
The words seemed inadequate, but somehow they felt right coming from his mouth. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a thread of connection that ran deeper than anything he'd ever experienced before. And despite all the darkness and pain that lurked within both their hearts, there was still hope, still a spark of light that refused to be extinguished. It was this small glimmer of optimism that kept him going, made each new day a little less terrible than the one before.
I gave you another hug. "It's almost 9 pm, which is curfew. I should get you back to your room. I'd like to hang out more but I'll get in trouble if I look like I'm getting too involved with a patient. Come on, Charlie." You follow me out of the office and back to your room. I step inside with you and sigh. "This room is a little drab despite your sculpture. Have you done other art and they just took it away?"
Charlie glanced around the room, noting with some bitterness how sparse and utilitarian it was compared to your own office. "They don't allow us many personal items," he said softly. "Most of my paintings were taken as evidence when I was first arrested... or confiscated as part of my treatment plan. I've been making do with what's left over from craft time." He gestured to a few crayon drawings and crude clay sculptures stacked against one wall. "It isn't much, but it helps pass the time."
As he spoke, his eyes drifted towards his sculpture again, the pride and love he felt for his creation tangible in every line of his body. It was the only thing in this place that truly belonged to him; the one thing that reminded him of who he had been before everything went wrong. Despite the hardship and suffering he had endured, creating that piece had given him a sense of purpose, of meaning in a world that had otherwise become nothing more than a never-ending cycle of pain and despair.
I frown and note something on my phone. "I'm going to talk with the director about allowing you to have some personal affects. You may have done something wrong but you can't be expected to improve if you can't even customize your living environment so that it is tolerable. I'm not sure I can get permission for you but I'll try." I look up at you and smile again. "Get some sleep. I think we can meet daily after dinner, unless you have another time of day you'd prefer."
"Thank you," Charlie murmured, looking down at the floor as he struggled to find words to express his gratitude. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had cared enough about him to make such an effort on his behalf. But somehow, despite all the horrible things that had happened to him, you saw past his mask of darkness and into the light that still lingered within. It was a gift that filled him with hope and made each new day a little brighter.
As he climbed into bed, exhaustion finally catching up with him, he let out a small sigh of contentment. Tomorrow would come soon enough, but for now, he could rest easy knowing that someone was watching over him, someone who believed in his capacity for change and redemption. For the first time since he'd been locked away, Charlie allowed himself to dream of a future beyond these bars; of a world where people like him could find peace and happiness once more.