The Perfect Patient

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This is the continuation of the story My Therapist is Gaslighting Me

Chill. I felt it first. Sitting on a park bench, the air crisp, my breath visible. Then the black notebook. In my lap. Dewy, slick cover.

I didn’t own it.

Buzzing from my pocket. Insistent. I didn’t reach for it right away. Fingers hovering over the notebook.

Seven missed calls. My boss. Two texts. A report, not submitted. Last memory: sitting at my desk, typing away. Hours ago.

Shaky hands. I opened the notebook. Mine. The handwriting. No doubt. Slanted cursive. High dotted i’s. First page. Scrambled words:

“I shouldn’t have lied about Rachel.”

“The guilt will eat me alive.”

“I’ll confront her tomorrow.”

Rachel. My coworker. Disappeared months ago. I barely knew her. Guilt? Lie?

Next page. Worse. A conversation. I didn’t recall it.

“You yelled at her. She tried to help, but you pushed her away.”

Stomach churned. My boss. Calling again. About the report. Fight? I didn’t remember a fight. Closed the notebook. Sat back. Looked up at the dark sky. No answers there.

I dialed my boss. Voice trembling.

“Where are you?” Her voice sharp. “I’ve been waiting for that report!”

“I—I’m sorry,” I said. “Did we…talk earlier today? Did I say anything…unusual?”

She sighed. “No, but you’ve been acting strange. Everything okay?”

Her concern hit harder than expected. “Yeah, I’ll send it soon.”

Hung up. No reply from her.

The notebook. It burned in my hands. Toss it. I wanted to. But I couldn’t. Something about it. Binding. If I threw it away, would it get worse?

I stumbled home. Head spinning. Quiet apartment. Too quiet. I tossed the notebook on the table. Stared at it. Waiting.

Hours later. Still staring. Then.

A scent. Floral. Familiar. Kristina’s perfume.

Frozen. She’d never been here. Had she?

Doubt. Fresh. Was I losing control? Or had someone else taken it?

The notebook sat there, accusing. Silent. Daring me to open it again.

Dr. Kristina Dubois sat, file in hand. Soft hum. Fluorescent lights. The file. Her focus.

Increased compliance. Mild agitation. Avoidance behaviors.

She flipped through. Noted. Typical. Resistance at first. Eagerness followed. Process. Vulnerability. Her patients, always vulnerable at first. That’s where breakthroughs started.

Kristina set the file aside, eyes narrowing. Another cup of tea. No one understood. No one saw the work.

The phone rang. One ring. She answered.

“Dr. Dubois,” she said, voice warm, practiced.

“It’s me,” came the protagonist’s voice. “You’re manipulating me. I found the notebook.”

Kristina smiled. This moment. Expected. Accusations. Resistance. It always came.

“What notebook?” she asked, feigning confusion.

“The one with the lies,” the protagonist snapped. “Everything’s there. What’s happening to me?”

Kristina sipped her tea. Calm. Unchanged. “You’re feeling overwhelmed. We’ve talked about this. Memory can be tricky.”

“I haven’t had blackouts!” The protagonist’s voice broke.

“It’s okay,” Kristina soothed. “It’s part of the process. Time. You’re doing well, I can see it.”

She leaned back. The first session. Hesitation. Skepticism. She knew. They needed time. Control. Balance.

Too much resistance? They’d fight. Too little? Slower progress.

The notebook. A plan. She’d planted doubt. It worked.

Kristina picked up the phone, dialed. Waited.

“Kristina?” The protagonist answered, breathless.

“Listen,” Kristina said. “This is overwhelming. Trust the process. It takes time. But we’re doing this together.”

Silence. Then: “I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.”

Kristina’s smile stayed. “You will. You always do. This is the journey.”

She hung up. Exhaled slowly. Fingers traced the rim of her cup. The protagonist would return. They always did.

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