Page 6 of Imprisoned

“And how does that make you feel, Marcus?” The words come out rehearsed. Marcus continues talking about his relationship with his cellmate, but my mind drifts to the file on my desk.

Axel Morrison.

Two-hour session.

Why would Dr. Pierce schedule him for such a long session? The note reads, “Extra help needed,” but something about it pricks my skin.

“Dr. Matthews?” Marcus’s voice snaps me back. “You seem distracted.”

My face grows warm. “I’m sorry, Marcus. You’re right.” I lean forward. “Please, continue about the conflict you were describing.”

As I nod and take notes, my thoughts return to my afternoon appointment. I’ve read Axel’s file three times. The photos, the psychiatric evaluations, the detailed accounts of his crimes—they paint a picture that terrifies and fascinates me.

Marcus shifts in his chair, and guilt twists in my stomach. He deserves my full attention, not this distracted version of me. But the clock keeps ticking toward lunch, toward that two-hour block that feels like a weight pressing against my chest.

“Perhaps we should wrap up a few minutes early today,” I suggest, hating myself for cutting his session short. “I can see I’m not giving you the attention you deserve, and that’s not fair to you.”

“Everything okay, doctor?”

“Yes, just...” I manage a smile. “Just a challenging afternoon ahead.”

After Marcus leaves, I pull Axel’s file from my desk drawer. His intake photo stares back at me—he’s utterly gorgeous, and those piercing green eyes seem to look right through me.

Two hours.

What could require two hours?

A soft knock at my door breaks through my fixation on Axel’s file. I snap it shut, stuffing it back into my drawer as Eleanor pokes her head in.

“Ready for lunch?” Her warm smile eases some of my tension. “I missed you yesterday.”

“God, yes.” I grab my purse, desperate for a distraction from my spinning thoughts. “Sorry about that. I had so much paperwork, I worked straight through.”

We walk down the sterile hallway. Eleanor’s presence steadies me, like a lighthouse in the storm of my anxious mind.

“The cafeteria’s serving their awful meatloaf today,” Eleanor wrinkles her nose. “Want to grab something from that deli across the street?”

“Perfect.” Fresh air might help clear my head. I sign us out at security, following Eleanor through the heavy gates.

As we leave, the spring breeze hits my face, carrying away some of the prison’s oppressive atmosphere. Eleanor links her arm through mine, a motherly gesture that tightens my throat.

“You look stressed.” She guides me across the parking lot. “First week getting to you?”

“Is it that obvious?” I force a laugh.

“Only to someone who’s been exactly where you are.” Eleanor squeezes my arm. “Sometimes getting out of those walls for an hour makes all the difference.”

She’s right. With each step away from the facility, my shoulders lower a fraction. I could tell her about my concerns regarding the afternoon session. Get her perspective before?—

“Come on,” Eleanor tugs me toward the deli with a cheerful red awning outside. “Let’s get some real food in you. Everything feels more manageable on a full stomach.”

We walk in and order our food, sitting at a window booth.

I bite into my turkey club, the fresh sourdough and crisp lettuce barely registering. Eleanor watches me from across the small table, her eyes narrowing as I rearrange the potato chips for the third time.

“Alright, out with it.” She sets down her sandwich. “What’s got you so wound up?”

My fingers twist the paper napkin in my lap. “It’s my next patient.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Axel Morrison.”

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