Distortion

She twisted the ring on her finger, watching the diamonds sparkle under the flickering light of the cold lamps. The corridor was empty and white, even the patient benches blended with the tile walls as if they weren’t there. Turning her head, Lauren could see that over there, at the other end of the corridor where the lobby began, life did exist: nurses and doctors passed by, there were patients on other benches, someone stood at the registration desk. Leaning back, Lauren thought that this was exactly what her whole life looked like—cold and empty, until someone looked in and told her what to do. Everything was recorded, like in a registry, with no chance of escaping this filing cabinet. She looked at the door she didn’t want to enter, but knew that only there would she find answers. “Good afternoon,” a doctor who appeared in the doorway invited the girl inside with a nod. Lauren, clutching her bag, stood up. She stepped inside, letting her eyes rest from the dazzlingly white walls in the wooden interior of the psychotherapist’s office. “You missed your session.” “I’m not obligated to come to every one,” she shrugged, sitting in the soft leather armchair that creaked unpleasantly after being polished. “Yes,” he nodded, taking his place at the desk. “But there would be more progress with discipline.” “I have discipline in spades,” she smirked, arranging her bag on her lap. “So what would you like to discuss?” the man asked, opening his notebook. “There was a situation,” Lauren pressed her lips together. “An unpleasant conversation, after which I couldn’t keep myself under control. I was supposed to pretend it was a normal chat, but then I cursed her out. Not to her face, of course.” “How many people do you meet on the street who also don’t control their emotions?” “Many. Everyone,” her gaze was clouded by an attempt at realization, but her back, held straight, ached from the uncomfortable chair back. “Doesn’t it seem strange to you that you’re the one in your surroundings hiding emotions?” the doctor looked carefully at the girl’s detached face, then decided to change the subject. “Still taking sleeping pills?” “Yes,” she exhaled. “I just can’t fall asleep, and when I don’t take them—I lie there until it’s time to get up.” “Insomnia is the enemy of many people with PTSD,” he made a note in his notebook. “What else has happened?” “I met someone. We work together,” Lauren looked out the window behind the doctor’s back. “Yesterday we were at my place, drinking wine.” “Would you call him a friend? A buddy?” “I don’t like his persistence in wanting to know everything about me. Probably thinks he can handle it better than you,” she smirked. “Usually people try to get to know each other better to find common ground,” another note in the notebook, accompanied by the rustle of paper. “Yeah,” Lauren nodded. “They learn favorite colors, music bands, not how someone served and killed people.” “If that topic is close to a person, they might share their experience of processing such situations.” “Oh, it’s definitely close to him,” Lauren looked at her vibrating phone. “That’s work. I have to go.” “Don’t miss any more,” the doctor stood up to see her out, but the girl had already slipped out the door. Reaching the Tower, Lauren headed straight for Valentina, who had sent the message. Standing in the elevator, Lauren ran through possible attacks from Valentina she could fend off, but knew she couldn’t read her mind. When the elevator doors opened, she already saw the silhouette of her boss behind the transparent doors of the office, and her thoughts seemed to evaporate, leaving only cold in their place. Lauren entered the office quietly, freezing like a shadow by the wall. “The Shard was stolen,” Valentina said without looking up, twirling an obviously expensive pen in her hands. Lauren said nothing, licking her dry lips. “Someone on the inside, I assume. And you knew about it. You’ve played your game too far, thinking you have a choice, Lauren.” “Don’t I have one?” “You remember perfectly well the terms on which I pulled you out of that base in Laos,” Valentina leaned back in her chair, burning the girl with a cold stare. “Remember how many people died while you were 'adjusting' to the Shard after Nevada. Remember how you begged for no one to find out?” Lauren said nothing, clenching her fists at her own helplessness. “You’re on a leash until I say otherwise,” Valentina leaned forward, squeezing the pen between her fingers. “You can try to leave, and then I’ll sell you as a weapon. Don’t worry, someone will pay a fortune for such a unique specimen.” “I’m not a thing,” Lauren spoke through clenched teeth, lifting her gaze. “No,” Valentina stood up. “You’re a doll. Beautiful, expensive, with a crack in your skull. And a rifle within reach.” “I can leave.” “Try it,” she bared her teeth predatorily, pushing the chair back. “Only this time, I won’t bring you back. And Barnes… he won’t come running after you, once he learns the truth. You keep forgetting that you’re an experiment. My experiment. And you’ll remain one as long as it’s profitable.” “Profitable for you doesn’t mean profitable for the mission,” Lauren pieced together her confidence, lost on the office threshold. “And the mission is not your concern,” Valentina circled the girl, stopping behind her back. “Remember: if you lose control, I’ll do what you never dared to. Wipe you back to a blank slate. Yet again, Lauren.” “I know where they want to redirect the Shard. I have an idea,” Lauren squeezed her eyes shut as if from a blow. “As long as you play by the rules, you have the full arsenal. Even the puppy on a leash,” Valentina’s voice held a sneer. “Bring back the Shard.”