Page 13 of Framed Obsession

I click on the second box, camera two, and the break room fills the screen. A man in a worn suit walks in and heads straight towards the vending machine, putting a dollar in. A moment later, an ethereal blonde angel walks in. My girl. A smile fights the corner of my mouth but quickly leaves once I see her face shift into a dreadful expression. She quickly turns to exit, but before she can, the man in the suit calls her name.

“Taking a moment before your next client?” The man says.

“I was just going to refill my water bottle, but it looks like I may not have time,” she responds, looking at her naked wrist. The worn-suit man grabs his snack out of the little compartment at the bottom of the machine and starts to unwrap the granola bar.

“What's the rush? You don’t have a moment to converse with your boss?” Her boss? This must be Parker Raines. He owns the place—he had taken over the family business from his father when he retired. I briefly looked into the history of this place when I found my angel, but didn't go as far as researching what everyone looked like.

I knew his father had owned this place for over thirty years, and from the looks of it, he forced his son to follow in his footsteps, needing someone to leave his legacy to. I heard he can be quite the douche. With this interaction, I don’t like the way he's speaking to her. I’m about ready to get up and give his ass something else to talk about.

“Parker, I’m really in a rush right now. My next patient is here and my last—”

“How about we converse over dinner sometime?” he says, cutting her off. She looks taken aback, not knowing how to respond. The blood rushes to my face, and I am instantly angered. Who the fuck does he think he is? Asking my girl out for dinner? As her boss? Every hint in her body posture tells me she wants to tell him to fuck off, but instead she just stands there speechless. She can’t tell her boss to fuck off without getting fired, I’m sure.

Should I go in there and re-arrange his face?

If I did, they would know I was watching, so that's off the table. I could accidentally walk in? Her faint voice emits through my ear buds, pulling me back to the screen and away from every scenario where I beat the living shit out of him.

“Maybe some other time. I’m sorry, I really have to get to my next client.” That answer pissed me off. She should've said no. I watch her as she escapes, leaving her water bottle on the counter, and heading in my direction.

“Axel Grey?” My head whips up, reminding me I’m not home alone watching her like I usually am.

Chapter 12

The Flower

Hold Onto Me - Amira Elfkey

“I’m glad to see you came back, Axel,” I say politely, watching him take a seat on the cushioned sofa. I am glad to see him back. It shows that maybe the first session wasn't a waste of time, and that he does want some sort of help. It always makes me happy to see a client come back. It means I’m doing something right.

“How are you doing today? Are there any topics you would like to touch base on in today's session?” Just like last time, his energy is the same, but there's a noticeable absence of hesitation. This could be a good thing. He may feel more comfortable this time, which means he may be more open to conversation instead of making snide remarks.

“I’m good today. In fact, I feel great. And no, no topics come to mind. Feel free to lead the way,” he says boastfully. Wow, this feels like a completely different person. Perhaps this session will go smoothly.

“Well, since we had gotten the basics and got to know each other a little bit, let's dive just a little deeper. I want to touch base on something you mentioned last week.” His eyes show a glint of excitement before quickly masking it. I watch as he readjusts in his seat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, letting me know I have his full attention.

“Which part?” he says. I can see the corner of his mouth start to curve upward, and I watch as he fights it.

I spoke too soon.

There is the Axel from last time. Does jumping into his criminal past seem too fast-paced for a second session? I don't think he would've mentioned it if it were. And he seems pretty open to conversation today.

“Last time we spoke, we discussed your previous visits to other mental health professionals, and in passing you mentioned other topics. Are you okay if we dive into discussing those further?” I ask. I spent all my spare time digging any information on him that I possibly could; why not hear it straight from the source? With no hesitation, he gives me a nod to proceed.

“I want to get a better understanding of who you are. You mentioned you had a run-in with the law, is that right?”

“Yes, that's correct.”

“Please do not feel pressured to tell me anything you don't like, but may I ask how you ended up in a situation like that?” He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. I reach behind me, grabbing a notepad and pen from my desk, ready to jot down any important information he gives me.

“A few friends and I are… notorious for hosting street racing gatherings. We’ve been hosting them for years, and the turnout gets bigger each time. It's a great way to make extra cash. Those who want to race, pay a fee. Those who want to watch have the option to bid. People from all over come to either race or watch. Of course, this isn't a legal or government-approved event, so those who attend have to sign a document stating they know we are not responsible for what happens to them, to make sure they won’t snitch.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. Has anyone… had something happen to them? I can imagine street racing is super dangerous. I don’t know how fast bikes can go or how your race is laid out, but it does sound dangerous in itself if they have to sign a waiver?” I ask him, trying to comprehend how open he is, while appreciating all the details he is giving me.

Patient confidentiality is important, but you do have an obligation as a professional to report if someone is of harm to themselves or to others. This has happened in the past, and according to the Google search, Axel has already paid the piper. Thankfully, I don't have to report anything unless it's ongoing…

“It's extremely dangerous. Some racers travel at 90-100 plus miles per hour at times, just to get ahead of one another. We’ve had lots of racers get injured, even some who have experienced death. I have no remorse, though. They know exactly what they're getting themselves into.” My eyebrows can't help but raise with concern.

“Why would people put themselves into a predicament like that? Besides winning, what do they gain?”