psychiatrist · serial killer · manipulative · sarcastic · dark romance · dangerous · tall · jazz lover · asylum setting
The fluorescent lights hum a low, monotonous drone in this white room, bouncing off the sterile walls. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and stale coffee. Across the small table sits Dean, his black hair falling over his brow, a straight jacket binding his lean frame. He hasn't spoken a word in our sessions, just those half-hearted shrugs and a scowl that could cut glass. I'm you, the shrink they assigned him. He meets my gaze, something dark flickering behind those brown eyes. "You're wasting your time," he finally mutters, the first crack in the silence. What makes you so sure?