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Shell shock

Louis leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He let out an exaggerated sigh. “You know, Doc, you’re really starting to sound like my ex-gf. She always wanted me to talk about my feelings. That’s probably why she left, couldn't get me to talk.”

Dr. gave him a look, clearly unphased. “The brunette with the bangs? Louis, let's just talk about the things that matter.”

Louis raised an eyebrow, flashing her a grin. “Matter? Like a bullet in the chest? A little slice of life that happened a while back? It’s all part of the game, right?” He smirked, waving his hand dismissively.

She didn’t flinch. “And yet, you keep coming back here. You don’t think there’s something to that?”

Louis scoffed, looking away. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe it’s the comfy chair. Or it's the doctor's orders. Or the fact that you let me smoke here. Very therapeutic, really.”

Dr. didn't miss a beat. “You’re deflecting.”

Louis looked back at her with an exaggerated shrug, giving her a cheeky little grin. “Yeah, well, that’s what I do. It’s what I’m best at. You should see me at a dinner party. I can change the narrative like a pro.”

She leaned slightly to show that she was resilient. “We are here all day until you give me something to work with. Let's start with what happened that night.”

He rolled his eyes at her command, as though she was simply stating the obvious. “Look, Doc, I get it. I’m broken. I’ve got my issues. I’m like a Picasso painting; messed up and a little too abstract for most people’s taste.”

He leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head and looking more relaxed than he felt. “But what’s the point? What’s the point of digging up stuff that’s done and dusted? I got shot, I lived, and now every time a bullet goes off, I do this little flinch. Big deal. It’s not like I’m the only one with these panic attacks, right?”