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No More Doctor Nice Guy Part 15 free porn video
No More Doctor Nice Guy Part 15
I pulled against the bindings. Which I think is the perfect reflex
reaction to finding yourself tied down. They did not budge. All four
limbs were immobilized. But nowhere else of my person, specifically my
neck, was secured, allowing me to turn and look around.
I lifted up my head off the bed to inspect myself, generally I guess.
Which tended to be my initial reaction after Mr Black had teleported
me; or whatever I'm supposed to call it. But also, this time, to try
and see what held me, specifically my wrists.
Starting with the things in closest proximity, with regard to his
threat, my boobs didn't appear to be any bigger. At 16 weeks pregnant
my bras had felt a little tighter but really there hadn't been a great
deal of change. I think Mr Black had been trying to emphasise a point.
In any case they appeared to be just the same. If anything they were
pre -pregnancy size, not being specifically able to tell under my
clothes. But my bra wasn't as snug as it had been.
I was wearing a loose fitting t-shirt too. On my bottom half I had
track pants. There was nothing seductive about my attire.
Beyond my clothes I could see what was restricting me.
Around both my wrists and ankles were black bands fixated with Velcro.
No fluffy handcuffs or similar. This wasn't anything to do with kinky
sex play. It was something altogether different, and I was beginning to
have an inkling what.
The binds looked disturbingly familiar. As did the room.
All at once I realized what this was and where I was. But it gave me no
real answers.
I was tied to a restraint trolley. In one of the 'Seclusion rooms' in
Wellness House.
I was back in part of the world that Alex Turner knew well. But I
wasn't Alex Turner. And I was beginning to feel quite alarmed.
***
Even though I had confined many people to these same restraints over
the years and knew how inescapable they were, I still found myself
pulling against them in another attempt to break free.
I gave over to the futility of it soon enough though.
I was alone in the room with the door shut.
Tied up and feeling isolated could do nothing but induce a level of
panic.
I had to work hard to slow my breathing.
Whatever was to happen would have had some degree of engineering behind
it courtesy of Mr Black. I just had to stay calm until that became
apparent.
The rules of seclusion meant you had to be checked 15 minutely, so if
this really was Wellness House someone would be in very shortly. I'd
just have to wait.
Maybe I could get some answers then.
Meanwhile I noticed the fogginess still persisted.
It hadn't been like this the last two times Mr Black had 'rocked my
world' so to speak.
(What a truly revolting concept)
I couldn't understand why my head felt so heavy. It made concentrating
hard. I hadn't forgotten that I'd technically died yesterday, so maybe
my brain had taken a bit of a knock. I hope it will recover.
It was not just my head though. My body ached generally and my pelvic
pain seemed just as bad as it was.
I guess I focused a lot on my physical ailments being tied down with
nothing else to occupy my mind. I had no choice.
My prediction as to the arrival of company was correct at least.
The door opened and a solid middle aged woman in casual clothes walked
in.
I recognized her. I even knew her name.
She was a psychiatric nurse Alex Turner worked with. A seemingly long
time ago.
When she saw me looking at her she reeled a little.
"You're awake." She stated the obvious nervously. It was so different
to how Kristi had made the same observation. Kristi was happy. This
woman, Ros, seemed fearful.
Surely not of me? A slight woman pinned to a bed.
What then? I could but wonder.
"How are you feeling?" was her tepid inquiry.
"I'm ok." I remain guarded. "Why am I tied up? Can you release me?"
She laughs an awkward insecure laugh.
"I don't think so. But I'll get the Registrar."
The Registrar. Which means trainee psychiatrist. Like I was. Once.
It felt like progress.
Ros is true to her word and hurries out. She returns with a man.
As when I tried to see her I have to really crane my neck and prop
myself up as much as possible to see people for given I am secured flat
and supine, my movement is very restricted. But I can see him well
enough as a result of my effort.
He was wearing a long sleeve button up shirt with the top button undone
and his tie slightly askew and somewhat at half mast.
It was how he always dressed really.
"Michael!" I bleat without thinking.
Of course he won't know me as I am now. But back in my old life he was
the closest thing Alex Turner had to a friend.
Michael Richards. Final year psychiatry Registrar by now, I guess.
Just as I would have been if my life hadn't been so inexorably altered.
I hadn't thought about that. But I would have all but finished my
training now. I would be a private psychiatrist living a fairly relaxed
and self satisfying life. Not the case now though.
It had been a long time since I'd thought of this world. And the people
in it.
Seeing Michael made me melancholy. He'd always been my Jiminy Cricket.
Trying to reign me in when my moral compass sent me in convoluted
directions. Not very successfully mind. But at least he tried.
I probably didn't give him anywhere near as much credit, or respect as
I should.
But I felt relatively confident he would help me.
"You remember me," he begins. "That's a great sign. Can you tell me
your name?"
I wasn't sure what he meant. In terms of remembering him.
Also I wasn't sure I knew the correct answer to the name question.
This wasn't the reality Mr Black had lead me to believe I'd find myself
in. So once again I had no idea who I was exactly. I'll have to just
punt that I'm still the same.
"Alexandra Ward," I say it tentatively.
"Good." He gives me the impression we are in agreement over my
identity.
"Now can you tell me where you are and what day it is?"
"Wellness House." Of which I am now sure. I give the date as the day
after my miscarriage. Which seems like yesterday. Well, was yesterday,
but who knows now.
"Correct. That's great!"
"This is the most lucid she's been in weeks." Ros talks about me like
I'm not there.
But it's a great clue.
Weeks!
Clearly in Mr Black's newest instalment of warped reality I've been
institutionalized for a considerable time.
Something that would only be the fate of the very crazy.
His latest cruel twist.
Make me a patient in my own hospital.
From psychiatrist to psycho.
Somewhat droll I guess.
And to be fair I'm inclined to agree I'm suffering a mental illness.
Courtesy of him mind. But I feel like I could easily slide into a major
depression given my losses; the baby so acutely, but Kevin too. And now
with the bleak future he forecast on top of that.
It was probably too soon for it all to sink in though. But I'd get
there no doubt.
Still; people don't get tied up for being depressed. Not usually.
That tends to be reserved for the especially bonkers.
But he hasn't actually made me crazy. I am, as they've observed, alert
and oriented.
Well relatively alert. I do still feel drowsy.
But it's not like I'm hallucinating or delusional.
There are no aliens dancing around my bed and I don't for a moment
suspect that Ros and/or Michael intend me harm.
I gather Mr Black just wants to give me a taste of my own medicine.
Quite literally really.
But if I behave myself and show that I'm 'cured' of my 'madness' I'll
be out of here soon.
Although I suppose my promised life as a whore awaits me on my release.
But I best just deal with one thing at a time.
"Maybe it's the depot," Michael offers in response to Ros' observation.
Well that explains my drowsiness.
A depot antipsychotic injection.
If I don't get that out of me; wherever it may be, probably somewhere
in my backside; I'll feel this spaced out for a month.
"Can you undo my shackles please?" I ask as sweetly as I can make
myself sound.
Michael and Ros cast furtive glances at each other.
"I'm not sure that would be wise." Ros says.
"Well how about we undo your legs and sit you up." Michael offers what
he believes is a compromise. "As long as you promise not to kick or
spit."
Kick or spit? As if I'd do either of those things. Although they are
behaving as if I might. God!
Who am I in this new version of me? What has Mr Black done?
Surely I'm not that sort of person.
He wouldn't have made me nasty surely.
That would seem to fly in the face of all that he claims he was trying
to achieve.
When he changed me from Alex Turner to Alex Moore he had made me much
more docile, malleable, subservient even. He had stripped me of all my
confidence, which may have even seemed like arrogance to some; and made
me nervous, neurotic and timid.
But now had my personality changed yet again?
Was I now the sort of person that needed restraining? Not the psychotic
sort, but the manipulative vindictive sort that comes into the
Emergency department screaming, swearing, biting and scratching.
The type that Shaan alluded to. The self absorbed, narcissistic
spiteful personality disorders that just want to be vicious for
viciousness sake.
I could never be that person could I?
As I thought about it though, was Alex Turner merely a more palatable
version of that?
He could be spiteful and vindictive. And he was at times narcissistic.
But I had learnt so much in this past year. Changed so much. Why would
Mr Black set all that back just for the sake of it?
I felt like I was getting a headache trying to hash over it, and I
noticed Michael was looking at me expecting an answer. I had, in my
introspection made it look like I was deliberating over his offer. Like
I was deciding whether agreeing not to kick and spit was an acceptable
price for having my legs released. Oh God Alex! Way to go in terms of
making your situation worse.
"I promise." Too little too late? "I won't kick or spit."
I can see Ros looking at Michael, trying to convince him this is an
unwise decision, but he ignores her and starts undoing my legs.
I find myself holding my breath. I honestly don't know if something
inside me is going to flick and I find the full force of my foot in his
face. He had made himself pretty vulnerable as he undid the Velcro.
Nothing happens. I release a decompressive sigh. I seem to still be in
full control of my actions. Michael presses a button and the bed bends
in the middle, bringing me upright.
"Thank you." I smile and try to continue with my nonthreatening
demeanour.
I ask my next question for two reasons. One to find out why they feel
the need to restrain me, but also to make them appreciate I don't
understand or remember the reason for it.
"Why am I tied up? Am I dangerous?"
"I imagine you don't recall." Michael begins. Which is absolutely true
but I'm glad he thinks so too. "You've been pretty delusional. And
prone to violent outbursts. It's for your safety as much as ours. I
know you seem calm now, but you've fooled us before. It depends on
which personality is manifest at the time. So we'll just take it slowly
and see how you go."
Which personality? What the fuck?
If he's implying multiple personality disorder that's the biggest crock
of shit I've ever heard. It's not even a real diagnosis. Well in Alex
Turner's opinion anyway. All that crap about 'Sybil' and 'United states
of Tara' is just made up for television.
Most cases Alex Turner saw were just people with a myriad of other
issues that made them believe they had different personalities. Michael
should know this too, so what the hell is he going on about?
I cannot let this go on without clarification. "You said 'which
personality.' Are you implying I have more than one?"
I suppose I should remember this is entirely Mr Black's rodeo. And with
regard to him, I know anything's possible. So if he wants people to
believe I have multiple personality disorder, then as far as they are
concerned, I do.
"I think I better get my boss," Michael decides. "It's really good
you're making sense Alex. But we should seize the moment for however
long it lasts. I'll be right back." He scurries out, leaving me just
with Ros.
She regards me sternly but doesn't speak. I notice she's wary enough to
stay out of kicking range.
Michael doesn't take long with his mission.
He returns with another man. This one's in a suit. It's cheap and the
colour is not great. Too much brown to be truly grey. Underneath is a
shirt I'd kindly describe as salmon, with a tie that doesn't match any
of it. He's wearing fine rimmed spectacles (which encapsulates them
better than calling them 'glasses' would) which sit some way down his
nose rather than properly affixed to the bridge of it. It is a harsh
angular nose. As are all his features. There is nothing to soften them.
He is the stereotypical epitome of a psychiatrist I guess. Maybe that
is for good reason.
I'm bewildered, apprehensive and anxious all at once.
There is a saying that starts something like. "Speak of the devil and
the devil appears."
Yet another truism.
I don't know what this means or what is about to happen, as Michael
innocently does the introductions.
"Just in case you don't remember." Michael directs at me. "I'll
introduce my supervisor. The consultant psychiatrist overseeing your
case." He pauses.
"Alex. This is Doctor Black."
***
Well this is definitely new. Up to this point Mr Black had remained a
shadowy figure unseen by human eyes, (other than his victims), but now
he had inserted himself squarely into my latest 'adventure.'
He looked so different too. Instead of the usual contempt laden sneer
he reserved for me, he sported a genial smile.
He had the outfit and demeanor to scream out to all: 'I'm a kindly
psychiatrist.'
I was having none of it, but I had much to consider. I figured his
expectation of me would be for me to play along. I would certainly do
so. I worried a little for Michael's safety. Ros too of course. If I
took issue and chose exposition of Mr Black's disguise there may be
consequences for all of us.
Mr Black, or I suppose Dr Black currently, opened conversation with
what seemed to me to be simulated cheeriness.
"Oh I'm sure she remembers me Michael. After all, she had me playing
such a major part in all her fantastical delusions she's practically
fixated. So I don't imagine she's likely to forget."
'Fantastical delusions.' Add that to 'multiple personalities' and I'm
beginning to come off like a total crackpot.
I choose not to ask him to elaborate but Ros does so for me.
"I'm glad you asked Roslyn." He responds to her question in typical Mr
Black fashion. Or at least I think so. "Alex here is a fascinating
case. The usual persecutory delusions, with a little bit of a religious
base. That's very common. But Alex actually believes I'm some sort of
demon, with the ability to alter her appearance and reality. A way of
linking all her differing personalities together some how. Quite
ingenious how the pathological mind can find ways to create patterns to
justify it's disordered thought. But that's why we're here to help.
Many of my colleagues may put someone like her in the too hard basket.
But I don't believe anyone, not even her, is beyond hope."
I'd never realized quite how demeaning it felt to be talked about when
you are present. Like some sort of simpleton, or even museum exhibit.
Doctors do that a lot. Alex Turner did that a lot. At least I think he
did.
Anyway, I'll just have to get over that. What was more pressing was my
working out Mr Black's agenda. And his next move. Why was I here? And
what did he expect me to do to get myself out of these binds acutely,
and this place consecutively?
"Dr Black could I please speak to you alone for a moment?" I squeak
politely.
"It's fine." He responds to the looks from both his colleagues. "A
little chat might be nice. And she's still tied up. Even if she still
regards me as her nemesis I don't think she can hurt me."
He sits on the one chair in the room and Ros and Michael leave in
virtual silence.
We both watch the door close.
"Well this wasn't what I was expecting." I begin with the obvious.
"Whatever do you mean?" He appears genuine in his uncertainty.
"This isn't exactly a brothel. For my nine years of slavery. Did you
change your mind or is this just a little wayside stop to torment me a
little further?"
"Alex. Id' tell you you're not making any sense. As I've done a myriad
of times before. But I know it will not shake you from your delusions.
They are so deep set. You are so beyond any listening to logic and
reason. I thought increasing your medications may break the cycle. But
still you can't be reached."
"You can drop the act." I try to convince him. "The CCTV has no sound
if that's what you're worried about. And these doors are pretty noise
proof. Trust me I know."
"And how do you know?'
"From when I was Alex Turner of course. I worked here for years
remember."
"No! You didn't! For the umpteenth time I'll say this. Alex Turner
doesn't exist."
"Well not now. Thanks to you. But he did. I did. It's just that no-one
knows that but you and me."
"Alexandra. Listen carefully.' He changes his expression to earnest.
"Dr Alex Turner is your fictional construct. Just one of the multiple
personalities you have developed over your lifetime of traumatic
experiences. You have dissociative identity disorder. And the only
reason you know what that means is because you looked it up when we
first told you. Not because you were a psychiatrist in a past life.
Everything you think you know is just your learned experience from
being in and out of psychiatric institutions since you were a teen.
You created all these characters. But they exist only in your head."
"I've seen this move," I say snidely. "It stars John Cusack!" At least
I think it did. "Now what am I supposed to do? Start killing off my
other personalities till there is only one left?"
"This is what frustrates me about you." He doesn't seem frustrated
though. "But also gives me hope. These brief flashes of cynical wit. I
believe you are an intelligent woman with a lot of potential. You just
need to accept that there is only one reality. And this is it. There's
no such things as demons and alternative realities. You are Alexandra
Ward. You always have been and you always will be. You are 31 years
old. Unemployed. On sickness benefits. Your current accommodation, when
you're not in here, which is a lot, is supported residential government
housing. A half way house if you like. You've been too mentally unwell
to hold down a job for years. Most everyone thinks you are beyond
rehabilitation. But I haven't given up on you. I still believe the key
to your future is releasing the torment from your past. So we're going
to talk about it once again. You need to remember who you truly are,
and how you got here, to make all those other falsehoods go away."
I have to admit. I'm even more frightened of Dr Black than I ever have
been. He's so intense. And so immersed in character. I don't know
whether to play along or remain steadfast in my argument. But what
nonsense is he about to espouse? Is he truly trying to trick me into
believing him? What would be the point of that?
I try to establish a motive. What he could possibly gain by lying like
this. I can't think of any. There's no way any of what he's saying
could possibly true though.
I am Alex Turner aren't I?
I mean I was.
Wasn't I?
These damn drugs have got me so drowsy and befuddled. And they're
making me malleable and prone to suggestion.
I'll listen to his recount of my past. Only to find flaw in it. And
pick holes in it. And prove him wrong. And somehow find a way out of
here.
Or maybe I can make a deal. Just agree with everything he says. Tell
him I know I'm Alexandra Ward and that I'm very unwell. And maybe he'll
eventually let me go.
I don't know what to do.
I'm so confused.
All these changes to my person and personality. I don't know what's
real anymore.
I desperately need help.
And Dr Black is trying ever so hard to help me.
I think I just need to let him.
TBC
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