"And you, Mr. Black? What do you think of Miss Addams' methods?" Dr. Kinbott tried to pull Victor into the conversation and thaw the icy atmosphere.
Victor was slouched in the armchair, using his finger to poke a mini-boxer that Venom had morphed into on his shoulder, making it "fight" a knitted teddy bear on the sofa.
Hearing the question, he looked up and flashed a grin that was far too bright. "Whoa! I think it was super cool! Those guys were like expired, moldy chocolate. Wednesday just helped them with early recycling! Very eco-friendly!"
Dr. Kinbott took a deep breath, struggling to keep her smile in place. "A... unique perspective. So, Mr. Black, perhaps we can talk about you today..."
"Doctor!" Victor suddenly bolted upright as if he'd discovered a new continent. His eyes sparkled as he pointed to a photo frame on the doctor's desk.
"Is that your boyfriend? Wow, looks like a decent guy! But..." He squinted, tilting his head to the side.
Dr. Kinbott paused, instinctively glancing at the photo of herself and a reasonably presentable man. A faint, almost imperceptible softness touched her face. "Yes, that is..."
"He cheated on you, didn't he?" Victor interrupted her at rapid-fire speed, his tone as certain as if stating a law of physics.
"And probably with your best friend or a colleague? The breakup was pretty ugly in the end, and you still secretly scroll through his Instagram late at night and call them a couple of dogs, right?"
Dr. Kinbott's smile froze instantly. The color drained from her face at a visible speed. "How... how did you..."
"Oh! Simple!" Victor waved his hand, enthusiastically beginning his analysis like a commentator at an exciting sports match. "Look at the photo. First, composition!"
He pointed at the frame. "There's a gap between where you and he are standing—big enough to fit another person! The body language is distant! Look at his hand, loosely resting on your waist, fingertips not applying any pressure. Typical perfunctory hugging!"
"Second, the details!" Victor continued to drop bombs.
"Do you remember what day this was taken? probably not, right? But I bet it was some important anniversary or holiday. You were dressed very formally, but that shirt he's wearing—"
"Exactly, look at the cuff. It's wrinkled, like he pulled it from the bottom of the hamper to deal with a chore! The tie color completely clashes with your dress, proving his mind wasn't on it at all!"
"And the most important point!" Victor slapped his thigh.
"Look at his smile! Standard toothy grin, but the muscles around the eyes aren't moving! A fake smile! Typical forced business face! I've seen this expression a lot. It usually appears when forced to attend boring family gatherings or... hmm... when facing a partner one has lost interest in!"
Victor spread his hands, wearing a "isn't it obvious" expression.
"So the conclusion is: this guy stopped loving you ages ago, barely maintaining the relationship until he got caught! After the breakup, you couldn't let go, and you even put this photo full of failure on your desk where you see it every day—"
"Dr. Kinbott, is this self-punishment? or late-stage Stockholm Syndrome?"
His analysis was fast and accurate, his tone as casual as discussing the weather, yet every word was like a scalpel plunging shlck, shlck into Dr. Kinbott's heart, complete with a twist.
Dr. Kinbott was completely frozen. Her face flashed between red and white, her lips trembling. Her calm, gentle demeanor was obliterated.
She opened her mouth to refute him, but found her throat choked, unable to utter a single word.
In those eyes that tried so hard to maintain professionalism, water began to visibly accumulate.
Her psychological defense, which she took pride in, was as fragile as a wet tissue in front of this crazy boy's blunt truths.
"I... I'm not... we didn't..." she stammered in vain, her voice shaking.
But Victor was clearly enjoying himself, as if he'd found the perfect conversational partner. "Hey, don't be sad! Dumping a scumbag like that is a blessing! Next time you look for a boyfriend, pay attention! Let me tell you, look at a man's shoes first..."
Wednesday watched it all calmly.
Dr. Kinbott was too busy dealing with Victor's blade named "Truth," trying to salvage a shred of professional dignity from this sudden, bloody psychological dissection, to notice anything else.
Perfect timing.
Wednesday stood up.
"Excuse me," her voice was as cold as ever. "Restroom."
Victor, completely immersed in "counseling" the doctor, waved his hand casually.
Dr. Kinbott nodded frantically, clutching at the excuse like a lifeline. She was eager for the goth girl to disappear temporarily so she could catch her breath and collect her crumbling emotions.
Wednesday walked out of the therapy room expressionless and gently closed the door.
The hallway outside was quiet and empty. Her gaze instantly locked onto the unassuming door at the end of the corridor—the restroom. She slipped inside.
The small room smelled of disinfectant and dust.
High on the wall, a narrow, dusty ventilation window was open. Outside, it connected to a rainwater pipe on the building's exterior. It was rusty, but looked sturdy enough.
Downstairs, she could vaguely see Principal Weems leaning against the car.
Wednesday didn't hesitate for a second. She deftly shed her cumbersome black overdress, revealing the black shirt and trousers underneath, which allowed for easier movement.
She rolled the dress up and stuffed it into the bottom of the corner trash can.
She leaned out the window, grabbed the cold metal pipe with both hands, and slid down silently, her body moving like an agile nocturnal animal. Her movements were light and swift; the friction was minimal, almost completely masked by the rustling of leaves in the wind.
Her feet landed firmly on the ground in the alley without making a sound.
She took one last look up at the closed window of the second-floor therapy room, imagining the "psychological analysis" Victor might still be conducting and Dr. Kinbott's breakdown face.
Then, she turned. Her black silhouette quickly merged into the shadows of the alley, vanishing like a drop of water into the ocean.
---
Inside the therapy room, Victor was still enthusiastically instilling his "Scumbag Identification Secrets" into Dr. Kinbott, with Venom transforming into various small props on his shoulder to demonstrate.
Dr. Kinbott was pale, her eyes unfocused, looking as if her soul had been sucked out.
No one noticed that the other troublemaker had successfully derailed.
Dr. Kinbott felt like she was suffocating.
Victor's precise and cruel dissection felt like countless needles piercing her heart, making her fingertips cold. She desperately needed to interrupt this naked "psychological surgery" being performed on her.
"W-Wait... Mr. Black..." Her voice was weak as she tried to raise a hand to stop Victor's continuous output. "We... perhaps we should wait for Miss Addams, see if she needs anything..."
No response.
The room contained only Victor's excited voice and the sound of her own racing heart.
An ominous feeling crept over her. Wednesday had been in the restroom... for a bit too long.
She stood up abruptly, almost stumbling as she rushed to the therapy room's attached restroom (wait, did she go to the hallway one?) and trembled as she turned the handle—
Empty.
Cold white tiles, closed window, a space so clean it lacked human presence.
It was as if the goth girl had never existed.
"Whoa!" Victor whistled loudly. He had wandered up behind her at some point and was peeking in, his face full of excitement at the escalating chaos.
"Standard prison break scene! Cool! I knew she couldn't last long! Venom said this aromatherapy smelled like a mix of 'rotting candy and fake smiles'."
Dr. Kinbott's vision went black, her blood pressure spiking instantly. A patient had escaped during her session! Right under Principal Weems' nose!
Abandoning all professionalism and her gentle mask, she practically rolled and scrambled down the stairs, shoved open the clinic door, and shouted in panic at Principal Weems leaning against the car: "P-Principal! Bad news! Miss Addams... she's gone!"
Principal Weems' eyes narrowed instantly. Her sharp gaze swept over Dr. Kinbott's pale face, then up to the open window of the therapy room on the second floor. Her expression didn't change much, but the air pressure around her dropped instantly.
"Out the window?" Her voice betrayed no emotion, but carried a cold weight.
"P-Probably..." Dr. Kinbott gasped, feeling like she was about to cry. "I... I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention..."
Principal Weems didn't scold her immediately. She simply took out her phone in silence, seemingly starting to contact someone.
Dr. Kinbott slumped against the doorframe. Today was absolutely her professional Waterloo. No, it was the Passion of the Christ. She needed a shot of hard liquor. No, a whole bottle.
Catching her breath slightly, she instinctively turned to say something—anything—to the only "witness" present, Victor. Something like "Rest assured, we will find her"—
Then she discovered that behind her, it was also empty.
That noisy, dark-haired boy who had just stripped her bare with words had also disappeared, silently as a ghost, at some unknown moment.
At the clinic door, she was the only one left, along with Principal Weems making a call in the distance.
A breeze blew past, curling up a few fallen leaves.
Dr. Kinbott stood alone, feeling a chill run from head to toe, steeped in despair and absurdity.
Today wasn't a professional Waterloo.
Today was a reenactment of the Passion. And she was Jesus on the cross, being roasted by two thieves simultaneously.
She slowly slid down to sit on the steps and buried her face in her trembling hands.
Downstairs, she could vaguely make out the silhouette of Principal Weems leaning against the car.
Wednesday didn't hesitate. She deftly shed her cumbersome black overdress, revealing the activity-friendly black shirt and trousers underneath.
She rolled the dress into a tight bundle and stuffed it into the bottom of the trash can in the corner.
She leaned out the window, grabbing the cold metal pipe with both hands. Like an agile nocturnal animal, she slid down silently. Her movements were light and swift, the friction minimal, almost completely masked by the rustling of leaves in the wind.
Her feet hit the alley ground without making a sound.
She glanced up one last time at the closed window of the therapy room on the second floor, imagining the "psychoanalysis" Victor might still be conducting and Dr. Kinbott's crumbling sanity.
Then, she turned. Her black silhouette quickly merged into the shadows of the alley, vanishing like a drop of water into the ocean.
---
Inside the therapy room, Victor was still enthusiastically instilling his "Scumbag Detection Secrets" into Dr. Kinbott, while Venom shapeshifted into various small props on his shoulder to demonstrate.
Dr. Kinbott was pale, her eyes unfocused, looking as if her soul had been sucked out.
No one noticed that the other troublemaker had successfully derailed.
Dr. Kinbott felt like she was suffocating.
Victor's precise and cruel dissection felt like countless needles piercing her heart, making her fingertips cold. She desperately needed to interrupt this naked "psychological surgery" being performed on her.
"W-Wait... Mr. Black..." Her voice was weak as she tried to raise a hand to stop Victor's continuous output. "We... perhaps we should wait for Miss Addams, see if she needs anything..."
No response.
The room contained only Victor's excited voice and the sound of her own racing heart.
An ominous feeling crept over her. Wednesday had been in the restroom... for a bit too long.
She stood up abruptly, stumbling as she rushed to the therapy room's attached restroom, and trembled as she turned the handle—
Empty.
Cold white tiles, a closed window, a space so clean it lacked human presence.
It was as if the goth girl had never existed.
"Whoa!" Victor whistled loudly. He had wandered up behind her at some point and was peeking in, his face full of excitement at the escalating chaos.
"Standard prison break scene! Cool! I knew she couldn't last long! Venom said this aromatherapy smelled like a mix of 'rotting candy and fake smiles'."
Dr. Kinbott's vision went black, her blood pressure spiking instantly. A patient had escaped during her session! Right under Principal Weems' nose!
Abandoning all professionalism and her gentle mask, she practically scrambled down the stairs, shoved open the clinic door, and shouted in panic at Principal Weems leaning against the car: "P-Principal! Bad news! Miss Addams... she's gone!"
Principal Weems' eyes narrowed instantly. Her sharp gaze swept over Dr. Kinbott's pale face, then up to the open window of the therapy room on the second floor. Her expression didn't change much, but the air pressure around her dropped instantly.
"Out the window?" Her voice betrayed no emotion, but carried a cold weight.
"P-Probably..." Dr. Kinbott gasped, feeling like she was about to cry. "I... I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention..."
Principal Weems didn't scold her immediately. She simply took out her phone in silence, seemingly starting to contact someone.
Dr. Kinbott slumped against the doorframe. Today was absolutely her professional Waterloo. No, it was the Passion of the Christ. She needed a shot of hard liquor. No, a whole bottle.
Catching her breath slightly, she instinctively turned to say something to the only "witness" present, Victor—something like "Rest assured, we will find her"—
Then she discovered that behind her, it was also empty.
That noisy, dark-haired boy who had just stripped her bare with words had also disappeared, silently as a ghost, at some unknown moment.
At the clinic door, she was the only one left, along with Principal Weems making a call in the distance.
A breeze blew past, curling up a few fallen leaves.
Dr. Kinbott stood alone, feeling a chill run from head to toe, steeped in despair and absurdity.
Today wasn't a professional Waterloo.
Today was a reenactment of the Passion. And she was Jesus on the cross, being roasted by two thieves simultaneously.
She slowly slid down to sit on the steps and buried her face in her trembling hands.
"I really... cannot do this job anymore."