Sappho's Demise - Prologue

Drumming her fingers against the dark wooden table's surface, hazel coloured eyes examined the office in slight boredom. She scanned the dark and heavy, obviously antique interior in annoyance. Except white walls, everything was cramped with old photographs and paintings, mostly portraits. A cabinet of antiquity to put it nicely. As long as she worked here, the woman had wished for a bright and friendly, more modern kind of office, but one condition in the contract said to keep this place the way it was. No extra-ordinary painting-jobs, no modern furniture made of plastic or metal, in short: nothing futuristic. People would feel more comfortable in a setting like this. That's what the previous doctor said.

The woman paid close attention to her neatly trimmed French nails before her glimpse trailed off to the heavy chair in front of her desk; with a frown she noticed the umbra tinted leather peeling off around the stitches. Probably it was about time to purchase a new one soon.

Well, what a joke.

On the other hand, she had been a perfectionist and on top of that, a purist. Maybe, but only maybe it was a bad habit of hers, a tick to say it nicely. Everybody had habits and ticks, even reasonable ones like in her case. It felt like old clocks, book shelves and dark stained wooden furniture held her back in personality. Did it have the same effect on her clients? She better hoped so. Coming back to weird behaviour, she took care of those whose abnormalities clearly went overboard.

Day by day, Jihl Nabaat listened to them.

To their phobias, miserable childhood memories, the feeling of being useless or suicidal. She knew that every poor soul coming into her office was necessary for her own living and vice versa. But sometimes – yeah, sometimes she grew tired of her occupation. She wasted years at Eden's university, worked hard for her diploma; only for – yes – this. A small office and a list of lunatics she had to take care of and help. Jihl wanted more, but wanting too much couldn't keep her from falling, making mistakes. One of the so-called failures tossed the woman off her personal Olympus to success and granted a harsh impact in the cruel, cold world of Bodhum city.

Speaking of wackos.

Her gaze trailed to the ancient wall clock, following the pendulum's monotone movement while her ears rang in response to the everlasting tick..tock, the sound reminded her of a metronome. It threatened to drive her nuts. Was it already this late? And also, did Jihl spent all day here without a single client? That was new. If it went on like this, she would bring a book for the next day. Or a few Sudokus to kill time since she read every book on the enormous shelf behind her work space.

Anyways; it was time to get her lunch.

Tossing long blonde hair over her shoulders, sleek woman moved from the seat, arching her back as it throbbed in protest, reminding her of the stiffness she had to deal with. Her mind was occupied to pick any restaurant that would satisfy her needs in 30 minutes and Jihl had the feeling that she would only make it to the coffee shop on the other side of the crossroad or even the Japanese restaurant which was located in the same building as her office. The woman was so tired of food that tasted all the same, but it had to be done fast and consumed even faster. Once she had to deal with humans in need of her advise she wouldn't let them wait. It was a simple no-go.

Fixing the slim reading glasses and reaching out for her black purse from Gucci (one of the more fancy accessories Jihl had at home to show that she wasn't an average woman and by god, she was anything else than AVERAGE), the woman made herself ready to go and grabbed the anthracite coloured jacket, fitting her suit that contained a white blouse and black knee-length skirt. Ten minutes before her lunch break would even start. But well... it wasn't like anyone would ruin her plans yet, right?

However – fate was a bitch; As usual.

The phone rang. God, she hated that sound. Especially when it had to ring ten minutes before lunch. Rolling her eyes, the woman swung herself onto the office chair to slide the unlock-button and activate the speaker.

"Jihl, Ms. Farron wants to see you. But I see that she doesn't have an appoint-"

"It's alright, Mara," the blonde sighed lowly, "send her in."

Rubbing her nose bridge, she settled down once more and collected her composure. Farron? She didn't show up for a long time. This was going to be interesting and time-consuming for sure. This woman was a real challenge, a tough nut to crack so to speak of.

A harsh and short knock at the door brought Nabaat back into reality. Straightening herself and fixing the glasses once more, she cleared her throat.

"Please, come in."

The door swung open and closed in a fast and silent manner. The woman that stepped in was medium sized, slender with indications that her former body type used to be very athletic. Jihl knew  the facts of her client without looking into her folders; Photographic memory. She surely was gifted in some areas.

Farron Claire, age 25. Single. PTSD, addiction to medications thanks to phantom pain, monosyllabic person; traumatized by a close-to-death experience, an assault as far as she could tell from the newspapers. She didn't know all details yet; just the rough idea. The woman already received treatment from the police psychologists although they seemed to give up on her soon, clashing against the rough attitude of someone who just didn't want to talk and curled up into a shell of bitter silence.

A challenge indeed.

"Hello Claire. Have a seat~"

Jihl's voice sounded calm and soothing as if she talked to a wounded animal because in fact, Claire Farron was one of them. Deeply hurt, stirred. Just too proud to open up properly and allow herself to cooperate with the woman.

Hazel eyes lingered on steel-blue hues that only allowed others to see what she wanted them to see. Her face showed slight skin irritations as if she had scratched herself open, a sign of agitation and aggressions towards herself. It started slowly by scratching yourself open, moving further to ripping out eyelashes, eyebrows, facial hair. The next stage... well, she didn't want to continue that journey inside her head. It could have also been a sign of stress.

Light reddish streaks disturbed her otherwise marvellous pale epidermis. Champagne-coloured hair framed a heart-shaped face with doll-like features, gushing down her left shoulder in soft waves. Jihl's gaze didn't leave her counterpart's appearance and trailed down the grey tank-top, black chequered scarf and torn jeans, ending at worn out black Converse sneakers while Claire slouched rather displeased on the nostalgic seat with incredibly comfortable cushions that threatened to swallow her whole; crossing her legs and repeating this action with her arms the woman settled and created the well-known invisible wall she had built up since the first appointment.

"You started chewing your fingernails again," Nabaat stated calmly, only to see the young woman flinch barely unnoticed. She seemed to have nightmares again... or anything else that had bothered her since the last visit.

"You didn't show up for quite a while. Any reason for that?"

Silence. The usual kind. It was eerie, awkward. Claire clicked her fingernails together, matching the sound of the wall clock. She always did it since she came here the first time. And it left Jihl at growing displeasure. She only hid it very well behind the cloak of professional objectivity.

"Been busy."

The answer was short, precise. Just like a cut with a knife.

"I see. And what exactly kept you from showing up?"

The addressed woman licked her dry lips and started to lean further into the seat.

"I got a job. Night-shifts..."

Jihl lifted a finely curved eyebrow in recognition.

"Really? Look, that's a good progress you made! Does it have anything to do with your old occupation?"

"...What makes you think that?" Farron huffed. It seemed like a tiny brick crumbled and fell out of the wall.

"You said once that you would like to pick up your work at the police again if I remember correctly."

"I work as a bouncer. In a nightclub."

The brick got replaced once more and left Jihl sighing lowly, pushing the glasses up her nose bridge.

"Do you like it?"

For once, Claire snorted with a ghost of a smile flitting across her face.

"Who wouldn't? It's for a living. I get good payment. Although... the boss is slightly 'affectionate'. Not like I would mind."

"I see. How is the place called you work at?"

The blonde leaned forwards expectationally. Claire pursed her lips and clicked her tongue as she looked to the side, fixing the wall clock.

"Eight Heaven."

Eight Heaven. Really...

It rang a bell and Jihl found it hard to hold her amusement back to a decent level. A Lesbian club. Not even an ordinary one, but for women who were looking for a little thrill with handcuffs, a tiny adventure every now and then. This was delicious. Claire was really full of surprises. It didn't take Nabaat long to state the obvious that she must have favoured the female gender. So much for that.

"I know the owner. One of her friends used to be a client of mine." Jihl's smile widened in hope to encourage her female counterpart to open up a little more.

"... Right." Ruffling champagne-colored hair, the woman only snorted and shrugged. "Who doesn't know her? Davis-Stonefield is quite a name in Bodhum."

"Indeed," Nabaat admitted in dry fashion and cocked her head. In the meanwhile she tried to find out why her lost one returned like that and she straightened herself. "Anyway-,I can't get rid of the feeling that there is something you want to talk about. Why else would you show up before my sacred lunch-break?"

Jihl's gaze went to examine Claire's crossed arms. As if on unspoken command they unfolded and hands fiddled around in unease, picking the hem of her scarf to occupy themselves. Her fingers were shaking visibly as she nodded shortly and swallowed. So predictable.

"The phantom pain again I assume?"

Another nod followed.

Claire slipped uneasily in her seat and tried to ignore the fact that her therapist seemed to know her better with every time she came to beg. Begging. Didn't that sound poor on its own? Chewing her thumbnail the woman slouched further into the chair and narrowed her eyes.

"Claire? You know I'm not a doctor, are you aware of that? I can't give you a prescription every time you ask me to. Wouldn't it be better to focus on the source of your pain instead of treating just the symptoms?"

"What if I just give a flying damn about the cause? I know what it caused and there's nothing more to add OR analyse! I just want to get rid of the pain, for fuck's sake!"

Jihl sighed and leaned back, crossing her arms as well.

"Well... I don't know the cause yet. It would be only fair if you cared to enlighten me~"

Farron licked her lips and hissed. That didn't go well, did it?

"Let me guess. As long as you don't know the reason you won't give me anything at all. That's blackmailing..."

The blonde smiled, but it was only thin and shallow. Slowly she approached her goal and drove the woman into a corner, right where she wanted her to be.

"That's not blackmailing, Claire. I am your therapist and I need information to start the treatment that suits you best. As long as you don't give me what I need to work with I doubt that we can get you the proper treatment. Besides. If you're not satisfied with my methods, feel free to leave and return to your old therapist at the police. It's up to you..."

Claire sighed deeply and tipped her head back, tapping a foot against the oriental carpet, and casting a fleeting glance towards it. You could see its age; the previous owners didn't take good care of it. She was sure that its former colour used to be white with bold patterns in crimson, brown and black. By now it had an awful tint of mud-grey to it. Nothing she really appreciated.

"It's not going to work like that, Nabaat."

Her voice sounded firm as she attempted to lift from the chair until her left knee reminded her of the reason why she had cared to show up in the first place. With a painful hiss she settled back down. Jihl didn't miss the sign of weakness and pinned her down with an intense gaze.

"I'm afraid it is, Claire..." she replied laconically and forced her counterpart to look at her. "You came here in the first place. Of course I won't force you to stay, but instead of running off I'd recommend to open up a little more..."

Open up her ass. Farron furrowed her finely curved brows and pressed herself deeper into the seat with a barely audible scowl.

"Why can't you just fill out the prescription and let me be??"

The therapist couldn't help it but laugh softly in slightest mockery.

"Because I'm a therapist. It's my job to torture you until everything's revealed."

"..."

Claire cleared her throat, close to jumping right over the table and strangle that woman, once and for all.

"That's doesn't sound very client-friendly..." she only murmured and frowned, earning a chuckle.

"I know it doesn't. But any other client is willing to cooperate with me to achieve success." Nabaat arched her brows and fixed her reading glasses with a sly smile, "Just to quote you, Claire: Deal with it."

"Tch."

The addressed woman scoffed and tossed her head back, a strange mix of aggression and repression apparent in her expression. She really wouldn't get far like this. It only turned out to be a cat-and-mouse chase and for now Claire was pretty sure that her role was the mouse – not the feline. How unpleasant.

What to do? She could just go and leave! Then why the hell didn't she do it?

"... What do you want to hear so I get the fucking prescription?" she mumbled and exhaled deeply.

"It's not THAT easy. Even if I know the cause of your physical pain, it's only the scratched surface. We need to go deeper, maybe I have to hit so deep that it hurts you even more. But once it's revealed we can talk about antidepressants and beta-blockers."

Farron knew it. Same old story. Fucking same old deal. She slipped on the seat's cushion and dug her fingers into the armrest.

"Please... Jihl", it was rare that she used her therapist's first name to communicate with her, only to grant a certain distance wavering above them, "I. Need. Them. We can talk about the shit next time; just give me what I need to feel better. Please!"

Nabaat shook her head. Really? Kneading her nose bridge she gave up for now. It could cost her the job once the wrong person would find out and still...

She took her blue and gold-framed pen, opening a tiny accounting booklet and filled out whatever Claire desired, but she stopped in the middle.

"Only one question. When did that injury happen?"

A short sigh and Farron knitted her brows, trying to remember. It was really long ago.

"High school time."

"Alright. According to your build you must have attended a sport club. Heptathlon?"

Claire shook her head.

"No. Track-runner."

"Really?" Well... it seemed to suit her, Nabaat thought to herself as she took notes. "Guess you were pretty good at it."

"Used to be a top runner. Wanted to become professional."

Jihl lifted a brow, highlighting the stenographic notes in front of her. "A professional? What kept you from it?" She paused and straightened her back. "Did you have a sporting injury?"

She looked up directly, right into steel-blue eyes. Something happened, something changed. A part of the wall crumbled as Claire clenched her fingers and dug them into the fabric of her jeans.

"...No. It would have been something that could have been treated by the school's scholarship."

The blonde therapist tried to stay neutral but for a moment she was burning from curiosity yet she felt a little sorry. A ruined career; no wonder she had been so jaded. She listened clearly and set the pen's tip onto the paper, a tiny blob of ink startling her.

"If it wasn't a sporting injury... what else?"

Silence. No, don't go back into your shell, Jihl cursed inwardly. "Look, if you don't want to-"

"Accident."

The word was spoken softly, almost frail. Claire lowered her lids and inhaled.

"Motorcycle. I was only the passenger."

She closed her eyes and remembered the happening as the movie played inside her mind.

It was bucketing down on Bodhum's highway as the couple was on their way back from Palumpolum. Before they went home there was an argument. Claire couldn't really remember what it has been about, but emotions were on fire and... yes.

Traffic light. She only saw how it changed to red and felt the machine's engine roar, the tires losing grip to the ground. The driver pulled the brakes but they slipped right onto the crossroad... and after that... only darkness. Followed by white as Claire woke up later in hospital.

"The injury was so bad that I couldn't attend the track any longer. I tried though. I really tried and worked on it, but I never reached my old marks. Quit the team, lost my scholar for sport. Had to find a job."

Nabaat only listened; the pen left a scratching sound on textured paper. Now, all of a sudden it worked. Farron had never been so talkative before and she had a feeling that she should have pushed it. But Jihl dropped that idea quickly. It was about time to give Claire the "treat" she deserved and brought her attention back to the prescription.

Signing it quickly she ripped out the original paper, keeping the copy to herself.

"Well done. There you go. But don't tell anyone, you hear me? It could cost my job."

With quivering hands, Claire took the paper and nodded hastily.

"Thank you..." she breathed, glad that this session seemed to be over for now.

"Please come by again next week. We have something to work with now."

"... Right. We'll see."

Jihl smirked. She was sure that Claire would show up once more. This sort of painkillers was strictly limited and would only hold on for a week. She HAD to come over, if she wanted or not. The blonde watched her counterpart heaving up from the seat, groaning lowly at the sharp pain torturing her.

"Need help?"

Claire only stared at her.

"I don't need help. I don't need anyone."

"See you next week!"

The door closed behind Farron with a remarkable slam.

* * *

Claire fell onto the couch as she finally made it home from the pharmacy store, dropping the pill box on the white glass table next to the furniture she was resting on. Even if she wanted to, the young woman wouldn't have been able to move any further. The pain was dominating her mind, shutting off any other thoughts and emotions; a fleeting glance to the calendar on the wall. She was supposed to work today. At... 9 pm. Right?

"Fuck..." she hissed and tucked a pillow between her knees to disencumber the pained leg. Each thump of her heartbeat throbbed remarkably, making the leg tremor in reflex. Reaching out with one hand she grabbed the pillbox and clutched it as if her life depended on the chemical relievers. Wasn't she supposed to take it with water?

Hastily Claire looked around and tucked champagne strands of hair behind her ear. There was only a bottle of Jack on the table, a package of cigarettes, a lighter and a skull-shaped crammed full ashtray on the glass table. She used an arm to keep herself up and opened the box, popping a white pill out of the package. Well... no water? Fuck that, a sip of Jack to flush it down wouldn't kill her. The woman sighed in resignation and threw in the medication, taking one, two sips of Jack Daniels afterwards.

Claire hated to swallow pills. But she could accept the growing lump in her throat, as long as the sensations and the bliss would replace it later. Sinking back into the couch, the woman stared blankly at the wall and waited for the effects to kick in, catching sight of a framed photo of herself with a gold medal hanging around her neck. Good old times; a faint smile. Too bad it wouldn't come back, she thought to herself bitterly. Another glance was thrown at the digital clock on the end of the room. 3:41 pm. There was enough time to rest. If she would wake up later to get ready for work, the pain was gone. She was sure of that. At least medicinal drugs wouldn't disappoint her in life like other things... happenings... persons.

Her heavy lids fluttered close and with a deep exhale she relaxed. She only waited for the medication to work, tilting her head to the side; champagne-coloured hair covered her facial features like a veil. And while she drifted off to sleep, an image hushed through the corner of her conscience. Dark messy hair; a pair of deep green eyes, the gaze loving and a laugh she liked to remember...