My heart pounded heavier than before, and my hands were now almost dripping with sweat. My body was trembling like I was freezing to my death, and with an effort of taking back control over my body, I fisted my hands and grit my teeth along with a final respiration.

The guard took position in his regular place, and I decided to keep myself as close to him as I possibly could.

When the door shut behind us, I looked over the small room to spot the well-known man sitting on the window sill, with his face already in my direction.

A tiny smile formed his fine lips as his eyes met with mine, and the whole world turned upside down in an instant. Without control, hundreds of butterflies began to flutter around inside my stomach, tingling me to weakness. I didn't want my physical reactions to decide how I felt when I laid eyes on him.

He was still a psychotic killer and a violent man, so my body should not react in any other way but with fear and distancy in his proximity, but I just couldn't seem to control it.

"Beverly? Are you really here?" Sniffled Brandon through the abnormal shy smile formed by his lips. It hurt to hear him speak that way. He sounded so broken and vulnerable, which was not common for him at all.

I was surprised. This was not what I expected at all when I stepped inside this room. Rather I surmised meeting with an evil-looking boy, atrociously leering in the way only he could, searching through my soul like a scan while his fury filled the room and had me choking. But it appeared I was wrong with the survey I was truly met by.

My heartbeat got calmer from the scene of the actual encounter, and I took one small step closer to Brandon while smiling back at him in the most amiable way.

My body did not want to cooperate with my brain. I didn't want to smile at him like I was happy to see him, I didn't want my heartbeat to get calmer. Those were just signs of safeguard, and a stupid attempt of my body telling me that there was no threat against me. It was not right. Those feelings were the exact ones I was afraid of. They were putting me in danger, and I knew about the consequences of them, because I had experienced them before.

I started realizing that the biggest menace in the room was myself. Not Brandon, not his actions. It was me. I was the one in lack of savvy.

"Yes, Brandon. I am really here," I mumbled back with a careful, still friendly voice. The remains of sanity slowly ran out of me as I kept looking at him.

I had been here for barely a minute, and I was already walking right into his trap. Brandon moved from the window sill and stood up only to spectate me. The smile didn't leave his face, but the look in his eyes made him appear different than usual. Did something happen to him while I was gone?

"I missed you,"

I didn't get surprised by his words, I actually started to believe him since I was more convinced every time I met him that he was as capable of being emotional as any other human being. And after the situation with the cuts, and his strong reactions towards me all along, it did certainly make sense if what he told me was true.

Maybe he felt something different around me after all, just like he told me after that first weekend without seeing me. But still, it was impossible for him to be a psychopath if he felt that way.

Without knowing what to say, I suddenly felt the urge to actually say it back, that I had missed him too. But that was not right. Grateful about my hesitation, I shook my head and forced back the focus on my profession. This was just another regular session between me and my patient.

"Did you do that to yourself again because you missed me, Brandon?" I inquired as I glanced at his left arm, where the several, freshly red wounds were placed. My heart broke by the disclosing vision. His whole arm was destroyed with frenzied damage. It was obscene and appalling to watch, and I couldn't bear the imagination of how much it must burn and itch as the tenuous and deep-cut wounds would heal into tight, dry scabs.

I decided to leave out the part that I missed him too,  and professionally responded to him instead. Even if I knew the answer to my question, I wanted the words to come from Brandon himself.

"You know that's what I do when I'm without you for too long," He quietly stated shamelessly. My heart shattered into further pieces as I heard him speak, and I tried my best not to let the tears out.

I craved finding a way to eliminate the feelings of liability and guilt, because I couldn't handle those words running on repeat in my head. No matter how crazy it sounded, it was somehow my fault that he did that to himself, and I couldn't stand that fact.

"Oh, Brandon," My voice lowered from the heartbreak, and I had to take a moment and remain in the silence for a couple of seconds before I managed to speak again.

"May I ask? Is there some way you can explain to me how you feel when I'm absent? Is there someone in your head telling you to hurt yourself? Or are you doing it to ease some sort of pain? I really need to know, Brandon. Please talk to me so I can help you!" I was desperate. There was no profession left in me as I spoke. Even though our previous dramatic happening had me traumatized, this made me turn in a second. It was like I forgot all about it when I stood here right before him, watching him at his weakest.

All the feelings of fear and mistrust disappeared, and all my body craved for was to help the poor, sick man in front of me.

He had told me he wouldn't hurt me, and I was ready to take that chance and trust his promise. I owed him that, it was the least I could do, especially after witnessing the bloody damage all over the thin skin of his arms.