It's all a lie. 

His legs lost their steadiness as he wobbly swayed to the counter for a new bottle. His head spun more than he'd like when he sat back down. There was no need for glass. As he took a swig, the clear liquid burned his throat. He forgot to think of this little ritual as chasing away his demons. His head had no more space for thoughts. Oddly enough, he preferred the silence - being the only one to scream, the pure nothingness. 

His thumb traced the neck of the half-empty, no, half-full bottle. That's right. He has to stay positive to go on. One of them must. Only one can be granted the bliss, the chance to go crazy. His mind bubbled, his brain shivered. One gulp of the potion of adulthood can make this feeling go away. It can make every feeling go away. 

He lifted his gaze to see a woman neatly dressed in black.

"So, how are you feeling today, Tristan?"

"Great," he replied curtly, eyes glued on her pen.

"Why did you drink then? Be honest with me."

His mouth dried up. He found no enjoyment in their sessions. He chewed on his tongue lightly, enjoying the pressure and faint pain.

"Maybe you know the answer." They locked eyes. "You always know," he avoided her gaze when she smiled.

A loud thud echoed through the house. Tristan looked over his shoulder.

"And yet you never question it." She brought his attention back with the sweetness her voice held. "I like that about you."

His brows knitted tightly together. "Should I start questioning this?"

The woman set down her pen with an uncanny smile. "No, ignorance is bliss, I believe."

"You're bad at this." He sighed and offered her a glass. "I sometimes wonder how someone like you could even get a license."

She refused, as always. Tristan downed the glass, sitting back down. She crossed her legs and leaned into the soft cushion. 

The therapist's expression shifted as soft, hairy paws scratched at the side of the armchair. 

The kitten jumped on her lap, stretching before closing its eyes. Curling up on the armchair the therapist sat on, the empty chair.

The kitten licked its paws and purred. Tristan's hand slid down from his thigh, eyes blank, devoid of surprise. 

"Are you hungry, little one? Where is Amara?" He asked the ball of fluff before standing up to find his wife.

He stopped at the base of the stairs, hand lingering on the cold railing. The sound he heard earlier was way too familiar. He won't find his wife upstairs. His steps steadied, and his posture straightened as if he sobered the moment his legs headed to the basement. 

His hand refused to turn the doorknob, refusing to let him enter the room his wife used for her playthings. However, before he could gather enough courage, the door burst open. 

"Help me," the man pleaded, face twisted with desperation, eyes sunken. "Help me, help!" The man tugged at the bottom of Tristan's loose sweatpants, legs too tired to hold his weight. "She's crazy! We need to run!" Tears streamed down the man's face as he briefly glanced back into the dark hallway leading to the basement. 

Tristan focused on the man's mutilated hand. His left hand shook uncontrollably, fingers crushed by a hammer or perhaps broken by pliers. No, it must've been pilers. Amara preffers pilers. He straightened the wrinkles threatening to form between his brows with a thumb. "Are you left-handed?" Tristan asked the trembling man at the bottom of his feet calmly. 

The man lost words, looking upwards at the one he considered his savior, eyes wide with fear. Using the little strength he had left, he tried to stand up and run away. 

Tristan remained still as the man climbed back on his feet. "Good job," he clapped, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Nevertheless, the man never managed to escape. He fell back on the hard wooden floor over and over again, unable to stand for long. Tristan watched his attempts tiredly. "Can I call her now?" He bent down, placing a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder.

The man locked eyes with him, his eyes puffy, swollen from crying. The man's youthful face lacked emotion - aware of his fate. A slow nod marked his end.