Quinton looked up at the clock in frustration. How long had he been here, waiting? How much longer would he have to wait? It seemed like ages. He was very impatient and hated waiting. His appointment was for over an hour ago, and yet here he was still waiting. What was the point of setting an appointment if you never get seen at the appropriate time? He sighed. He was also very anxious. He needed help. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse. He could tell today was going to be a long day.

"Quinton Thompson?"

He rose at the sound of his name. A pretty blonde in a white lab coat and clipboard motioned for him to follow her inside the wooden double doors that separated the doctor's offices from the waiting room. He followed her, and noticed how nicely decorated the office was, full of bright paintings and inspiring quotes.

"Mr. Thompson, how are you?" She asked over her shoulders as they walked.

"I'm alright." He replied, somewhat irritated still, as his gaze continued to dance from picture to picture.

"Dr. Deborah will see you now. Right this way." She opened a door with her perfectly polished nails and motioned for him to have a seat inside.

Dr. Deborah rose from her seat at the sight of him. "Hello, Quinton."

"Deborah." He nodded, taking her hand and shaking it firmly.

"How are you feeling today, Quinton?" Deborah asked as the nurse closed the door behind her.

Quinton sighed heavily as he took a seat on the couch across from Dr. Deborah. "I've been better, honestly."

"Oh? Why do you say that?" She inquired.

"The thoughts & voices are back." Quinton said quietly, looking down at his hands.

"Hm..." He watched as Deborah quickly jotted down a few things on her clipboard. "What are the thoughts and voices saying to you?"

"To kill Midnight."

"So the thoughts are telling you to kill your cat?"

"Yes."

"Hm. I see. Have you been taking your medication?"

"Yes."

"Regularly? And on time?" She pressed.

"Yes Deborah, I have. It's not helping!" He hadn't meant to raise his voice, but he was frustrated. They had been at it for weeks, and still, nothing seemed to be helping him cope with his...illness.

"Okay. What else have they been saying? Did you try the exercise we talked about? Writing them down?"

Quinton reached into his pocket and pulled out a paper, and on it had a bunch of phrases. He handed it to Deborah:

You're going to lose your job. You're not good enough. We aren't going away. You need to kill Midnight. You need to run. Get away, RUN. They are after you Quinton. You need midnight gone. You are weak. You are WEAK. You will never get rid of us, we will be here forever. Forever. Forever!

"You do know these voices aren't real, and none of that is true, right?" Ms. Deborah asked hesitantly.

"Yes, but it feels real." Quinton replied sadly.

"Would you say that you're paranoid? Anxious? Suicidal?"

"Yes, yes, and no, not right now."

"Who do you think is after you, Quinton?"

"I don't know. I mean, I know that it's irrational, I know I'm safe. They keep telling me otherwise, and I know it's not true, but I can't escape it."

"Ok. Now, you do know that if you become a danger to yourself or to others I have no choice but to report it, right?" She asked him quietly.

"I know. But I would never harm anyone, especially not midnight. I love her."

"I know. And what about yourself? When last have you had a suicidal thought?"

"Yesterday."

"Do you have any plans on killing yourself?"

Quinton knew he had to be careful how he answered this, or else he would be baker-acted. "Not as of right now, no."

"Hm, okay. I'm going to increase your medication. Do you still feel depressed as well?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'm going to increase your Olanzapine to 20mg and your Paroxetine to 30mg. I want you to follow up with me in about a week to see how you're progressing."

"Okay."

Thirty minutes later, Quinton was on his way to his office, desperately trying to fight the voices he was hearing. They aren't real, they aren't real Q. It was taking all the concentration he had not to crash his car. Crash the car Quinton, you need to crash the car, we aren't going away, you need to crash the car. No one knew of the inner battles he faced.

"Shut up!" He whispered at a stoplight. He was thankful no one was around to hear him, talking to himself like a crazy person. He wasn't crazy though. He never wanted anyone to think he was crazy. Reaching into his glove compartment, he pulled out some pills, took two out and popped them into his mouth, and swallowed. Soon, he was pulling into his parking spot, and gathering his things to take with him. He hoped the Xanax he took would kick in soon.

"Good Afternoon Mr. Thompson." Tammy, his receptionist greeted him.

"Hello, Tammy. What's on my schedule for today?"

"Well, your appointment with Ms. Tanya Simmons is in 10 minutes."

"Tanya Simmons...?" He asked blankly, trying to recall.

"Yes sir, she'll be here to help take a look at the computers."

"Oh yes, that's right." Quinton had almost forgotten that his computers had been acting up all week.

"Please show Ms. Simmons to my office when she arrives." He instructed Tammy.

"Yes sir."

Quinton set down his things on his desk and plopped onto his leather chair, sighing.

You're never going to get better Quinton. Quinton, you need to end it. End it now.

"Not. Real." He said through gritted teeth.

He fired up his computer, intending on checking his email but he let out an aggravated sign when he couldn't connect to the internet. He instead focused on the paperwork that was on his desk. He had acquired three new clients in the past two weeks. All of who wanted extensively redesigned websites. He had started his web and graphic design firm QT Designs, over five years ago and had acquired over 100 clients. The business was thriving. If only he could get his mental health under control, he'd be fine.

There was a light knock on his door.

"Come in." He said.

Tammy entered first, and announced, "Mr. Thompson, this is Ms. Tanya."

Turning, Quinton's jaw almost dropped. She was stunningly beautiful, with hazel eyes and long black hair cascading down her shoulders. Her face was rounded, with a soft chin and a dazzling smile.

"Oh, uh, right this way." He rose and led her to where his router and modem were.

"When did you start experiencing problems?"

"Since last week Tuesday." He replied.

"Okay. Well, just by looking at everything, it doesn't seem to be an issue with the modem or router, it might be the computer itself. Do you mind if I take a look at the computers you have here?"

"Sure." He answered. "Follow me." He led her out to where the other computers in the office were located.

"How many computers do you have?" She asked as she walked behind him.

"Four."

She can't fix them. She is too pretty for you. You don't have a chance. Quinton had to suppress the urge to snap at himself, and his thoughts as he continued walking.

"I'll be in my office if you need me." He told her, before she could respond, he turned and headed back to his office.

Tanya was good at what she did. In about 30 minutes, she was able to get all the computers back up and running.

"You had a few viruses on your computers. I've installed webroot, an antivirus software, which will remain active for one year before you have to renew."

"Okay great, thanks." Quinton replied, impressed.

"Here is my business card, "she said, handing it to him, "call me if you have any more problems or issues."

"Okay, I definitely will do." He handed her a check in exchange for her business card.