Chapter 3

On the drive back, I sat alone in the back seat, wrapped in that soaked blanket.

Matthew had taken the front passenger seat, glancing down at his new watch every few minutes.

Daniela turned the heater up to full.

The warm air had barely reached my frozen fingertips when Matthew spoke up.

"It's too stuffy in here. I'm getting a little carsick."

Daniela shut off the heater at once and rolled a window halfway down.

"Is that better?"

I was soaked through, and the cold wind came pouring in, my teeth chattering so hard I couldn't stop them.

She glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

"Just hang on a little longer. We're almost home."

Matthew felt a little carsick, and she saw to his comfort right away.

I had just been pulled out of the river alive, and being cold for a while didn't matter.

Once we got home, I shut myself in the bathroom.

The moment the hot water hit my shoulders, I heard it again, the dull thud of a shoe sole slamming into my ribs.

Fists landed on my face, and the back of my head cracked against the wall, again and again.

Someone gripped the back of my neck, pressing the blade into my skin, laughing in my ear.

"Aren't you so good at protecting things?"

"Keep protecting that piece-of-shit bag and I'll finish you."

The sound of the glass bottle bursting by my ear was like a clap of thunder I could never shake.

I braced myself against the sink, staring at the pale face in the mirror.

There was no knife at the side of my neck, yet the skin ached as if it were being cut open all over again.

My phone suddenly buzzed one message after another.

More than a dozen messages flooded in at once.

Coworkers, classmates, even people I hadn't spoken to in years, all sending the same video link.

The title of the video was:

【Real Record from a Psychology Master's Student: Making a Trauma Patient Face His Fear, and He Stops Self-Harming at Last.】

The person who posted it was Matthew.

In a single night, the view count had already broken three million.

In the video, three men dragged me into an alley.

Their faces were all blurred out under thick pixelation.

My own face, though, was so clear you could see every twitch.

The footage captured the whole thing, me pinned to the ground while they beat me.

It also captured my shirt being torn open, the blade pressed to my throat, and finally me forced to kneel in the standing water.

Off camera, Matthew narrated in a calm voice:

"The subject keeps shouting his fiancée's name. This is a textbook case of dependent help-seeking."

"At this point the therapist absolutely cannot rush in to comfort him, or it will only reinforce his pathological dependence."

The comments were all praising him.

【Dr. Matthew is so professional. A patient like that would have driven me crazy in no time.】

【The actors weren't really out for blood. A grown man scared like this is way too dramatic.】

【His fiancée has the patience of a saint, marrying a mental case and still sticking around for his treatment.】

【The knife never even drew blood. The therapy wasn't thorough enough, was it?】

Some people recognized my face and posted my name and employer in the comments.

A coworker asked me, treading carefully:

【Is the person in the video really you?】

【It's gone all through the work group chat now.】

I gripped my phone and rushed out of the bathroom.

Matthew was sitting in the living room, refreshing the view count in excitement.

When he saw me, he smiled and held up his phone.

"Dylan, you know what?"

"Even my advisor saw it."

"He said this case has real research value. A genuine reaction is worth so much more than any theory in a textbook."

I stared at him, hard.

"Take it down."

"You blurred those men's faces."

I pointed at the screen, my voice shaking no matter how I tried to steady it.

"Why am I the only one who wasn't?"

Matthew explained it as if it were the most obvious thing:

"Your facial expressions are key data for observing trauma responses."

"If I blurred you out, how is anyone supposed to see the results of the treatment?"

He almost made me laugh with fury.

"Did I agree to let you film it?"

"Did I agree to let you put any of this online?"

The living room went quiet.

Daniela finally set down her phone.

"I agreed on your behalf."

I stared at her, stunned.

She came over and, just like she used to when she calmed me down, gently took hold of my shoulders.

"Dylan, you're unstable right now. A lot of your decisions aren't rational."

"You sacrifice a little privacy, but you let millions of people understand this illness. That counts as doing something meaningful."

Right then, HR from the company called.

The person on the other end told me, gently, that some clients had already come across the video and were worried my mental state might affect my work.

Until the talk died down, the company wanted me to stay on leave.

After the call ended, I said nothing for a long time.

Matthew, though, let out a soft sigh.

"You can always find another job."

"But if you miss this chance at treatment, you might never get out of it your whole life."

Daniela nodded too.

"The most important thing for you right now is to get well."

"It's not like I can't support you. Don't make things hard for Matthew over something this small."

Something this small.

My dignity, my job, and the nightmare I had fought so hard to forget.

In her eyes, they were all just something this small.

I said nothing more. I only wiped the cold sweat from my temple and walked out the door in a daze.

Behind me, Daniela started to come after me, but Matthew blocked the doorway.

"Let him calm down on his own."

"You chase after him and coax him every single time. When is he ever going to learn to control his emotions?"

"Honestly, even though Dylan is my best friend, I can't stand to watch him like this anymore."

The instant the door shut, I heard something inside my chest.

Silently, it shattered.