Mimi's Demons

Chapter 27: I Don't Wanna Be Important

"The scars are definitely from self-inflicted wounds."

Duke landed another solid kick to the practice dummy and landed back with a controlled breath. He'd already finished his cardio so a sheen of sweat prickled his brow. He hated how easily he sweated. Yet another crappy thing his mother had passed on to him.

Serena reported back to him every morning and every night, so he knew his new daughter hadn't made any new cuts. And a stressful situation like she was in now would definitely call for a coping mechanism, which cutting usually was. But, as the Doc (Mr. Cricket) next to him pointed out, there were always exceptions.

"I also must once again suggest you hire a proper pediatric therapist," said Doc, adjusting his glasses so the sunlight bouncing off the gym floor didn't reflect off them. "It's getting ridiculous the extent she's going through to not look at me. And it may not be because of me, but having someone puke just by looking at you is still scarring."

Duke kicked. "Does she have to look at you for you to diagnose her?" He twisted, performing a perfect roundhouse finish with a squeak of his bare foot on the floor.

"Psychiatrics require a connection of sorts, so yes. You need a level of trust to change—why am I telling you this?"

Duke stepped away from the test dummy, popping his heels up and down to keep his heart rate up. "How can you not already know?"

"If she's so important, the effort to vet another psychologist should be worth it. Or you could always go with the default." The Brain Doc gave his signature oily smile. "Lying."

"A therapist is going to know everything Mirianna knows. That's out."

Doc shrugged, not caring that his suggestion was shot down with way too much ease and continued his report.

"Her nutritional levels are balanced out now and Serena has noticed her getting a bit more decisive with her eating. I suspect her taste has simply come back now that her body isn't malnourished. Other than the need for what I stated before, everything is in the green."

"Is she still playing good?" he asked, moving into his punches.

"How should I know? I'm not a nurse maid."

Duke gave Doc a sharp look. He'd been rather testy with his boss this morning. Duke was not appreciative of it.

Doc had the sense to look properly reprimanded.

"Forgive me. I don't like children."

That was no excuse, but Duke let it slide because he didn't feel like stopping his work out to discipline.

With the most important item on the docket seen to, Duke gestured for Doc to continue with his other reports, which he gave in between thuds of Duke's beatings on the dummy. Much of Doc's reports sounded like those of a coronary worker, as part of his job was making sure any bodies that needed to be disposed of bore the marks of the deaths they wanted the autopsy to record and to find out how others had died. Doc's sharp eyes could put even the best of autopsies to shame.

Duke had to stop his work out much sooner than he liked. But, as Doc pointed out, he was still in recovery from a serious gut wound.

One of Omen's men came forward with Duke's water bottle when he peeled off his gloves.

"What would you say is a healthy amount of time for parents to spend with their children?" he asked after handing off his gloves to Omen's man.

Doc looked to the ceiling in exasperation. "Again, how the hell should I know? Just do whatever you want, like you usually do."