Chapter 4 third chapter

Willis flipped through the notes on his lap, "Since you've been here, has your fiancée tried to contact you, Charles?" "Ex-fiancée." Aklan corrected, squeezing a fist with one hand and the other.He stood in his favorite seat by the window, and the doctor sat in a chair. "Why do you want to know?" "Just interested. I think she may have called to ask how you are doing." He observed Aklan's expressionless face, "Women are soft-hearted. When a loved one is in trouble, they forget it quickly And forgive them." "There's nothing for her to forgive - she dumped me, and nothing to forget. We haven't been together very long."

"You can store up a lot of memory in nine months, Charles." "Have you spoken to her?" Willis dodges the question, "I'm just doing my research. I can understand the patient better if I know what happened to the patient in the months leading up to the trauma." "She contacted me." Aklan walked to the bedside table, opened the drawer, and took out a stack of unopened letters. His address and name were on the envelopes, and they were from the same person. "It's all yours." He threw the letters casually To the bed, and then back to the position by the window.

"Why don't you want to open it and have a look?" "It doesn't make any sense. I don't intend to reply." Seeing Willis fiddle with one of the letters, he said again, "What did she tell you?" "We haven't spoken yet. She emailed me saying she regrets the way she's done ending your relationship and she'd love to see you." "What do you mean?" Aklan asked in a mocking tone, "meaning that she is very happy now and has the capital to express generosity to a person she abandoned? Or, she has not found anyone else and wants to return her Meal ticket?"

Willis chose his words carefully again, "Do you think that's how she sees you?" "That's how I see it. All men are meal tickets to Jane." He paused, expecting Willis to respond, "It's not sour grapes, doctor. She's got a good brain and She has a good figure, and she takes full advantage of both. When I like her, I admire her ability for that." "Now you're gone?" "Let's put it this way, I have no intention of being kidnapped by her again." He pointed to the letter on the bed, "It makes me angry that she thinks she can. Even when we are together, I am not so easy to be manipulated of."

Willis questioned the authenticity of these words from the bottom of his heart. He suspected that the reason why Aklan did not break his trust was because he was worried that his sleeping feelings would be awakened and that he was afraid of chaotic emotional torment.He puts the nib on a question in his notebook: Spam calls? "Have you ever called her and told her you're not interested?" Aklan shook his head, "Even if silence won't achieve better results, I have nothing to say." Interesting phrasing, Willis thought, "You mean you wouldn't be better off ignoring her?"

"yes." "But isn't it just as manipulative? When there isn't a clear negative answer, silence is often perceived as acquiescence...or at least a desire to keep listening. Maybe she thinks you're reading her letter." "That's her problem." "Maybe so, but if she knew where she was in your heart, she wouldn't keep writing." He paused. "Is it funny that she's wasting her time?" "No, if she wants to write her own gibberish, that's her freedom... There's no law saying I have to read it." "Do you want revenge?"

"Always thinking. I have a lot to settle with the Iraqis who killed my men." "I mean for Jane." "I know what you mean, but that's a stupid question, doctor. These days, I can't even remember what she looks like." He looked at the psychiatrist with a confused look on his face. An email, you must have visited her website and seen her picture. Who does she remind you of?" "Uma Thurman." Acklan nodded. "She really worked on her image—thinking it would bring her luck—but I remember Uma Thurman from Gattaca more than Jen. That's her." One of the favorite movies, even though it's an old one from ten years ago. We used to watch DVDs of this movie together when she was bored, and now if I try to think about Jen, the only face I can think of It belongs to Uma." He looked away and stared out the window, "This is some kind of revenge. At least I got the last laugh."

If what you're saying is true, Willis thought, "was there a time when Jen was mistaken for Uma Thurman?" "Always. That's the whole purpose of her rehearsal...to get attention." "It annoys you?" "Sometimes, if she takes it too far." "How does she do it?" "Pretend she's Uma Thurman... speaking with an American accent. She only does it with women. When she sees women open their mouths in surprise, she's intoxicated." "And what about the men?" Akram clenches one fist into the other and squeezes until her knuckles pale, "She plays herself. You ordinary people don't have the guts to go after superstars. With men, she's equally Intoxicated, she was intoxicated when she convinced them that she was not Uma Thurman...just a stunningly obtainable double."

"Are you jealous?" "I'm sure Jen told you so. How long was the email? Did she say I was so possessive she couldn't breathe?" "Are you like that?" There was a grunt in his throat that sounded like a sneer. "On the contrary, doctor. I'm not possessive at all. I'm so bored every time she does a sad little pantomime in front of me. I'm not in love with a Uma Thurman double." "What are you in love with, Charles?" "Not what I got." He exhaled against the windowpane, watching the vapor disappear almost instantly, "I fell in love with a fantasy."

"What do you mean? You wanted the real Uma Thurman and you were disappointed by the lookalike double?" Akram didn't answer. "Is that Jane's fault?" "You tell me." He turned around, massaging his knuckles, "I'm sure she wrote all of this in the email." Willis put away his notebook. "You don't trust me very much, do you, Charles?" "I don't know, doctor. I haven't thought about that question. When you're not here, I never think about you...and when you're here, all I think about is my answer." In March, people can't wait to put on their T-shirts and gather in the early spring sunshine.Willis spoke to Acland about the dangers of being alone and socially distant.He tried various methods to elicit a response from Akram, but the only thing that worked was a blunt assessment of Akram, telling him that his isolation might keep him stuck with certain problems—usually people and people who made him angry. Theme - can not extricate themselves.

"You're making me nervous, doctor. I feel like you're trying to tell me something you know I won't like." "You're right," Willis said, "I wish you had more social life." "why?" "You spend too much time alone, and it doesn't do you any good. Society doesn't disappear during your recovery. The pressure to interact, to work together is still there...the customs that govern people's behavior are still there... These are a must, especially in the military." They were sitting in the psychiatrist's office, with Akram half-turning his body so that the injured side faced the sunlight coming in through the window.Willis thought the turn was deliberate, because it made it hard to believe that the other side of the face was intact.All the observer sees is flabby flesh, hollow eye sockets, and hideous, discolored, deep-running scars that destroy any beauty the young man had ever had. "Can you talk about why you are reluctant to be visited or socialize with other patients?" he continued. "You mean, other than looking like a monster?" Akram looked back at the doctor's reaction. "That's what you're dying to know, isn't it? Do I think I'm a monster?" Willis raised one eyebrow and looked at him amusedly, "Do you think so?" "Of course. I have disproportionate sides... I don't even recognize myself." "You stayed in the room because of this and refused to come out?" "No. It's all the other people's injuries that I can't bear. There's a private in the ward who got cooked when a tank tank exploded. If he ends up alive, he'll look like a turtle - and act like a turtle .He knows, I know. I have nothing to say to a man like that." Willis stared at him for a moment, "How did you deal with wounded soldiers before, Charles? You don't care to ask...leave the responsibility to someone else?" "It's different on the battlefield. The only thing you can say to a downed brother is: the rescue helicopter is coming. He may be in a trance, and he doesn't even know what happened until he gets to the hospital." "Well, so your question is about the long-term consequences of the injury? Do you think the private would be better off dead?" Ackland realized the trap in the words, "I don't know, doctor, I never talked to him. If he had the courage to go through all the operations, then he would be strong enough to live. This is what I can give Your only answer." "And what about his quality of life?" "The best he can do." "Have you applied this concept to yourself?" "I'm unlikely to say 'no', am I?" "Why is it impossible?" "You're going to put a depression mark on my mental health evaluation." Willis sighed, "I'm not interrogating you, Charles, I want to help you. This is not a test...you won't be graded." He put his hands on his chin, "Since the injury, you Seems to have lost confidence in myself. I'm trying to figure out why." "What I'm trying to say is that I'm more confident than I was before. I used to care a lot about what people think of me, but I don't anymore." "It's more convincing to me if you test yourself once in a while. Staying in your room and avoiding contact with the outside world means you never expose yourself to what other people think." He pauses. "Life has many nasties." One of the ironies is that we all know how important first impressions are, because that’s how we see people...but none of us want people to judge us based on our appearance alone.” Aklan crunched his knuckles, "At least I'm not roasted." He said blankly. Glancing at the notebook, Willis took another tack. "You've been complaining about headaches?" "I didn't complain ... I just mentioned that I had a headache." "Where? The temple, the top of the head, or the back of the head?" Ackland pointed to the left side of his forehead, "starting from this dead eye and spreading out. Mr. Galbraith guessed it was the phantom pain of losing the eye—the same phantom pain that those amputees have. He said it was actually Migraines, and he gave me some guidance on how to deal with them." "Okay. Did he discuss your MRI scan with you?" "Which time?" "Last time," Willis said flatly. "He said it was very clear. But why do I need this scan? I keep being told I don't have brain damage, but then someone tells me to do another scan." "Your surgeon needs to. An MRI allows them to see more clearly -- say, tiny blood clots, which might explain your migraines." Akram stared at the doctor closely, "Can an MRI reveal a patient's mind?" "No." "It's a pity because if we could we wouldn't have to waste so much talking between us. You're wasting your time on me. I'm not sad, I'm not alone... I'm just bored. I don't want to be here. There is nothing wrong with me and no amount of stitching is going to help. If I call my mother she can't stop talking about people I've never heard of.. Father's only concern is which sheep has hoof rot Sick. I don't care about these things. I don't care if the dude in the next room likes Jordan's pussy. I just want to get over this humdrum life and get back to work. And, no, I don't Looking forward to a miracle. As long as they spliced ​​me almost together, it will be fine, and I will get out of here." "That's a speech for a man of few words. You certainly don't sound sad." "I'm not sad." "But do you understand my concerns about your withdrawn behavior, Charles? If you're bored, do something active. You know where the gym is. A physical therapist will give you a custom-made fitness program to be with yourself. The exercises in the room complement each other." "I've been there, and it's more frustrating than not. I burn more calories doing it than they do poor practice." He squeezed his palms together. "You only went in once," Willis said mildly, "and you left after 15 minutes, when another patient came in. The physiotherapist thought it was because you didn't want to be stared at." Akram shook his head. "You call yourself a monster," Willis reminded him. "Just stressing that the rest of me is fine. I'm not fit to be in an environment like this, doc. I used to jog six miles every day before breakfast. Now if I manage to lift poor little dumbbells with one hand, a stupid The woman is just there yelling and it's killing me. And there's this amputee patient who claps like an idiot when he manages to do a few steps, omg he's a legion Sergeant Major, he'd probably eat her for breakfast before the leg was blown off." "Nick Hay," Willis agreed, "he's totally deaf in one ear, so his balance is totally destroyed, and being able to stand on one leg is a huge improvement. Have you spoken to him yet?" "No." "why not?" "Same reason I don't talk to that private. What can I say? Look on the bright side, buddy, you could have lost both legs? He knows all too well what he's got... deported, and then hawked for months on end in order to find a job." "Are you worried that the same thing will happen to you?" "No, the commander said that if I wanted to go back to the team, he would support it." Seeing Willis glance at the notebook, he frowned suspiciously, "Unless they told you something different?" "Nothing is different. It's just that you have to certify your medical condition to the medical board." "That's not a problem." "Hope it's what you want," Willis said, sounding sincere. Sometimes Aclan woke up in the middle of the night convinced some maggots were eating the flesh from the wound site.As a child he saw a sheep die from a blowfly attack after its flesh had maggots on it, and the image still haunts him.His subconscious told him the eyes were the entry point into the brain, and he woke up abruptly from the frenzy, squeezing the empty eye sockets to stop another migraine from blindingly attacking.But for fear of being diagnosed as paranoid, he told no one about his symptoms. He took Willis's comments about his withdrawn behavior as a warning, so he forced himself to socialize and called his parents regularly.Except for a few approvals from the therapist, he felt he had gained nothing, because he had zero interest in other people's affairs.It's a test of his stamina, he has to put up with empty talk, hear things about his wife, kids that mean nothing to him, give a thumbs up at a bad joke or let out a grunt from the bottom of his throat To express approval and thanks. Fortunately, no one expected him to laugh.He found it amusing that a lively expression could suddenly recede just because the person he was talking to suddenly remembered his disability.Once or twice, in his room, he tested the plasticity of his plastic surgery and tried to smile, but the ugly, crooked grimace in the mirror took on more a haughty sneer than a warm one. expression. The surgeon was pleased with his progress, but Ackland was unimpressed.Four months later, after several operations and two lengthy out-of-hospital convalescence periods - he chose to recuperate in a Birmingham hotel rather than at his parents' home - his dead eye sockets and cone-shaped scars are still as livid as ever, Not elastic. He finds it much easier not to show any emotion, which is how he really feels, because the feelings themselves seem to be drained after losing the means to display joy and compassion.