[What could he possibly say or do? Oh, God. He wasn’t Vincent. Vincent would have said something long ago. But Victor? What could Victor do? He didn’t want to be separated from Denise, nor did he want Denise to be separated from him. For many reasons. It wasn’t simply because he was selfish in the way that he always wanted to be with her; it was because, if something happened to her because he was not with her, he would never forgive himself. How could he function without her by his side? One of the reasons he existed was because… well, because she was here. Where would he go, if she left him? Perhaps he would simply… cease. The thought caught in his throat, and he swallowed it down. He glanced over at Denise, offering a brief, reassuring smile.] Yes. Right. [He cleared his throat, attempting to harden his gaze.] As Denise has stated, the two of us are better off… with each other.
[Surely, they couldn’t take him for a fool. How humorous it was to watch the two of them struggle in a futile attempt to convince him. As if they could have swayed his decision. A small chuckle fell from his lips, emitting from the back of his throat. So small in its sound, it was practically undetectable. He exchanged glances between the patients, his eyes lingering on Denise.] Right. [He drawled out the word.] I can see how well the two of you are doing. My m-mistake.
[It never takes much to change the flow of Denise’s thoughts — one trembling stream of consciousness to the next in the blip of a cosmic second. One moment, all she can think to do is watch the way Victor’s words fall out of Vincent’s mouth and wonder idly just who belonged to whom. The next, a rotting feeling begins to gnaw at her organs as if plagued with a parasite, eating away at all the sustenance she needs to carry on. One. Tiny. Syllable.
Rainsford is no fool — not that she’d ever taken him for one. He’d tricked the two of them into mental break on more than one occassion, flashes of Vincent on his knees on the hardwood floor of her room, ramblings of violins and phantom tears pushing her heart into a state of oblivion. All over the simple implication that the doctor had put in his mind — the metallic taste of his forced lips upon hers. She’d been sitting right where Victor found himself. It was maddening, the lost particles of understanding in the air around them. He was playing a game, like always. Only they didn’t know the rules, only that the banker liked to cheat.] I’m sure you can understand why we would want one anothers… support in all of this. After all, we have been through quite a bit. [Her words are masked in polite overtures — but biting all the same.]