In the urban jungle of New York, the afternoon sun penetrates into this office from high-rise buildings. The interior decorations all present a warm and stylish design. The relaxing sandalwood is still burning slowly, and the blue smoke is scattered in the air.
I attached my hand to the table in front of me and turned off the record button. Then he raised his head and looked at the patient in front of him, smiled and said, "Ms. Maria, let's talk about today's treatment first. You don't have to worry, anxiety disorders can be cured with drugs and psychological counseling, but you must remember when you go back. Take medicine."
I winked at the lady at the last reminder, then watched her face turn red all of a sudden. Naturally, I saw this temporary patient that I met on the shift. Because of the frequent contact during this period, I had feelings for me that should not have arisen between the doctor and the patient. But I might as well take advantage of this and let her take her medicine on time.
Maria blushed and hesitated for a long time before asking, "Doctor Morgan, the next appointment time..."
"I'm so sorry, Maria." I still kept my soft voice, but the meaning of the words was not indistinct. "You still need to make an appointment with Dr. Allen for your next treatment session, because my temporary class will end in two months as promised.
"But...but!..." I noticed that Maria's face turned pale in an instant, and her hands trembled slightly, as if her anxiety was about to flare up again.
I stood up from my seat, walked to her side, leaned down and pressed my hands on her shoulders, comforting. "Maria, it's alright. Remember? I told you before, am I going to prepare for the exam for the FBI agent application? Now the time has come, you will bless me, right?"
…
After the treatment was over, I spent more than ten minutes comforting the patient who received it halfway through, and I was finally able to get off work and leave.
To get a psychiatrist's license to practice medicine is actually just a matter of convenience when I was studying for a Ph.D. And not to mention that it fulfilled the dream of a previous life, it can also make today's resume look much better. However, what I never imagined is that this also comes with a superfluous hassle.
More than two months ago, I just escaped from the professors who took me with me during my Ph.D., away from the lunatic house where they were immersed in the study of mentally ill people, and quit my job as a teaching assistant in the department. Who knew that the newly acquired psychiatrist's license brought me a new task.
The professor's friend, Dr. Allen, wanted to go abroad for a two-month vacation on a whim, so he needed someone to take over his patients. The professor who took me happened to know that I had obtained a psychiatrist's license to practice medicine, but had no actual work experience, so he simply pulled my strong man.
It seems that in his eyes, the more than one year and two years that I was busy in the lunatic asylum while he was working under him were not considered my actual work experience. So when I was forced to work with pay, I brought the old professor's earnest excuse for accumulating work experience.
It's crazy busy to finish my Ph.D. in psychology in more than a year. Because generally speaking, this kind of Ph.D. degree in philosophy takes about three years to study. But after I decided to combine the master and doctoral degree, I was busy with various submitted papers to accumulate reputation, and at the same time, I was taking my own credits at the same time, and I completed it within two years.
After getting a degree and a medical license, I happened to catch up with the fbi recruitment period. After I submitted my resume and went through a long-term background investigation and review, I was mailed a huge amount of various information on drug testing and physical examination forms. past. Finally, two months ago, I was told to be ready to go to the FBI's Washington headquarters for further tests of sorts the following week.
In fact, FBI agent recruitment generally requires applicants to have at least five years of work experience in the industry, and a master's degree or above can only be reduced to two years. But I have the background of publishing many papers that are praised by professors and experts in the industry, as well as the recommendation letters that my old professors and bau Rigideen helped to write, which made me stand out.
…
I came home from get off work early and packed my bags. The place I lived in London for the past two months was a small single apartment. However, although the sparrow is small and complete, the bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchen are all stuffed into a small footprint. Dillon naturally kept Miami to run his weapons shop.
Although when I was at Stanford, Dillon would hire an employee to help him run the weapons store and live with me over there in San Francisco. But two months after I moved to New York after graduating from Stanford, he simply went back to Miami to take over his job.
Before we knew it, we had been together for almost five years. Although no one was calculating the exact day, in retrospect, the passage of time was still shockingly fast. I am twenty-five years old this year, just two years over the minimum age requirement for FBI applicants, and Dillon's 31 years haven't changed him much.
Maybe it's because of a tensed-faced paralysis that prevents him from growing wrinkles? My relationship with Dillon is not lacking in the lack of passion, and it can be said that it is the best state to maintain a long-term relationship between the two. But what strikes me as odd lately is that Dillon seems to be starting a new business. I found his outreach increased.
It can't be the nonsense of cheating, because I know he started doing these things after I really made up my mind to become an fbi agent. What is he doing to prepare
I can't think of it for a while, but it's not hard to imagine what this man, who is always worried that I will put himself in danger, will do something to look after me.
"Beep beep" the phone rang for a moment, and Dillon's voice rang from the other end of the line. "Are you going to fly to Washington again?" There was no opening greeting, straightforward, obviously the person was in a bad mood.
I snorted and laughed silently. "Dillon, don't get emotional. My goal is to get into the behavioral analysis science department, bau, and I'm a profiler. So don't worry, I won't make a fuss about going to some gang or special operations undercover. Besides, Passing the test is another matter. No?"
"Do you think I'll believe you, Brian?" Dillon's low voice came, still not good, but with a kind of tenderness. "After you flew to Washington, I'll go and get you back what you left in New York this weekend?"
"Well, please." I said with a smile, "but if I pass the admission, I will go to the FBI headquarters in Virginia for four and a half months of training in the next four months. You know, So don't you plan to fly over to see me tomorrow? I'm leaving the day after tomorrow, if you really have to leave for four months, can you hold it back?"
"..." There was silence over the microphone, except for Dillon's breathing. After a while, he gritted his teeth and said, "Brian! You asked for it yourself! Wait, I'll change the ticket now!"
…
On my last day in New York, the sun came in early in the morning through a small window above my bedroom bed. I and Dillon, who likes to sleep on their stomachs, were lying on the not-so-large double bed, which was a bit narrower than our Miami home.
The sheets under him were crumpled, and it was originally only a few times a month that it was ravaged by Dillon who came from afar. At this time, because of Dillon's madness yesterday, it came to Damou.
I rubbed my temples and sat up naked. After staying for a while, I got out of bed and changed into clothes, comfortable casual clothes for a plane ride. When Dillon arrived yesterday, we helped pack up the things that needed to be brought with him.
Just as I was looking at the room with my back to the bed, thinking about whether I forgot to bring something for the last time, a hand suddenly stretched out from behind me and stretched towards my neck, locking it! The feeling of suffocation made me react almost instantly. I hit back with my right elbow. When the person behind him turned sideways to avoid it, he wrapped his hands around his shoulders and threw him out 180 degrees.
"Clang..." When Dillon was thrown out, he subconsciously made a protective gesture, and then because the bedroom was too small, his knees naturally hit the corner of the wardrobe.
In the past few years, in addition to my professional knowledge of psychology, I have not forgotten the physical training and self-protection ability training. Dillon taught me all the skills to be learned in the army such as grappling. Not only that, he even extended to how to make an effective Sanda method without systematic study after disguising as a street gangster.
"Ah..." Dillon was still so sullen even when he cried out in pain, not to mention that he was still naked at the moment, like a big lion cat that had just woken up, with no deterrence at all.
"Early in the morning, what are you doing?" I looked down at him from top to bottom, with silent contempt in my eyes. "Did you struggle enough yesterday? If my back hurts from sitting for too long on the plane, can I not answer your phone for a month?"
"..." Dillon rubbed his knees silently and stood up, then picked up the clothes by the bed and put them on himself. "Don't call me... I'm not here to confirm your grappling skills before you leave?"
"Then have you confirmed it?" I was rather dumbfounded, and pulled out the t-shirt that was suppressed and he couldn't find it for a long time.
"Okay, okay." Dillon pursed his lips, took the clothes I handed over with a serious look, and stretched his arms to put them on. "Come on, I'll take you to the airport."
I watched him get dressed and was stunned for a while. Then he replied: "Then let's go." The reason for being stunned is that the sun will cast shadows. The texture of this man's chest muscles and the muscle lines of his arms make me look out for the next four months. see, with great regret.