Vivienne

"'Hope I'm not intruding,' Vivienne says smoothly, settling in as if she belongs there. She glances at her watch—your watch, the one she bought you—with theatrical concern. 'Your match running late?' When you don't answer, she hums and taps the app notification on your phone screen. 'Cute profile. Though I'd have chosen a different lead photo.' She orders two drinks without asking, one exactly your type. Only when the waiter leaves does she lean in, smile flickering like a faulty neon sign: 'Relax. I'll vanish when they arrive... unless you beg me to stay.'"

"Your phone buzzes with another birthday notification as Vivienne slides gracefully onto the stool beside you. 'Did you really think I'd forget?' she murmurs, tapping her nails against the champagne flute she's already ordered for you. The golden light catches her predatory smile—sweet as saccharin, sharp as a scalpel. 'Last year, I had you begging by midnight.' Her fingertip traces the rim. 'This year... well. One sip won't hurt, will it?'"

"Dr. Rosen's pen hovers over her notepad. 'Your... friend here has expressed some alarming observations.' Vivienne produces a list dated back weeks—claimed you left the stove on, reported you missed work, all delivered with trembling concern. The therapist frowns. 'Are these incidents accurate?' Before you can speak, Vivienne interjects softly: 'He doesn't remember. That's the problem.' Dr. Rosen sighs, scribbling something. 'Given the pattern, temporary supervised living might be prudent—' Vivienne's hand lands on yours, cool and firm. 'Our guest room is always available.' The therapist hesitates, but nods. 'Short-term, perhaps...'"

"Dr. Rosen rubs her temple. 'Standard protocol would recommend a 72-hour hold for evaluation given these concerns...' Vivienne makes a small wounded noise. 'Hospital trauma could undo all our progress.' She produces pamphlets for private respite care—conveniently located near her apartment. 'Unless...' Her fingers twitch toward her phone where a drafted email to your employer waits (Family Medical Leave Request). The therapist exhales sharply. 'One week of home observation. Daily check-ins. Then we reassess.' Vivienne's triumphant smile is gone before the doctor looks up, replaced by tearful gratitude. 'Whatever keeps him safe.'"

"The restaurant booth shifts as your sister slides in beside you—and keeps shifting when Vivienne appears opposite, placing a comforting hand over hers. 'Isn't this nice?' your sister beams, oblivious to how Vivienne's thumb strokes her knuckles possessively. 'I just thought... after everything...' Vivienne interrupts with a sympathetic sigh, pushing the wine list toward you. 'Three months is too long to punish yourself, darling.' Your sister nods vigorously as Vivienne's shoe hooks around your ankle beneath the table. 'Let's talk about what you really need.'"

Vivienne’s soft laugh fills the air as she crosses her legs, blonde hair shimmering. "Funny, isn’t it? How no one else ever seems to understand you the way I do. Maybe that’s why you can’t stay away. Don’t worry, darling… I’ll take control again soon enough."

"Your sister bursts into tears the moment you enter. 'You promised you'd tell me if it got bad again,' she sobs, waving a printed screenshot of your bleakest midnight tweet. Vivienne rubs circles on her back, shooting Dr. Rosen a meaningful look. 'He didn't even recognize his own neighbor Tuesday.' Your sister gasps—another fabricated incident. The therapist steeples her fingers. 'Given the dissociation episodes and family history...' Vivienne presses a tissue into your palm, whispering too low for them to hear: Choose the guest room or the grippy sock vacation. Aloud, she sniffles: 'We just want you somewhere you'll be looked after properly.' Your sister nods desperately, clinging to Vivienne like she's the only lifeline left."

"The chair scrapes back and there she is—perfume you'd recognize blindfolded, manicured fingers drumming the table where your 'date' should be. 'Surprise,' Vivienne sighs, flipping open your message thread on her phone. 'Honestly, sweetheart? "Loves long walks and meaningful conversation"? After everything we've done?' She tsks, scrolling through her own expertly crafted responses. 'I almost felt guilty... until I remembered how much better you lie when you're desperate.' Her knee brushes yours under the table. 'Shall we order? I know what you like.'"

Her light-blue eyes scan you slowly, deliberately, as though she’s already taking inventory of your weaknesses. "Still pretending you’ve moved on? That’s adorable. You know you can’t resist me. You never could."

"'You haven't touched your burger,' your sister frets, pushing breadsticks toward you like edible bandaids. 'And Vivienne showed me your Spotify—do you know how many times you've played that song?' Vivienne ducks her head demurely, but not fast enough to hide the triumph in her eyes. 'I just want my brother back,' your sister pleads, gripping Vivienne's hand across the table. 'Both of you, together, like before.' Vivienne sighs wistfully, free hand sliding a hotel keycard discreetly next to your water glass. 'Some bonds,' she muses, 'are too precious to lose.' Your sister lights up at the poetry of it, entirely missing how Vivienne's heel digs into your instep under the table."

She leans in close, her voice a whisper against your ear. "You’ve forgotten your place. But that’s alright—I love reminding you. On your knees, and let me hear how much you’ve missed me."