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milligrams.” “I see.”
“I thought you might want to know—since I heard you saw her for a session.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll have to monitor her closely to see how she reacts to the change. And, by the way, next time
you have a problem with how I medicate my patients, come to me directly. Don’t sneak off to Diomedes behind my back.” Christian glared at me.
I smiled back at him. “I didn’t sneak anywhere. I have no problem talking to you directly, Christian.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Christian nodded to himself, as if he’d made his mind up about something. “You do realize Alicia is borderline? She won’t respond to therapy. You’re wasting your time.”
“How do you know she’s borderline if she can’t talk?” “Won’t talk.”
“You think she’s faking?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
“If she’s faking, then how can she be borderline?”
Christian looked irritated.
Indira interrupted before he could reply. “With all due respect, I don’t feel umbrella terms like
borderline are particularly helpful. They don’t tell us anything very useful at all.” She glanced at Christian. “This is a subject Christian and I disagree on frequently.”
“And how do you feel about Alicia?” I asked her.
Indira pondered the question for a moment. “I find myself feeling very maternal towards her. That’s my countertransference, that’s what she brings out in me—I feel she needs someone to take care of her.” Indira smiled at me. “And now she has someone. She has you.”
Christian laughed that annoying laugh of his. “Forgive me for being so dense, but how can Alicia benefit from therapy if she doesn’t talk?”
“Therapy isn’t just about talking,” Indira said. “It’s about providing a safe space—a containing environment. Most communication is nonverbal, as I’m sure you know.”
Christian rolled his eyes at me. “Good luck, mate. You’ll need it.”