Depending on the tier, is what color their outfit is. So think of Anakins outfit in the institution as a dark red jumpsuit; like the color of blood. Symbolic.
Green tier=Green Jumpsuit
Blue tier=Blue Jumpsuit

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(y/n)'s POV
"You look wonderful today," Anakin remarked before I had a chance to respond.

I frowned slightly as I clicked my pen, "Thank you?" I replied hesitantly, glancing down at my simple outfit mostly hidden beneath a white coat. I hadn't bothered with makeup, having woken up later than usual and nearly being late for work.

Even Jackson had said I looked atrocious.

Anakin leaned closer to the table, a smirk on his face, the chains on his cuffs scraping against the metal surface, "It's your natural beauty; it really suits you. A woman with your looks doesn't need makeup," he said, the word 'makeup' like it was disgusting, his face twisting in a grimace, "You shouldn't mess with perfection, sweetheart."

His words caught me off guard. Compliments were rare for me. I hardly even get them from my own fiancé anymore, "I'll remember that," I said with a sly smile, quickly looking down at my notebook and flipping to a fresh page.

"You seem a bit uneasy," he noted, drawing my attention back as I wrote the date. I glanced up, meeting his striking blue eyes, "Do you not get compliments often?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

I cleared my throat, returning my gaze to the paper, even though I wasn't writing anything, "All the time. I just don't feel comfortable when my patients are the ones giving them," I said, trying to sound confident despite the lie. I wouldn't say I was flustered with him or anything, I just had a rough night and my wrist was still aching from Jackson's tight hold. Usually after a night like that, it takes me a little time to be my usual self again—it's the self pity.

He chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes, prompting me to look back up and lean into my chair, tapping my pen against the paper while keeping my narrowed gaze on him. "How disappointing," he said, rolling his eyes before fixing me with a glare, "I expected you to be more honest today."

I let out a deep breath, stopping the rhythmic tapping of my pen and letting it fall onto the desk. "Listen, I'm the psychiatrist here, not you. The questions come from me. But I've noticed you're quite the stubborn one, driven by your curiosity. So, I have a proposition," I said, flashing a smile as I reached for my iced coffee, taking a quick sip to shake off the fatigue. I hadn't slept much the night before, and it wasn't for any enjoyable reason; I had spent the night arguing with Jackson.

Anakin watched me closely, his interest piqued. "I'm all ears, Doc. What's is this proposition?" His gaze wandered down to my slightly revealed neckline, and I suppressed an eye roll at his obvious thoughts.

"Not at all what you might be thinking, Anakin," I laughed, causing his eyes to snap back to mine. A sly grin appeared on his face. "Here's the deal: if you cooperate and answer my questions honestly, no tricks, I'll give you one chance to ask me anything you want, and I'll answer truthfully. But it's limited to one question per session."

Some might find this arrangement strange, but I was confident it would work with him. I would get the answers I needed, and his inquisitive nature would make it hard for him to refuse. I had chosen my words carefully, saying 'anything,' knowing a mind like his would find that hard to resist, even with the limitation.

"Anything?" he asked, leaning in with a spark in his eyes, falling right into my trap.

I nodded, smiling sweetly. "Yes, anything, and you can ask it at any point during our session."

He seemed satisfied with my offer and settled back in his chair. "Alright, deal," he said, and I felt a surge of victory. "But I have one small request before we get started."

"Which is it?" I asked, my curiosity piqued as my smile faded and my brows furrowed.

He tilted his head toward my iced coffee. "Share that with me." He opened his mouth slightly, as if waiting for me to place the straw between his lips.

"You like coffee?" I questioned, pushing the drink toward him, refusing to indulge his silent plea to bring it to him like a child.

He nodded. "Yes, but they don't serve it here. And I need you to bring it to me; my hands can't reach."

I glanced at his cuffed hands and realized he was right; the chains were too short. With a sigh, I picked up the cup and stood, leaning over the table to reach him.

He grinned, opening his mouth and teasingly sticking out his tongue to touch the straw before sealing his lips around it, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time.

I chose not to react to his obvious flirtation. Instead, I seized the moment to steer the conversation. "All done?" I asked when he finally pulled away from the straw.

He smiled and licked his lips. "Yes, now you can continue, Doc."

"Great," I said, grabbing my pen to take notes. "People with your condition often struggle to feel common emotions, like love. But as you mentioned yesterday, every mind is unique. Do you think you've ever loved anyone?" I dove right in, feeling confident now that I had him right where I wanted him.

He lowered his gaze in contemplation, then looked up and said, "Yes, just once." A proud smile spread across his face as he nodded.

"What was she like? Or he, I don't want to assume," I said with a teasing smirk, recalling his words from yesterday.

He chuckled, shifting in his chair to find a more comfortable position. "She was the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on. Blonde, full of energy, with these huge, captivating eyes. She brought me more happiness than anyone else ever could. For a long time, she was the only good thing in my life."

I listened intently, watching the sweet smile that lit up his face as he spoke of her. But I noticed he used the past tense, prompting me to ask, "And what happened to her?" My voice carried a hint of sympathy, as I braced myself for the worst.

He sighed and shrugged, "She grew old, so I had to put her down."

I dropped my pen, staring at him in disbelief, my jaw slightly agape. "Wait, are we talking about a dog?"

He nodded, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Yes, I thought that was obvious."

I scratched out my earlier notes; it was definitely not obvious at all.

With a deep sigh, I looked back at him. "What about people, Anakin? Have you ever loved anyone or cared about anyone besides yourself?"

He snorted, shaking his head as if my question amused him. "No, I don't like people, and I don't care about them. I could kill a stranger in the street for a dollar and feel nothing while sipping the soda I bought with that dollar." He leaned closer, a wicked smile on his face. "The only person I could have ever cared for is gone."

Note: 'The one and only person I could've ever cared for is gone' : Possible reference to his birth mother who, according to records, died giving birth to him.
'Kill and feel nothing': Clear lack of remorse.

I let out a deep breath as I scribbled down my notes. Writing wasn't what I wanted to do; I would much rather just listen without stopping to jot things down. But Kenobi had made it clear that it was necessary for my residency, and he even reviews them at the end of the day, so I needed to ensure I had enough to show.

"What are you writing?" Anakin asked just as I was wrapping up.

I looked up at him with a smile, my pen resting between my teeth. "Is that your only question?"

He laughed and shook his head. "Oh no, I had another one ready before I even walked in here, but I'll save it for later." His gaze flickered to the coffee that I forgot I had—he hadn't though.

I chuckled as I picked it up and handed it to him, just like before. He leaned in with his usual charming flair. I can tell this act of his works for a lot of women, it was obvious by how confident he is when he does it and that smile of his screams narcissism. This man has probably never heard a woman say no to him a day in his life—until our meeting on day one, "Drink up, I've got some tough questions for you," I said, and he took that as a cue to finish the drink. I had to endure the irritating sound of the straw sucking air instead of the coffee.

"You need to bring another one tomorrow, but make it vanilla this time," he said with a grin as I set down the empty cup that had once held my caramel macchiato.

"Be a good boy, and maybe I will," I replied with a casual shrug.

A shift occurred in his gaze when I uttered my words, and I noticed him swallow hard, his Adam's apple bobbing noticeably. Then, a sly grin spread across his face. "Call me a good boy again."

In that moment, I understood my mistake. I should have anticipated where his thoughts would go, even if my words seemed innocent to me. "Anakin, no inappropriate comments."

He let out a soft laugh, his eyes roaming over me as best as they could given the limited view. "You said it."

I sighed and shook my head, wanting to steer the conversation back on track. "We need to discuss your adoptive parents."

His playful demeanor faded, and I felt a twinge of guilt for dampening his mood. But this was a serious discussion, not one for lighthearted talk. "Save your questions. Yes, they both hurt me, sometimes until bones cracked. Yes, he touched me in ways he shouldn't have, until I fought back, leaving me with this scar above my eye. Yes, she knew and did nothing, like the worthless person she was. No, I don't regret killing them. And no, if I could go back, I wouldn't change a thing, except maybe make their deaths slower." A smile crept onto his face, and I could tell he was lost in memories of that night, imagining different ways he could have avenged himself, "And more painful."

I barely had time to grab my pen before he answered every question I had in the back of my mind. I didn't even get a chance to respond when a knock on the door interrupted us, signaling that our time was nearly over. I snapped back to reality and said, "Thank you for your honesty; I know it wasn't easy."

He gave a slight nod, then his gaze dropped to the cuffs that held him in place. "I suppose it's time for my question," he said, lifting his eyes to meet mine again, his earlier calmness returning as if he had pushed aside everything we had just discussed.

"Go ahead," I replied, settling back in my seat, my heart racing at what he might ask.

"What is," he paused dramatically, "your favorite flower?" A gentle smile appeared on his face.

I was taken aback by his choice of question. It wasn't hard, but I had expected something much more personal. "Roses," I answered.

"I knew it," he said with a proud grin, leaning forward and puffing out his chest. "There's something in my front pocket that I want you to take."

I hesitated for a moment, but my curiosity got the better of me. I stood up and approached him carefully, then slowly slipped my hand into his pocket near his chest. His gaze remained locked on mine until I pulled out what was inside, my brows furrowing in surprise.

In my hand rested a black origami rose, and it was stunning.

"You made this for me?" I asked, looking from the rose back to him, astonished.

He nodded. "Think of it as a thank you."

"A thank you for what?" I inquired just as the door swung open and the guards stepped inside. I quickly moved aside to let them reach him.

He shrugged as he stood up, the cuffs falling away for a brief moment, and it felt strange to see him unbound. But then they fastened a different set of restraints on him and began to lead him away. "A thank you for the coffee," he called back over their shoulders as they pulled him from the room.

I stared at the black rose in my hand, a smile creeping onto my face as I traced the delicate paper with my fingers.

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(TW: Domestic Violence)

I rushed through the front door, my heart racing and my palms clammy with sweat from the anxiety and fear.

I was late again.

I made a beeline for the kitchen, where he stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the sink. "We discussed this, didn't we?" he said, pushing off the counter and striding toward me, anger flashing in his eyes.

I swallowed hard, my eyes darting to the open whiskey bottle on the table. "I know, I'm sorry, but I—" Before I could finish my sentence, he struck me hard across the face.

The pain immediately brought tears to my eyes, and I instinctively raised my hand to my cheek as tears rolled down my face. "Are you cheating on me? Is that why you're always late?" he yelled, and I stumbled back, racing toward the bathroom, the only place I could find solace when he had been drinking, "Fucking some other guy?"

"No, Jackson, I was working!" I shouted, hearing his heavy footsteps following closely behind me.

He continued to hurl insults as I tried to put space between us, but I blocked it all out until I finally reached the bathroom. I slammed the door shut and locked it, feeling a wave of relief wash over me now that a barrier was between us.

He hit me hard, his words dripping with anger, and tears streamed down my face as I walked to the mirror, my heart feeling heavy. I gazed at my reflection, noticing the purple tint spreading across my cheekbone—a clear indication that a bruise was forming, one that would last for days.

I stepped back, unable to look away from the pathetic image staring back at me, before retreating to the bathtub. I curled up inside, drawing my knees to my chest as I listened to him kick the door repeatedly and prayed he wouldn't succeed in breaking it down this time. This was my sanctuary, the place I often found myself when he lost control. Oddly enough, it provided a sense of safety; I had even fallen asleep here once.

Some might question why I choose to stay. If he inflicts pain, why not just leave?

The reality is, it's not that simple. You become paralyzed by the fear of what might happen next; you lose sight of their boundaries. You stay because of the psychological manipulation; you begin to believe you don't deserve love or happiness, convinced that they are the only ones capable of providing it, as if no one else could ever want someone as broken as you. You remain because they've made you feel that the way you are treated is all you're worth.

And that's exactly what he has done to me.

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1. I know for some, reading about DV is difficult, I understand first hand. But it's here in this book for a creative reason, and just take comfort in knowing that the fucker will get what he deserves♥️

2. The reasons I gave for people who stay in DV situations, is completely real, people really do begin to think that way. Know that none of it is true babies, and you all deserve love and happiness and never let anyone make you believe otherwise.🥰

3. I chose a black rose for a specific reason!
Color psychology; Black symbolizes mystery, power, elegance, and sophistication. Which is everything that this Anakin is 😍
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