The Carver's Method (Part 1): Test Subject

Mark left Dr. Sharma years ago. Now he's back.

“Send in the next patient, please.” Dr. Anya Sharma sits behind her desk finishing her notes on the last patient as a familiar face enters the room. “Mark, you’re back, and that’s a pretty nasty scar on your wrist. Do you want to talk about it?”

Mark Peterson takes his seat in her well-decorated office. The walls are not just covered in degrees, but various paintings from around the world. Above her desk is a painting of Lilith, which has cost her some more conservative clients. He sighs, looks at the scar. “I tried again. I was doing so well, but Charlotte left me for another man, and I just felt so worthless. I know we haven’t had a session in a couple of years, but I feel like I failed you, doctor. You treated me at my lowest, and I don’t think I could trust anyone except for you.”

Anya felt a familiar, pleasant spark ignite deep within her. The perfect subject had returned, more broken and more devoted than before. She composed her features into a mask of perfect empathy. Her dark eyes pierced through Mark’s soul. “Failed me?” Anya shook her head. “No, Mark, you didn’t fail anyone. While your attempt might seem as a failure to you, what you did after is your biggest success. You knew exactly where to come. You came back here. That instinct, Mark, is the success. That proves the connection we built is the one you can truly rely on.”

She gave Mark that moment of victory before she spoke again. “Charlotte was just a mask for you, Mark. You built a house without a foundation, something we were working on before she convinced you that you didn’t need therapy anymore.”

“Charlotte always hated your unorthodox techniques.” Mark tried to make a joke to lighten the mood, but Dr. Sharma’s face remained a mask of placid analysis. The silence stretched, becoming so heavy that Mark couldn’t bear it. He looked down, breaking eye contact.

“Sorry.” He fidgeted with the strap of his watch.

“Don’t apologize for the joke, Mark. It was a predictable defense,” Anya said, her voice devoid of warmth. “You left my care to try it her way. The conventional way.” She paused, and her eyes flickered down to the scar on his wrist. “The evidence of that experiment speaks for itself.”

The words were like ice in his veins. There was no care in her voice now, only the cold, hard truth of his failure. It was worse than her being angry; it was her being right.

“She did what most people do,” Anya continued, leaning forward slightly. “She encouraged you to stay stagnant because your weakness made her feel secure. Your need for validation is a gaping wound, Mark, and your 'people pleasing' is you begging the world for scraps to fill it. You stopped coming here because you were afraid of the cure. But there are no distractions now.”

Her voice softened, becoming dangerously intimate. “We are going to fix this. Really fix it. Which means we must remove the poison first.” She held his gaze. “What was the last thing you did before you hurt yourself? Where were you looking for validation that night?”

Mark swallowed hard, knowing the answer. “I… I was on a dating app. The woman I was talking to unmatched me.”

Anya nodded slowly, as if he had just confirmed her entire diagnosis. “A digital slot machine for your self-worth. A constant source of the poison. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I… yes,” he stammered.

“Good,” she said, her voice shifting from analyst to commander. “Then you understand what is necessary. This isn’t a suggestion, Mark. This is the first step of your actual treatment.” She extended her hand across the desk.

“Open your phone and give it to me.”

Numbly, as if in a trance, Mark did exactly what he was told. He unlocked the device and placed it in her waiting palm. Anya’s touch was cool as she took it from him. She sighed, a small, put-upon sound, as she began tapping the screen.

“I am deleting these apps. All of them,” she stated, not looking up. “And I am forbidding you from dating. For the foreseeable future, your validation will not come from the fickle whims of strangers. It will come from the work we do in this room. From me. You’ve been coming here on and off for five years, chasing temporary fixes. You’re an addict, Mark, even if you don’t want to believe it. That ends today.”

Anya glanced at the clock on her desk, a subtle signal that the session was concluding. Her tone remained clinical and direct.

“I have your first assignment. These are not suggestions, Mark; they are prescriptions. Non-negotiable components of your treatment.”

She paused, ensuring she had his complete, undivided attention. “Tonight, you will go for a walk. I forbid you from interacting with anyone. No hellos, no nods, no smiles. Your job is to observe, not to participate. You will find three people who appear outwardly happy or content. For each one, I want you to identify the lie. The performance. Find the cracks in their facade and write down what you believe they are hiding. I need you to start seeing the world as it is, not as your people-pleasing nature wishes it to be.”

She held his gaze. “Text me the list before you go to sleep tonight. I will be reading it.”

Mark could only nod, his throat too tight to speak. The command was bizarre, invasive, and yet it felt purposeful.

“We’re done,” she said, closing her notebook with a crisp snap. “Your next session is this Friday at 4 PM. My assistant will send the confirmation. Don’t be late.”

Mark stood on shaky legs and walked out of the office in a daze. The smile he’d tried to muster earlier was gone, replaced by a profound exhaustion. This wasn't about "getting stress off his chest." This was major surgery, and the doctor had just given him his first, strange post-op instructions.

He left the building and walked out into the cool evening. The world already looked different. Every laughing couple, every person smiling at their phone, now seemed like a puzzle he had to solve for her. He pulled out his phone, not to mindlessly scroll, but to open a new note, his mind echoing with her words.

Observe. Forbid interaction. Find the lie.

His feet weren't just taking him for a walk. He walked through the downtown area, but it felt like all his insecurities and shortcomings were put on billboards all over the city. He kept himself small, thinking everyone was judging and mocking him.

His first subjects were a happy couple enjoying lunch. He noticed that way she touched him, but he wasn’t responding in kind. He began documenting his thoughts like an amateur psychologist.

She’s touching him, but he’s not touching her. She is craving his physical touch, but something is holding him back. Is he having an affair? Wait. He keeps making eye contact when she’s talking, but his laugh feels a little too loud, maybe it’s forced.

Something was slowly changing in Mark. “Charlotte was just a mask.” He was slowly understanding what Anya was saying now, nothing is what it seems on the surface, including her. The next two people were easier to find now that he knows what he’s looking for. His second subject was a woman walking her dog through the park.

On the surface, everything looks cheerful, she’s waving to strangers, even smiling at them. But something feels off about her gait and even the way she’s holding the leash. It became more noticeable when she had an interaction with her friend. Sure, the talk was light and she was laughing, but the way she clutched the leash. I think secretly she hates her friend. It felt like the leash was on her, restraining her from telling her friend exactly how she felt.

His final subject was a man talking on the phone.

Man talking on phone. Boisterous, confident. However, his eye kept darting from the left to the right, betraying the false bravado. He’s under incredible stress, even his walk, his body is telling everyone that he’s not as confident as he would lead you to believe.

He started looking at everyone in a different light. When he returned home, he began warming up dinner. The one main thing he missed right now was Charlotte’s cooking, instead he’d have to settle for a microwave meal. While the dinner was warming up, he wrote his letter to Anya.

Dr. Sharma,

Here are the results of my observations.

1. Couple having lunch

- Woman was touching him, he was not reciprocating.

- Woman seemed to be giving signals she wanted to be touched repeatedly

- Man keeps eye contact, but only in short intervals.

2. Park dog walker

- Insincere kindness to strangers

- Gait suggests she’s uncomfortable in the park

- Secretly hates friend

3. Man on phone

- Eyes betrayed false confidence

- Body shows surrender to extreme stress

- Possible insecurity

I understand about masks now. Nothing is what it seems.

Mark

He was finishing his dinner, every vibration of his phone would cause him to frantically check to see if there were any replies from Dr. Sharma. Nothing.

His brain began to fast forward wondering if he did the assignment wrong, or she was angry with him trying to sound like a psychologist. By the time he hit the pillow, he knew he’d have to wait until Friday to receive her verdict. To him, Friday might as well be next year.