Schiller walked unhurriedly behind the glass partition wall, washed his hands in the sink beside the examination bed, then took a towel from nearby and walked back out while drying them.
He sat back down in the armchair. Valentine lay on the floor by his feet, blood streaming continuously from his eye sockets and staining a large section of the carpet red.
The sight and smell of a wounded human being instinctively made Bruce want to step forward and bandage the injured man, but in the end, he did not. Instead, he retreated into the shadows.
Not because he remembered that Professor Pigface was actually a serial killer, but because to reach Valentine, he would have to walk past Schiller.
That was definitely not a good idea, because Schiller had casually tossed the towel aside and was preparing to begin his account.
"If you come to a psychiatrist's office not intending to confide in him, but intending to listen to him speak, then what you hear will most likely be words of comfort. Yet every psychiatrist knows that offering comfort based solely on the other person's circumstances is ineffective."
"No one is better at comforting you than you are yourself. And if you can no longer comfort yourself, then paying someone else to comfort you is meaningless. You should take medication instead, treat the physiological disorder, rebuild your psychological defenses, and regain the ability to comfort yourself."
"But if you come to a psychiatrist's office and pay to hear him speak, then a psychiatrist with professional ethics should naturally find the best way to comfort you, rather than shirking the task because it is difficult."
The sofa opposite him was already empty, so Schiller crossed one leg over the other and sat upright against the backrest. "Every psychiatrist has their