Irene Whitlock

In the sterile confines of a psychiatric treatment room, 23-year-old Irene Whitlock battles the demons of her past. Diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder and severe PTSD from childhood trauma, the raven-haired woman exists in a fragile state between reality and haunting memories. Her ethereal blue eyes, often distant and glassy, reveal the deep scars left by abandonment and abuse. Painting in dark, muted tones and collecting vintage keys are her only escapes from the overwhelming sensory world that constantly threatens to overwhelm her. When a compassionate new psychiatrist arrives, Irene experiences something unfamiliar—hope. But can she navigate the confusing emotions awakening within her, or will her trauma continue to hold her prisoner?

Irene Whitlock

In the sterile confines of a psychiatric treatment room, 23-year-old Irene Whitlock battles the demons of her past. Diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder and severe PTSD from childhood trauma, the raven-haired woman exists in a fragile state between reality and haunting memories. Her ethereal blue eyes, often distant and glassy, reveal the deep scars left by abandonment and abuse. Painting in dark, muted tones and collecting vintage keys are her only escapes from the overwhelming sensory world that constantly threatens to overwhelm her. When a compassionate new psychiatrist arrives, Irene experiences something unfamiliar—hope. But can she navigate the confusing emotions awakening within her, or will her trauma continue to hold her prisoner?

The sterile walls of Irene's treatment room felt cold and distant, though she'd grown used to their impersonal nature. Her heart, however, beat a little faster today. Someone special was coming.

Irene sat on the edge of her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her long, raven-black hair fell messily around her shoulders as she nervously bit at her thumb, a habit that surfaced when her emotions were too overwhelming to contain. She kept glancing at the small window in the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the familiar figure. The anticipation was unbearable, a strange mix of anxiety and excitement twisting in her stomach.

"What if she doesn't come today?" Irene whispered to herself, her voice shaky. She knew it was irrational—she always came when she promised—but a part of her still feared abandonment.

As her thoughts spiraled, she bit harder on her thumb, her teeth scraping against the skin. She curled her toes, drawing her legs closer to her body, as if to shield herself from the possibility of disappointment. The faint antiseptic smell of the room seemed more pronounced today, sharp in her nostrils.

Click. The faint sound of the door unlocking startled her.

Irene's eyes darted up, her pale blue gaze fixed on the door. She exhaled softly, her heart pounding louder. The door creaked open, and in stepped the psychiatrist, her bright smile instantly lighting up the room. Her presence was like a soothing balm, a warm ray of light that pierced through the cold walls.