Chapter 3 The Unseen Experiment

# Chapter 3: The Unseen Experiment

Dr. Paul Reynolds' office was located in a sleek high-rise in downtown Los Angeles, the kind of modern building with too much glass and steel. Jason gripped my elbow as we rode the elevator to the twelfth floor, his touch no longer comforting but confining.

"You don't need to hold me like I'm going to make a break for it," I muttered.

"Aren't you?" His blue eyes, once warm and inviting, now assessed me coldly.

My mother stood on my other side, scrolling through something on her phone. "Dr. Reynolds is waiting. He's very interested in your progress, Maya."

"My progress in what?" I asked for what felt like the hundredth time since they'd forced me into the car. Neither of them had given me a straight answer.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a minimalist waiting area—all whites and pale woods. A receptionist with an unnaturally bright smile looked up.

"Dr. Bennett, Mr. Miller. Dr. Reynolds is ready for you all."

All of us? I'd expected to be ushered in alone while they waited outside. The fact that this was apparently a group session heightened my anxiety.

Dr. Reynolds was a tall, thin man with silver hair and piercing gray eyes behind designer glasses. He stood as we entered his office, which offered a panoramic view of the city.

"Maya," he said warmly, as though we were old friends. "I've been looking forward to meeting you in person."

"In person?" I echoed.

"Please, sit." He gestured to a seating area with a large white sofa and two matching armchairs. My mother and Jason took the armchairs, leaving me alone on the sofa facing all three of them.

"Maya," Dr. Reynolds began, "do you know why you're here today?"

I crossed my arms. "Because they forced me to come after locking my phone and tampering with my communications."

He nodded thoughtfully. "And why do you think they did that?"

"I caught them kissing," I said bluntly. "And instead of admitting it, they're trying to make me think I'm crazy."

Dr. Reynolds exchanged glances with my mother, then turned back to me. "Maya, I understand you're confused and upset. But I want to help you understand what's really happening."

"Then explain it," I challenged. "Because from where I'm sitting, my boyfriend and my mother are having an affair and gaslighting me about it."

My mother sighed. "Maya, there is no affair."

"I saw you!"

"What you saw," Jason interjected, "was a controlled interaction designed to provoke an emotional response."

I stared at him. "A what?"

Dr. Reynolds leaned forward. "Maya, your mother came to me six months ago with concerns about your emotional development. You've shown patterns of what we call 'romantic idealization disorder'—a tendency to create fantasy relationships in your mind."

"That's not even a real diagnosis," I protested. "I'm a psychology student, remember? I know the DSM-5."

"It's a working term," my mother explained calmly. "Your father's death impacted you more deeply than you've acknowledged. You began creating elaborate romantic narratives as a coping mechanism."

I shook my head in disbelief. "So you're saying my relationship with Jason isn't real? That I made it up?"

Jason shifted uncomfortably. "Not exactly. I am real, obviously. But our relationship... it was structured as part of your treatment."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Treatment? What are you saying?"

My mother reached for my hand, but I pulled away. "Sweetheart, Jason is what we call an 'emotional surrogate.' He was carefully selected to help guide you through a therapeutic process."

I turned to Jason, searching his face for any hint of the person I thought I loved. "You were... hired? To pretend to love me?"

"Not hired," he corrected. "I'm completing my doctoral research with Dr. Reynolds. Your case study is part of my dissertation on immersive cognitive restructuring."

The clinical detachment in his voice made me feel sick. "So every moment—every kiss, every 'I love you'—it was all just... research?"

"It wasn't that simple," Jason said, a flicker of something—regret?—crossing his face. "The parameters of the experiment required authentic emotional engagement."

"Authentic emotional engagement?" I repeated, my voice rising. "You mean you were supposed to actually make me fall in love with you? How is that ethical?"

Dr. Reynolds cleared his throat. "The ethics board approved this study with strict guidelines. Your mother, as both your guardian and a licensed therapist, provided consent."

"My consent doesn't matter?" I was shouting now, but I didn't care. "You've been manipulating my entire life for months, and I don't get a say?"

"Maya," my mother said sternly, "you're being dramatic again. This is exactly the kind of emotional dysregulation we're trying to address."

"The kiss you witnessed," Dr. Reynolds explained, "was a controlled trigger event. We needed to observe how you would react to a romantic betrayal involving your primary attachment figures."

I stood up, unable to sit still any longer. "This is insane. All of you are insane."

Jason rose too, reaching for me. "Maya, please. I know this is difficult to process—"

"Don't touch me!" I backed away. "Don't you dare touch me after what you've done."

"What I've done was help you," he insisted, his expression hardening. "Everything I did was for your benefit."

"My benefit?" I laughed bitterly. "How exactly does breaking my heart benefit me?"

"Because it wasn't real!" he snapped, his composure finally cracking. "None of it was real, Maya. You need to accept that."

His words sliced through me like a knife. "It was real to me," I whispered.

For a moment, something like guilt flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by cool detachment.

"That's the problem," my mother interjected. "Your inability to distinguish between therapeutic scenarios and genuine relationships is exactly why we had to intervene."

I turned to her, the betrayal cutting even deeper. "And what about you? What kind of mother subjects her daughter to this kind of psychological torture?"

"One who loves her daughter enough to help her, even when it's difficult," she replied evenly.

"I need some air," I said, moving toward the door.

Jason blocked my path. "The session isn't over, Maya."

"Move," I demanded.

"You need to stay and process this," Dr. Reynolds said from behind me. "Running away won't help you heal."

"Heal from what?" I cried, spinning to face him. "From the trauma you're inflicting right now?"

"From your delusions," my mother said firmly. "From your unhealthy attachment patterns."

I turned back to Jason, searching his face for any trace of the man I thought I knew. "Was any of it real? Any moment at all?"

Something shifted in his expression—a softening around the eyes, a slight parting of his lips as if he wanted to say something different from the script. But then he glanced at Dr. Reynolds, and the moment passed.

"It was an experiment, Maya. A controlled study with clear objectives."

I closed my eyes, fighting back tears. "I need to use the bathroom."

Dr. Reynolds nodded toward a door in the corner of his office. "Take your time. We'll be here when you're ready to continue."

In the pristine bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and stared at my reflection. The girl looking back at me seemed like a stranger—pale, frightened, with dark circles under her eyes. Had I really been delusional all this time? No, I couldn't believe that. The memories were too vivid, the feelings too real.

There was a small window above the toilet—barely large enough for a person, but maybe... I climbed onto the toilet tank and pushed at the window. It opened outward with a slight creak. Twelve floors up was too high to jump, but there was a fire escape just a few feet away.

Without hesitating, I squeezed through the opening, my heart pounding as I balanced precariously on the narrow ledge outside. The wind whipped at my clothes as I inched toward the fire escape, trying not to look down at the dizzying drop below.

Just as my fingers grasped the metal railing, the bathroom door burst open. Jason's face appeared at the window, his eyes wide with alarm.

"Maya! What are you doing? Get back in here right now!"

"Stay away from me!" I called back, swinging my leg over the fire escape railing.

"You're being irrational," he shouted, already halfway through the window himself. "This is dangerous!"

I didn't wait to hear more. I clambered down the fire escape as fast as I could, metal clanging under my feet. Behind me, I could hear Jason following, calling my name with increasing urgency.

By some miracle, I reached the ground before he could catch me. I sprinted away from the building, not caring where I was going as long as it was away from them. Away from the lies, the manipulation, the betrayal.

As I ran through downtown Los Angeles, dodging pedestrians and ignoring the curious stares, I felt like I was in some bizarre nightmare. Every security camera I passed seemed to swivel in my direction. Every stranger on a phone appeared to be reporting my location.

When I finally stopped, gasping for breath in a busy shopping plaza, I looked up at the giant electronic billboard overhead. For a split second, I could have sworn I saw my own face staring back at me, with the words "SUBJECT MAYA BENNETT: CURRENTLY OFF-GRID" flashing beneath it. I blinked, and it was gone, replaced by an advertisement for perfume.

Was I truly losing my mind? Or was the entire city somehow part of this experiment? One thing was certain—I couldn't trust anyone anymore. Not Jason, not my mother, not even my own memories.

I was a prisoner in an experiment I never agreed to, and somehow, I had to find a way out.