The other side of the door was quiet, and just when Dr. August was beginning to look concerned, a small and muffled noise of confirmation reached their ears. The two doctors shared a look, August nodding and taking his departure as Ian poked his head inside the door. The room was bleak, unsurprisingly so considering the otherwise bland decorum in the rest of the hospital, but at the very least Ian had noticed that they'd given her a pencil to write in her journal. In the East Wing, Ian had discovered, the residents weren't even allowed<span style="font-style: italic">that</span>for fear that they'd try to swallow any small objects to choke themselves. It was a lovely job, really.<br/><br/>Emily Duncan looked apathetic, and ultimately noncommittal to her stay. That wasn't unusual. Most addicts didn't even know they had a problem until they were confronted with the idea of not having their fix, and Ms. Duncan wasn't going to be any different. Here in a few days, maybe even a few hours, she would start experiencing symptoms of withdrawal. And that is where his job came into play.<br/><br/>"Hi, Emily," he greeted, mustering as polite a smile as he felt was appropriate in light of the circumstances, but he could tell that it didn't quite reach his eyes. Forcing emotions was so taxing. He put his back flat against the door, taking small steps backward until he heard the small click of the door shutting behind him. "I'm Dr. Baird, it's a pleasure to meet you."<br/><br/>Most people didn't understand how or why individuals became addicted to any sort of substance. They think that these people lack some sort of moral principle or strong will, but it was so much more than that. Drug addiction was a very complex disease. When someone uses, their brain changes, adapting to the surge of dopamine that they feel afterward. Prolonged abuse takes this adaptation and twists it so that the body no longer produces dopamine on its own, reducing the user's ability to register the paradox of not enjoying the drug anymore but also needing more to function day to day. His own reoccurring experiencing with cocaine and dilaudid among other things had made him savvy to that fact.<span style="font-style: italic">Other people may not understand you, Emily. But I do.</span>The thought made him smile.<br/><br/>Taking a seat on the edge of Emily's bed, Ian tucked her file snugly between his leg and the comforter and politely folded his hands in his lap. She didn't look like the socializing type, and Ian could respect that. There were things that both of them would much rather be doing, he imagined. "Do you know why your father brought you here?" he inquired, a question that he had asked dozens of times before and always with the same answer. No, they don't understand why they're here. No, their situation isn't that bad. They could stop any time they wanted to. Wash, rinse, repeat.