The Bows

"Sir, your brother is here," the secretary walked in, with the news.

The man six feet tall, with a well built body and a flow hairstyle. He looked dashing in his black suit, but not so good with his temper. He lifted his hand and asked his secretary to leave.

Daisy stopped walking immediately and turned around.

"That girl," a door opened and Harold Bow barged in. "That girl, freaking Inaya, she messed me up. She messed with me. She got me arrested. Brother, this is not fine," Harold walked in, speaking very loudly, disturbing his younger brother who was reading a file that required his immediate attention.

Harrison Bow closed his eyes. He tilted his head to his right and moved his right hand towards his neck. He unbuttoned the collar button, and loosened his black tie. He slowly looked at Harold, who stood before him, looking shabby and dirty, face unshaven, hair all ruffled, shirt looking messy and with stains.

"You don't look like a man from our family," Harrison spoke.

"Respect. I'm your older brother Harry," Harokd reminded Harrison.

"Yet you need me to bail you out for a petty case," Harry smirked, clearly mocking his brother. He got up from his seat and walked around his luxurious office room decorated with sofas, painting, a bookshelf, a small bar and a breathtaking view of the city from the 34th floor of the sky scraper.

"This is not petty case," Harold said feeling embarrassed.

"If you knew it's bad and that it will get bigger, why did you even go for it in the first place?" Harry said. "You harrased and woman and hit a police man, and were shouting nonsense," Harry looked disappointed. He shook his head. "And I had to pay for the lawyer and manage the media to stop it from tarnishing the business and stocks," Harry looked angry now. "Go. Leave. If you are jobless now because of your carelessness, prove yourself and win your career back, than eating my head here," Harry spoke harshly.

"I'm not here to fight for a position and shares. I'm here for a break. A psychiatrist will go through hard times too. And not treat people always," Harold could not match the level of rage Harry had.

"Yeah I can see that. How you have lost your mind while treating others," Harry did not even look at his brother whike speaking, standing facing the glass wall, looking at the view, outside.

"F*** you ***hole," Harold said, threw the pen stand he got in his hand from the table in front of him and walked away. Harry smirked again.

"Childish," he remarked and continued standing there. "Daisy," he called for his secretary immediately through the intercom.

"Come in quick," he ordered. "Help me looked around for a girl named Inaya."

"Do we have only the name?" The secretary asked, looming confused.

"For now, yes. Name is rare. Would be easy to find. Go. If you cannot, ask my brother, he will give you an exact image," Harry walked towards the small bar and took a bottle of whisky. "Book the appointment for today. I'm might need a session or two," he said.

"Are you okay?" Daisy sounded worried.

"If I am, I would not he sipping whiskey in the middle of the day Daisy," Harry smiled and sat down. "Go on. Get to work."

"Do you plan in hiding it for long?" Daisy asked.

"Yes. I intend to. Now leave," Harry forced Daisy out. She exhaled and closed the door, walking away. She decided to go for Harold and get an idea about the girl and not just her name.

Harry felt warm as the alcohol slid down his throat. He put on his trench coat and turned the air conditioner off. He has been feeling cold often and that sort of building up anxiety leading to shivers.

Nobody has been able to fine the casue to give the right diagnosis and treatment. "Harry, Harry, get a hold of yourself," he told himself. He took the file again and began to read it, to keep himself distracted from the unwanted thoughts.

He closed his eyes a few minutes later and rested his head on the sofa. And then, he felt something on his cheek. Something touching him, stroking his face. He felt extremely cold then, but there were also bead of sweat on his forehead.

The touch he felt then began to throbe, with a burning sensation and as if there were cuts everywhere.

"No, no, no," he whimpered. "Stop. Don't do this," in his head he was begging and crying. "This is so bad, we should not he doing this," he was telling someone.

"Mr. Bow, Harrison? Harry?" the secretary had come back and found him lying on the sofa in trench coat and sweating heavily.