Perfunctory (adjective): done without care; in a routine fashion

“But surely you feel something?”

Her therapist tilted his head, slightly taken aback at the skeptical look on her face. She couldn’t blame him—she had barely asked questions throughout the session, only answering his inquiries in a small, monotone voice that never revealed more than the minimum. If she was being honest, she felt as surprised as he was at her own burst of curiosity.

The young man paused, as if digesting her words again. “Actually, I do not,” he admitted. “It might seem strange that an emotionless person is attempting to coach the emotions of others, but I assure you, both my patients and I are fine.”

Her wide eyes simply stared at him. “Then, who listens to you?”

He laughed, the sound as mysterious as an unseen wind chime tinkling in the middle of night. “No one, because I don’t need to talk about myself. Isn’t that perfect for a therapist?”

“How could that possibly be?”

“Most therapists become overwhelmed when they connect too deeply with the pressures of multiple patients.” His eyes met hers, a vastly deep blue that she suddenly could no longer comprehend. “But for someone that cannot feel, listening to all those troubles is as ordinary as brushing their teeth.”

She only half-nodded, feeling grateful yet apologetic, relieved yet concerned. And an unsettling, crawling sensation that the person sitting before her was not human.