The psychiatrist regained consciousness forty minutes later.
Unfortunately, this only made the situation worse.
"She fainted gracefully," Blaze whispered to Saturn while the woman sipped mineral water beside the fireplace. "That's usually a sign of advanced moon alignment."
"I know," Saturn whispered back solemnly.
Meanwhile, I was beginning to suspect I had died somewhere over the Pacific and entered a very expensive afterlife designed specifically to punish billionaires.
The psychiatrist sat upright slowly beneath a cashmere blanket while the fog drifted outside the Sausalito windows.
Her silver jewelry glowed softly in the candlelight.
Honestly, it was unsettling.
"I underestimated the severity," she said quietly.
Nobody breathed.
Lucien sat nearby wrapped in cream-colored knitwear staring emotionally into the fog while two healers brushed his aura with cedar branches.
Blaze looked moments from tears.
Saturn held what appeared to be a spiritually significant thermometer.
I rubbed my temples.
"What exactly is severe?"
The psychiatrist turned toward me carefully.
"Direct exposure to Starbucks during a vulnerable energetic period can be catastrophic for emotionally porous individuals."
A long silence followed.
Then:
"I'm sorry," I said slowly. "Are you implying coffee almost killed my boyfriend?"
"Not coffee."
She leaned forward gravely.
"Commerce."
The room fell completely silent.
Even the fog somehow looked judgmental.
The psychiatrist stood carefully.
"I'm calling in specialists."
Marianne, who had returned from the hospital approximately twenty minutes earlier looking spiritually embalmed, made a weak noise from the couch.
"No," she whispered.
The psychiatrist ignored her.
"Lucien's condition extends beyond conventional energetic destabilization. We are now dealing with acute commercial overstimulation."
Saturn shut his eyes tightly.
"Oh, this is devastating."
"What does that even mean?" Marianne asked hollowly.
The psychiatrist looked toward Lucien.
"It means his nervous system can no longer distinguish between authentic emotional experience and branded environments."
Blaze physically sat down.
Lucien looked stricken.
"I knew the airport gift shop felt predatory..."
"It was predatory," Saturn assured him immediately.
At sunset, the specialists arrived.
Of course they did.
There were two of them.
They looked identical.
Tall, unnervingly serene, dressed in minimalist beige clothing that probably cost more than vehicles.
Neither appeared to blink normally.
They introduced themselves only as:
- Rowan
- and Celestine
Which somehow made everything worse.
"These are our leading experts in commercial exposure recovery," the psychiatrist explained quietly.
I stared at them.
"You're telling me these people specialize in... stores?"
"Corporate atmospheric trauma," Rowan corrected gently.
Celestine nodded.
"We primarily work with former influencers and startup founders."
Naturally.
Within minutes the house had been converted into what they called an "evaluative healing environment."
Which meant:
- all labels were covered with linen cloths
- every phone was confiscated
- someone removed the logos from the water bottles
- and Lucien was placed in what appeared to be a low-stimulation recovery chair facing the ocean
Then the testing began.
I will never recover psychologically from what I witnessed next.
"Show him the image," Rowan instructed softly.
Celestine held up a photograph.
Lucien immediately recoiled.
"Oh no."
My stomach tightened.
"What is it?"
Lucien looked genuinely shaken.
"...An outdoor mall."
Blaze grabbed Saturn's arm in horror.
"The exposure response is immediate."
The specialists nodded gravely.
"Again," Rowan said calmly.
Celestine produced another image.
This time Lucien physically covered his mouth.
"No... no, please..."
I leaned forward.
"What is it now?"
Lucien looked at me with glassy eyes.
"...A self-checkout kiosk."
The psychiatrist closed her eyes.
"Oh, this poor thing."
Marianne stood up abruptly.
"I need everyone here to understand that this sounds completely fucking insane."
Nobody acknowledged her.
The testing continued.
Images shown to Lucien included:
- a Target parking lot
- an LED-lit airport Hudson News
- a tech conference
- a frozen yogurt chain with inspirational wall text
- and, fatally, a Starbucks Reserve location
Lucien nearly blacked out.
"He's dissociating!" Blaze cried.
"I can hear branded playlists," Lucien whispered weakly.
The specialists exchanged deeply concerned looks.
"This is more advanced than we anticipated."
I stared at all of them.
"So what's the solution?"
The room fell quiet.
Rowan and Celestine looked toward the psychiatrist.
The psychiatrist looked toward the ocean.
Finally, very softly, she spoke.
"There is only one treatment left."
Nobody moved.
Lucien looked frightened.
Blaze held his breath.
Saturn clutched a crystal against his chest.
The psychiatrist turned toward me.
"He requires a full commercial detox."
I already hated where this was going.
"For how long?"
"At minimum... one week."
"That's manageable."
"No phones."
I froze.
"No internet."
Blaze gasped softly.
"No branded products."
Saturn whispered, "Dear God."
The psychiatrist folded her hands calmly.
"He must spend seven uninterrupted days completely disconnected from commercial influence."
The room waited.
Then she delivered the final blow.
"In Big Sur."
Silence.
Pure silence.
Outside, the fog drifted slowly over the cliffs.
A candle crackled softly somewhere behind me.
And then, for the first time in this entire catastrophic spiritual odyssey—
I fainted.
TO BE CONTINUED