Page 36 of The Therapist

A calculated one at that—about fantasies—and I knew right then that I had you. That your curiosity had won out, and you were firmly in my clutches.

You agreed. You stunned me into silence. You wanted to be a participant in my fantasies.

I have nothing but time now to think and relive our best (and worst) moments. I want someone to know our story. It’s worth sharing. As you said though, I’m cunning and clever, and I know I can’t share our story with anyone but you.

I don’t wish to destroy your life any further than I have. You lost your moral footing. You stumbled, and that’s okay. You aren’t a criminal because of it. If you believe anything—believe that.

There’s darkness in everyone. It’s what makes us human. It does not, however, ensure you’re a bad person. I think you forget all the good you do. All the souls you help to heal and find peace. Having a deviant sexual appetite doesn’t erase the light of your soul. I’m sure you’ve been too hard on yourself recently. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry if my actions have ever caused you to question yourself.

My selfishness led to your pleasure. A pleasure you hadn’t experienced before. It opened your eyes to different things, and I wanted that to be a positive experience for you. I like to think it was.

Don’t be ashamed of that. There was nothing illegal about what we did. Consenting adults are allowed to play as long as all feel safe. And I did.

And the glow on your face, the hooded eyes and lazy smile you wore, proved you did—in the moment.

And Robin, you were mine. I would have protected you, shielded you if you’d shown any unease.

In a perfect world, I would have understood that what we had, what we participated in, was enough to satisfy me. Iwould have stopped watching at the inn. I would have boarded up the faux louvers and washed my hands of it.

Because I was content. What we had, what we did, satisfied me. Wholly.

But I’m human and gluttonous.

I’d lie there staring at you long after you fell asleep in my arms before creeping out of bed and crawling into the safety of my tunnels.

I’d watch people, still.

Well, that answers that. My chest tightens. He never stopped the voyeurism. I wasn’t enough. My heart contracts painfully in my chest at the realization. Aggressively, I fold the pages closed.

I can’t keep doing this to myself. I have to stop. This is unhealthy. What would a therapist say? I snort at myself while tucking the letter into the console table drawer.

She’d say,Robin,you made a mistake.

Move on.

***

The low hum of conversation in the lobby of NEL fades into the background as I round the corner toward the front desk. I’m dog-tired from the session, ready to go home and rot on the couch with Flash.

The air is thick with something unspoken, a tension I don’t quite understand yet, but I know enough to recognize when I’m walking into an ambush.

Aubry, Eve, and Nora are standing in a loose circle, arms crossed, expressions ranging from disbelief to barely contained curiosity. The moment they spot me, all three turn in unison.

Aubry’s the first to speak, of course. “So… anything you wanna share with the class, Dr. Richardson?”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m assuming this isn’t about scheduling conflicts.”

“No, but nice deflection.” Aubry tilts her head, arms still folded. “A journalist just waltzed in here, asking some very interesting questions about you. And more specifically…” She pauses for effect. “Your patient, Cooper.”

A chill spreads across my skin, but I keep my expression carefully composed. “What did they ask?”

Nora, always the quiet observer, watches me closely. “She was vague. Too vague,” she says. “Fishing. Which made us wonder…”

Eve leans in, eyes sharp. “Who the hell is Cooper?”

I exhale, choosing my next words carefully. “He was a patient of mine.”

Aubry scoffs. “That’s all we get?”

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