Page 7 of The Therapist

Danny, the man who’d taken her, was tried and sent to prison. Amelia’s parents couldn’t stand the sight of the baby.

An abomination, they said. Amelia was deemed unfit due to her mental state and the baby was taken away. Amelia was brainwashed. So distraught and heartbroken that she tried to kill herself—a few times.

Out of options, her parents committed her. We were still young. Barely old enough to legally drink. I became hyper-focused on trying to fix Amelia—changed my major to psychology, put all my energy into trying to learn how to bring her back to the world.

I was driven by the secret I’d kept. Spurred on by the guilt that consumed me. I watched her fall apart. Watched her parents crumble. Her family disintegrated, knowing the outcome could have been very different if I had only said something. It was my fault because I knew where Amelia was.

I could have saved her.

I blink rapidly, shaking my inner thoughts away as I sit up in my chair, stretching my back. I’ve had back-to-back appointmentsfor the last three hours, and sitting in the chair is taking its toll on my back. Middle age has its downfalls. I suppress the urge to stand and move around. He needs my complete attention right now. Without it, I lose the trust I’ve built over the last three weeks.

He’s a nervous one.

Reserved.

Skittish.

“I fantasize about killing her,” he whispers shamefully.

I catch his gaze. “When do you notice these fantasies happening?” I ask.

“After visitations with her.” He looks down and away from me.

I uncross my legs and lean forward.

“You have the control here. You can choose not to visit her.” My voice is soft and firm.

“She’s my sister,” he says, still staring at the carpet. His shoulders are rounded, making his appearance smaller, more fragile. A true victim’s mindset manifesting physically.

“She molested you. Violated your trust.” My voice is even—gentle. He needs the affirmation.

His head snaps up, eyes meeting mine. “She saved me too. I owe her.” His voice is an angry whisper shout.

I give him a pointed look.

“That’s your guilt talking. She killed your mother,” I remind him.

His eyes go stormy. “I killed my mother.”

“Not alone and at her command. Keep reminding yourself that this is not black and white. Your sister is mentally ill. You were young and impressionable and she used that to her advantage. You don’t owe her anything simply because you share blood.” I look at the clock and notice our time is up. “Let’s work on that for next week. I want you to make a list of thepeople in your life you can look up to, the people who don’t want anything from you in return for maintaining a relationship with them.”

He nods at me vigorously. I smile and stand, sending him the cue that our time is up.

“JJ, I’ll see you next week. Don’t forget to do your homework,” I say, heading to my desk.

He nods at me and slips out the office door. I make a note in his file to discuss his mother next week. I need to get him to accept responsibility for his part in his sister’s actions and his mother is the key to that vault. The kid is being tried as an adult, but his mental capacity is that of a prepubescent boy, which is exactly when the bulk of his trauma happened.

I unlock my desk drawer and file his notes away in the appropriate folder before sliding the drawer shut and locking it again. I blow out a sigh and arch my back over the back of my desk chair; the pop, pop, popping of my spine releases the pressure between my vertebrae and feels good. I should really use the word-a-day calendar Nora gave me; the third one over, and learn some alternatives forgood.

“Dr. Richardson?” The voice has my head snapping up.

His voice is smoky, a whiskey voice. The sort of voice that stirs the emotions in your belly. Pure testosterone. He stands in the doorway like a vampire waiting to be invited in. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’m not prone to such visceral reactions generally.

“Yes.”

“I’m your four o’clock.” He stands tall, shoulders rigid. “Cooper.” He raises a brow at me.

I stare a beat longer before remembering to gesture for him to enter.

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