The Therapist Novels & Stories

Okay, I count from five to one, wake up. Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Cup. I opened my eyes again and was met with bright hazel eyes. It took a few seconds to remember that he wasn't Rio, or at least, not the genius scientist Rio. He is a psychologist who commented that I should see a doctor in my Reddit post, who told my story to Thang, and co-ordinator of treatment. It seems that they are still very close, before he vehemently accused me of intentionally killing Thang (I don't have any memory of it, only heard from them), but now he is trying to convince convince the police that a mental patient like me would not be held criminally responsible by my full treatment notes and numerous record

"Hey, how ya doing, Santos?" "I'm doing okay, thanks." Shaking my therapist's hand, a genuine smile crosses my face. I've been seeing Justin for a couple of weeks now, and therapy hasn't been at all like I thought it would be. I envisioned a stuffy old man making me lay on a couch while he holds a clipboard and asks me about my mother. Justin, however, is anything but a stuffy old man. Just a couple years older than me, he comes to work wearing jeans and sneakers. He's got scruff on his face and doesn't even have a desk to sit behind. His office looks more like a living room with a couch and a couple recliners. The only indication it's a therapy office at all is the bookshelf full of referen

“I never really… I mean, I’ve tried, but it felt… weird. I stopped.” His smirk deepened, the piercing catching the light. “That explains a lot.” I gawked at him. “You’re supposed to be a therapist. Aren’t you meant to be… professional?” “I am being professional,” he said smoothly. “You came here because your ex called you boring. My job is to find out why you think that’s true. And right now, I see a woman who’s been too afraid to even touch herself. Tell me, Alessia - how can you expect to please anyone else when you don’t even know how to please yourself?”

He’s far more friendly. He leans forward slightly, his elbows on the table, and looks at me with open curiosity. “What do you make of him?” “Of who?” He gives me a look that says he knows exactly who. “My brother in-law.” “I am his therapist.” I say. “I don’t make things of my patients.” “You observe him though. That is what therapists do, isn’t it? Observe and reach conclusions.” He tilts his head. “So what is your observation?”

When you get there, just say that I sent you. I nodded. At this point, the traditional medicine practitioner, Chad Warlock, was my only option. Soon, I found his place. He was in his late 40s but looked incredibly fit and sturdy, typical of a traditional medicine practitioner who took good care of himself. Still, I wondered how strong his stamina was. I explained my situation and told him that the pain in my stomach was killing me. After listening, he nodded and gestured to the bed in the room. "Simple. I just need to draw the toxic energy out of your core," he said. "Just lie on the bed. I'll give you a massage, and you'll be fine."

"This is a warning from me. Don't help others because I hired you." "But-" "There's no excuse," he cut in. "I don't like mine being shared. And you are my therapist. So only I have the right to receive your treatment. You get it?" I unconsciously nodded, forgetting all the curses I wanted to say. "Good." He then stepped back, giving me some space. "Now help me chill my body." "Sure... of course I'll help you. Please lie down on the mattress as usual." I quickly walked to the side, intending to prepare the spot and necessities for the treatment Grayson had requested.

“You’re freezing, he said roughly. “Sit down, that’s what you need right now.” He led me to the therapy couch and settled me gently. I shook badly from the cold and nerves. “I ruined everything,” I whispered, rain and tears mixing on my face. “I made you cross lines, and now you have to get rid of me. I know that as a therapist, you aren't meant to have a sexual relationship with your patient. I pushed you to the wall, I'm very sorry.” He knelt in front of me and cupped my cheeks gently. “Listen to me,” he said firmly. “You didn’t ruin anything, look at me, Liana.”

“That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about the really heavy things right away. We can just start by getting to know each other and go little by little each session-” “Wait, there’s going to be more sessions?” “Of course. Sara, haven’t you ever heard of a therapist?” Sara shook her head. “I’m going to be here for three days of the week to have sessions with those who are traumatized by what has happened to them. I’m one of many coming here to help, you are one of my patients.” “Oh, I didn’t realise that there were therapists for...y’know, Werewolves.” Sara had no idea that the world of supernatural creatures had these kinds of problems to even need therapists.

She believes it’s best to hug or hold someone after talking to a Therapist. “I told you the last time we met that I’ll marry you if I see you again,” I smiled as I walked into her office. My therapist, Mrs. Crown is a renowned therapist who has refused to work for any organizations other than Mrs. Miller’s organization. She said it was her dream to help another woman who has gone through abuse find their way to light once more. She really helped a lot when I first came to the organization. “Maybe I’m actually here to propose,” I replied and she laughed.

Parker questions suspiciously. “It’s what we call a therapist. They’re a special kind of doctor who is an expert in emotions and sometimes it’s nice to have someone to speak with who isn’t a part of your life already. They don’t have any stake in the conversation except to help you, so you know it’s safe to share with them, and they wouldn’t be allowed to tell me about what you discuss. It would be totally private.” I share. The pups shift uncomfortably. “Do we have to?”