Novel & Cerita The Therapist

“Aren’t you supposed to… I don’t know… react or something?” The therapist remained still for a few seconds before sighing. He placed his pen down on his notepad gently and spoke–his voice eerily calm. “Mira, you didn't come to me to judge or condemn you,” he said as he locked his fingers. “Professionally, it isn’t my position to judge what you believe. My job as your therapist is to help you feel safe… help you feel better.” Safe? Better? Those words sounded so vague to me.

ALISON "Hey there! Alison Wakely, right? Come in. Sit down." Closing the office door behind me, I approached the small seating area. The therapist was perched in a wing chair, her shoes off and her feet curled alongside her. She was young-probably a year or two older than me. My previous doctors had been in their forties or fifties, but since Brooke Slater came highly recommended and had agreed to see me despite a full patient load, I wasn't going to complain.

She asked quietly. "He only woke up 3 months ago. Physical therapy sessions are held 4 times a week, and they tried to get him to speak with a therapist, but he hasn't been.... cooperative with that. That's where you come in. You have experience with burn victims and their emotional state. He won't speak to anyone about what happened. They want to make sure he is stable to run the pack. He hadn't really mourned the loss of his father and his mother is in her own world of grief, so she is no help either." Tori sat there thinking about the situation and whether or not it was a good idea to accept it or not. "Also, your.... umm...unique ability to heal would be of tremendous help with this." To

He seemed lost in a world of his own, a world that the therapist could not reach. She gracefully lowered herself to a kneeling position before him, delicately tapping his arm with her slender fingers. To her dismay, his reaction was a growl, a display of his disapproval etched across his face. Startled yet undeterred, she calmly responded, "Pray tell, what is the reason for such a vehement outburst?" "What the fuck are you doing?" "Is it not within your etiquette as a patient to acknowledge the presence of your therapist?" she countered succinctly, her voice carrying a blend of professional admonishment and genuine concern.

It was looking more hopeless even for the good natured therapist who is sitting there looking at two of the most dissociated couple she had ever had the honor of speaking to through her half moon spectacles. At a point, the atmosphere became inhabitable and the babbling therapist, because that was what she was to the two bland faces who had long forgotten that she was there or that she had ever asked them a question, grabbed her handbag, and stood up to leave. Muttering her goodbyes before deciding to say it aloud with the hope that this would at least be seen as a rousing courtesy.

About ten minutes later we were in bed making love. It took me about a week to find a therapist that was black and willing to have me watch the massage. He was in his 40s and not in great shape but he was male and black. I didn't want to lose the momentum or the fun we were having so I arranged for him to come to our home one evening.

He'd built it to stay. I closed the fridge. Filed that away in the section of my brain labeled *things I am sitting with but not yet doing anything about* which had gotten fairly crowded in the last five weeks. The therapy update came the following Tuesday. Different aisle. Cleaning products. Lisette had range, I'd give her that. "Twice a week," she said. "Specialist. The kind that works specifically with people who confuse control with connection." I looked at a bottle of dish soap for longer than dish soap warranted. "How do you know what kind of specialist it is?"

I said, "Then, be more gentle. My chest is hurting me." Charlie nodded. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle." My mouth went dry as I panted softly. My cheeks were completely red, and I gradually regained my senses. What was I thinking back then? I had gone mad! I was a married woman, so how could I do that… Pressing my lips together, I avoided his gaze. Charlie was still massaging me. Clearly, the therapy was not over. "It will be some time before we finish. Don't tense up your body. Otherwise, I can't help you."

After all, I was here for treatment. But when the door was pushed open, and I caught sight of the therapist, my heart sank. Before I came here, Elaina hadn't mentioned that they had male therapists here. He looked to be in his 20s, fit and athletic, with a clean-cut look and a friendly face. He wore a simple black tank top that did nothing to hide his broad chest and the sharp definition of his abs. As soon as he walked in, I instinctively pressed my legs together and crossed my arms over my chest.

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "Mr. Garrett?" A voice interrupted my brooding. Male, which was unusual. Most of the therapists here were women. The voice was smooth, professional, but with an edge that made something in my gut tighten. "I'm afraid Angela had to take emergency leave. Family situation. I'll be handling your therapy sessions going forward." _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> I didn't bother looking up from my phone. "Great. Another new therapist. That's the third one this month."