Therapist Couch 소설 & 이야기

Teresa's POV I started therapy two weeks after the trial. Even though I told myself I was ready, the first session proved that I was not as prepared as I thought. The office was quiet and warm, decorated in soft colors with a comfortable couch and a chair where my therapist sat across from me. The room was designed to make people feel safe, but I could not relax. I sat on the edge of the couch with my hands clasped tightly together, my knuckles white, my shoulders tense. My eyes moved around the room instead of settling on my therapist's face. I looked at the bookshelf, at the plants by the window, at the clock on the wall. Anywhere but at her.

She found the room empty so she sat down on the couch and opened the television. The room is filled with different types of things to entertain. Billiards, table tennis, chess, and more. Why? It is to ease someone's thoughts, especially after doing deadly missions that could've gotten them killed, and missions that they need to kill. With that in mind, that's why the syndicate has a therapist whom they can visit anytime.

CHAPTER 53 *** NEXT DAY AT THE THERAPIST OFFICE *** Caleb entered the therapist's office with a deliberately constructed attitude of indifference and squared shoulders. The room was small and ill-furnished, and there was a strong smell of desperation and old books. Caleb allowed his eyes to roam, taking in the disorganized piles of files on the shelves and the faded inspirational posters as he sank into the worn recliner opposite the therapist's desk. It was a pitiful little room, a reflection of the school's clumsy attempts to deal with the issues that sullied inside its walls.

**Mia's POV** The therapy room was nothing like I'd imagined. No leather couch, no walls lined with dusty psychology books. Instead, soft grey walls surrounded comfortable armchairs, and large windows let in natural light filtered through gauzy curtains. Dr. Sarah Matthews sat across from me, her presence calm and grounding. "Are you comfortable, Mia?" she asked, adjusting the small device that would guide my eye movements. Her voice carried that perfect blend of professional and compassionate that probably took years to master.

“Eloise?” The therapist stood at the doorway, her voice calm and warm like chamomile tea. Her hair was curly, brown, and framed her face with a softness that seemed rehearsed. But not insincere. I rose, smoothing the front of my cream sweater, and followed her into the room. The space was cozy, almost homey. A plush navy couch. A single window cracked open just enough to let in the city murmur. Two mugs sat waiting on the coffee table, steam rising.

She almost found herself running in her quick pace, and made it fast enough to step in immediately after the chaotic pair. She recognised that room as soon as she saw it; the expansive space where Viscount had caught Andre on camera lying in bed. One look at it and she confirmed what Krystal had told her earlier; it was the room he used for his therapy sessions, and its peculiarity gave itself away from the hardcore torture equipments ranging from varied sizes of leather whips to spanking benches. It was a spacious room large enough to accommodate a big bed as well as sofas and couches. Clara saw all these through the indigo lightning of the room, as well as his glorious frame seated on the