Therapist Couch Novels & Stories

Kind eyes that saw too much. "Noah. Come in." The office smelled like coffee and old books. A couch sat against one wall. Two chairs facing each other. Window overlooking the city. Dr. Voss gestured to the couch. Noah sat. Felt like a kid in the principal's office. "How was your week?" Dr. Voss settled into his chair. Notepad in lap. Pen ready. "Fine." "Just fine?" "Yeah." Dr. Voss waited. That thing therapists did. Silence as a weapon. Making you fill it just to stop the discomfort.

We took a seat waiting for whoever the therapist was to come in and get started. "Dan, I'm not sure about this" I admitted to him but before Dan could respond, the therapist walked in through the other door in his office. OMG!!! It was the man from last night at the club but this time, he was dressed in a dark blue button up shirt but the first few buttons weren't closed. The tattoos and chain on his chest going along with the tattoos decorating his strong arms. His pants were grey with a black belt matching his shoes. His eyes followed from Dan to my legs all the way up to my eyes, drinking me in. "You must be Mr. Romano?" Dan asked as he fixed his terrible posture while the man took his se

A desk in the corner with a laptop and a framed photo I couldn't quite see from this angle. Probably his wife. "Have a seat wherever you're comfortable," he said. I chose the couch. He sat in the chair across from me, crossed one leg over the other, and picked up a notepad. Great. Court-ordered therapy with a hot therapist. This'll be fun. "So, Jessa," he started. "I know you're here because the court mandated it. I want you to know that everything we discuss is confidential unless you're in danger of hurting yourself or someone else. This is a safe space."

After confirming my appointment, a lady walked up to me, "Sophia, hello. I'm Nurse Johnson. I understand you're here for an appointment." "Yes, hi," I replied, my voice shaking slightly. "Okay, let's get you scheduled. We have an available date on Thursday. Would that work for you?" "Yes, that works," I said. "And we offer therapy sessions before and after the procedure," Nurse Johnson explained. "This is a big decision, and we want to make sure you're emotionally prepared for what's ahead. The therapy sessions will help you process your feelings and come to terms with your decision. It's a safe space to talk about your emotions and concerns.”

She finally stops on Confidential Family and settles in, eyes glued to the screen. “Yup,” she says casually. But even she doesn’t believe it. I press my lips into a firm line, but I don’t push. “And your therapist?” I drop my duffel bag by the door and take off my shoes before sitting on the couch — leaving as much space between us as possible. She notices. She doesn’t say anything. “Same ol’.” I hesitate. “Do—”

Emily's POV. The room felt too quiet, too odd for my liking. I couldn’t focus on the soft hum of the air conditioning or the click of the clock on the wall. All I could focus on was the therapist’s eyes, calm and steady, staring back at me like she could see every single layer of my pain, of everything I was trying to bury. Cole had suggested therapy. He wasn’t trying to fix me…he wasn’t trying to “fix” anything. He just thought I needed someone else to talk to. Someone who wasn’t him.

Because my palm is cooling now, and the loss of heat frightens me more than the burn. The tunnel opens into a service alcove behind counseling. Counseling looks nothing like a clinic. It looks like a family room. Three soft chairs. A low table with tissues. A mural of a sea turtle on the wall. Warm lamps. A little shelf of wooden toys polished by many small hands. At the center of the room waits a chair with clean straps. White. Padded. Straps tucked discreetly into the sides, like leather becomes kinder when hidden. A screen wakes above it.

At least he would get to sleep well tonight. ***** The therapist's office was warm and quiet, with soft music playing from somewhere Louis couldn't see. He sat in the waiting chair with his leg bouncing and his hands sweating and his heart racing. He had never done this before…never sat in a room and waited to spill his guts to a stranger. The door opened. Louis stood up, his heart pounding, and turned toward the doorway. Matt smiled at him. Louis's brain stopped working completely. "You're…this is…are you the therapist?"

" came the barrage of questions from a therapist who was beginning to apply a cream bath to my hair. Nicholas replied, "It was not her parents who fell into poverty, but she is being trained to live independently." The therapists in the treatment room shook their heads. I didn't care about their negative or positive reactions. What was clear was that I was here to pamper myself. After three hours, I finished my treatment, all paid for by Nicholas. I don't know how much I owe this guy, he even fell asleep on the sofa in the waiting room just to keep me company until I finished.

Chapter 67 MATTHEW The first intensive therapy session with Dr. Fisher lasted two hours, and I watched every minute of it through a one-way mirror, feeling my heart break with each word my son spoke. Dr. Fisher's office was designed for children—soft colors, comfortable furniture, toys and art supplies scattered around the room in carefully arranged chaos. She'd settled Theo on a oversized beanbag chair and surrounded him with options: LEGOs, action figures, drawing materials, a small sandbox with miniature animals.