Page 10 of Dark Therapy
“Definitely!” Vicky nodded, her excitement palpable. “I’ve been trying to make more time for myself, you know? Between work and everything else, it’s easy to lose sight of what really makes me happy. So, I thought, why not explore a bit? It’s crazy how just being in nature can help me recharge.”
“Absolutely,” I replied, nodding thoughtfully. “It’s so easy to get caught up in the demands of daily life and forget to prioritize our own needs. Nature has a way of reminding us of what’s truly important. It offers a space to breathe, to reflect, and to simply be.”
I paused, allowing the words to linger in the air. It struck me how often I, too, had neglected my own well-being in favor of others. The flashbacks, the nightmares—these were constant reminders of the battles I still fought within myself. I wondered if I was as good at prioritizing my own needs as I advised my patients to be.
“Finding those moments of joy and connection, whether through nature, art, or something else, is vital to our mental health,” I continued, shifting my focus back to Vicky. “It helps us stay grounded and connected to ourselves. I want you to remember that as we move forward. Make it a goal to carve out that time for yourself, no matter how busy life gets.”
“Thank you, Amelia,” Vicky said, her expression brightening. “I really appreciate your guidance. I feel like I’m starting to see things differently, and it’s helping me a lot.”
I smiled, feeling a warmth in my chest. “I’m glad to hear that, Vicky. Remember, it’s all about progress, not perfection. You’re doing great.”
With that, I wrapped up the session, making a note of our discussion in her file.
As she walked out, I took a deep breath, allowing the energy of the session to settle around me. I feltlighter.
As the door opened and Damien entered, the atmosphere in the room shifted. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, the kind that spoke of danger and allure, accentuating the sharp lines of his physique. He carried himself with an unsettling confidence that made my heart race.
“Amelia,” he said, his voice smooth and low as he settled into the chair across from me. His whiskey eyes studied me intently, and I felt an unsettling mix of anticipation and dread. “You look tired.”
I forced a smile, doing my best to maintain my professional composure. “It’s been a long week,” I replied, meeting his gazewith unwavering steadiness. “But I’m here for you. How have you been since our last session?”
He leaned back, the leather creaking slightly as he did, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “You know, I’ve seen people in worse states than you. This whole‘keeping it together’ act—very convincing, but I can tell something’s eating at you.”
I took a moment to gather myself. “Let’s focus on you today,” I said, redirecting the conversation. “What’s been on your mind?”
“Ah, but I find you far more interesting,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “Tell me, do you often feel like your life is slipping through your fingers while you play the role of the composed psychologist? It must be exhausting.”
I could feel the familiar tension creeping in, his words wrapping around my thoughts like a vice. “I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, my well-being is not the focus here. What matters is your journey. What brings you back today?”
He shrugged casually, but there was a glint in his eyes that told me he was enjoying this. “Maybe I’m just curious. Or maybe I want to see how far I can push you.”
I steadied my breath, reminding myself that I was in control of this session, no matter how much he tried to provoke me. “Pushing boundaries can be a valuable part of therapy, Damien. But remember, it works best when it’s mutual.”
He chuckled, a dark sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Oh, I’m all for mutual exploration. Just keep in mind that I’m not your typical patient.”
“No one is,” I replied, matching his intensity. “So, let’s explore what that means for you. What do you want to discuss today?”
SLICING THROUGH POWER
Damien
Stepping into Amelia’s office, I was hit with that sweet scent of lavender and vanilla—like some perfume made to mask the rot underneath. It was all tooclean, tooperfect, like she was pretending to be something she wasn’t. I didn’t care. I zeroed in on her immediately. Seated behind that polished desk, she was an angel in a cage, and that obsessivehungerflared inside me again.
She looked stunning—obviously—but today, something was different. There was this crack in her perfection, this edge to her that made my gut twist with delight. Her face was still flawless, but she had shadows beneath her eyes. She thought she hid them well, but I could see it all—her exhaustion. It made me smile. It turned me on.
“Morning, Amelia,” I drawled, my voice smooth like velvet, like I wasn’t standing in her office with the fucking urge toruinher in every way possible. I saw her freeze, like she could feel the weight of my presence seeping into the room. The tension crackled, thick and choking, and I couldn’t get enough of it. “You look tired.”
She glanced up at me, those honey eyes meeting mine. For just a heartbeat, I saw it—fear? Defiance?—before she shoved it down like she always did, slapping that perfect mask back into place. “Just a long week,” she said, her smile a little too sharp, but not quite reaching her eyes.
That smile.God, it made my skin crawl, a pretty little fucking lie she used to hide the mess of emotions beneath. I leaned against her desk, close enough to invade her space. I wanted to see her squirm. “You shouldn’t overwork yourself, Millie,” I said, my voice low, casual, but it fucking drilled right into her. “It’s easy to lose track of what’s important.”
Her pulse, I could almostfeelit. Watching her unravel, piece by piece, was the kind of power that made my bloodburn.
“Damien?” Her voice snapped me back, but it didn’t stop the thrill crawling through my veins. She shifted in her seat, trying to take control, but I could see right through it. “We’re supposed to discuss your progress today, remember?”
I grinned. Progress? Fuck that. This wasn’t about progress. This was about breaking her down until I was the only thing left she could think of.
I leaned in, close enough to feel the heat of her breath. “Oh, I remember,” I murmured, my voice low, dragging the words like they were something I was savoring. “But progress can be subjective. What if I told you I feel more alive now than I ever have? What if I told you that my mind can’t stop racing, thinking about…certainthings?”