Page 11 of Dark Therapy
Her gaze flickered for a moment, like she was trying to hold herself together, but I saw it—her uncertainty, her mind struggling to make sense of the mess I was laying out. “What things?” she asked, her voice a little too steady.
I feigned innocence, my lips curling into a smirk. “The shadows,” I whispered, letting the words slither from my lips. “The darkness that wraps around us when we stop pretending. When we let our guards down. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”
She frowned, brow furrowing like she was trying to put together a puzzle with missing pieces. “This isn’t a game, Damien.”
“Isn’t it?” I leaned even closer, feeling the heat radiating off her. I fuckinglovedthat look in her eyes. She didn’t know whether to run or stay. “What if I told you some games are meant to be played in the dark? That the real exploration doesn’t begin until the lights go out?”
For just a second, I felt it—herfear, and fuck, it hit me like a drug. Amelia, this brilliant psychologist who thought she had it all figured out, was unraveling in front of me. My words were knives, cutting through the layers of control she so desperately clung to. “I want to help you,” she said, that professional tone of hers smooth as silk, but I could hear it—the tension, coiling like a snake, ready to strike.
I leaned in, my voice low, dark, a little too sweet. “And I want to help you too, Millie,” I said, my words dragging like awhisper in her ear, laced with all the fucked-up things I knew she didn’t want to admit. “But you gotta let me in. You have to stop hiding behind that perfect little mask. You have to face the truth of what’s crawling around inside you—thosefeelingsyou don’t wanna acknowledge, not just the façade you present to the world.”
She stiffened, and I could practically feel the panic creeping into her veins. That gave me arush, a fucking high I couldn’t ignore. “I’m not afraid of the truth,” she snapped back, but the tremble in her voice told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t just afraid of the truth—she wasterrifiedof me exposing it.
I chuckled low, the sound thick with something dark, something dangerous. “Are you sure? Because I think you are. I think you’reterrifiedof what’s really hiding under that polished exterior of yours. You have no idea how tangled our worlds are, do you? You think you’re standing on the safe side, but you and I? We’re both walking the same razor-thin line between light and darkness.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I could almost hear her mind working, trying to process the poison I was feeding her. “This istherapy, Damien. I’m here to help you, not engage in some twisted philosophical debate.”
I leaned closer, my voice dropping into a dangerous whisper, just enough for her to feel the heat of it. “But what if the therapy itself is the debate?” I pressed, my words dragging like a slow burn. “What if every session pulls you deeper into the dark? The very place you think you’ve been running from. The very place you’re so desperate to avoid?”
I leaned back, letting my eyes trace every inch of her—her flushed neck, her breath hitching, the way her body tightened under the weight of this conversation. The air between us wasthick, and I savored every goddamn second of it, knowing I had her on the edge, her mind hanging by a thread.
“Let’s explore that darkness together, shall we?” I drawled, noticing the way her eyes flickered, a flash of fear that made my blood sing. “Because, Millie, I think you’re starting to understand the power of what’s buried under the surface.”
The tension in the room was electric, and I watched her expression shift—something like defiance sparking in her eyes. She wasn’t going to back down. No, she was gonnaplaymygame, step into the shadows, and it made me fuckingdizzy. The idea of her, of this woman who thought she had control, willingly walking deeper into my hell… It was intoxicating.
She shifted in her seat, her posture snapping to attention, her eyes locking with mine without a flinch. “Alright, Damien,” she said, her voice low but steady. “Let’s start where all games begin—with understanding. You told me once that power comes from unraveling someone’s layers. But who unraveled yours?”
The shift caught me off guard. For a split second, I felt my grip slip, the control I so carefully maintained slipping through my fingers. I felt my jaw tighten, and I forced myself to stay still, hiding the reflexive response that surged through me.
She held my gaze—she fuckingknew. The tension was thick, suffocating, and I could see the way she was feeding off it. “Childhood is where we first learn about power—who’s got it and who doesn’t. Who taught you that lesson, Damien?”
I fought the urge to look away. The thrill I’d felt moments earlier dulled as she pressed on, delving into territory I had long since buried.
“Seems you’ve done your homework, Dr. Harper,” I sneered, masking the tightness in my chest with a smirk. But even I could hear the sharpness in my voice.
“It’s not about homework. It’s about understanding what made you who you are,” she countered, her voice soft yet unrelenting. “What shaped the man sitting across from me?”
Her question cut through my defenses like a fucking razor, and for a split second, I felt something I wasn’t used to—vulnerability. It hit like a gut punch, raw and fucking unwanted. I was the one who made people squirm, the one who pushed them until they bled, but now she was digging into memories I’d buried so deep they barely had time to rot. Memories of when I wasweak, of when I couldn’t control shit, and that made me want to fucking break something.
“Some things don’t need understanding,” I muttered, my tone sharp. “Not everything is worth dissecting, Amelia.”
Her eyes were all calm, too calm, like she was studying me. And that was more unnerving than any question. “Maybe not,” she said, her voice smooth like she was daring me to dosomething about it. “But it’s the things we avoid that usually need the most attention. And if you think about it, Damien, isn’t that why you’re here?”
I felt the familiar rage simmer beneath the surface. She was chipping away at the very foundation I’d built. This was supposed to bemygame—myrules. But here she was, turning the tables.
I leaned back, forcing a smirk I didn’t quite feel. “Careful, Millie,” I warned, voice low. “Curiosity can lead you down dangerous paths.”
But she only offered a slight smile in return, unshaken. “I think we both know I’m not easily frightened.”
I settled back, watching her. The way she pushed, like she really thought she could break through. There was almost something endearing about it. She wanted answers?Fine. I’d give her what she asked for, but not in the way she expected.
I let the corner of my mouth curve into a smirk, my gaze steady on hers. “You want to know about my childhood, Doc? Alright,” I drawled, each word slow, calculated. “Picture this: acramped house, four walls that felt like they were closing in, and a man who decided he was God in that little kingdom. Everything was his to control. Especially us.”
Her face softened, just a flicker, and I almost laughed. Perfect. The moment she showed a trace of sympathy, I knew I’d hit exactly where I wanted.
“He liked to remind us of that every night,” I continued, my voice staying smooth, detached. “Sometimes, it was a slap, a shove. Other times…” I paused, watching her reaction, leaning in just slightly. “He got more creative. You get used to pain when it’s served in portions every day.”
I shrugged, acting as if it were nothing more than a mildly annoying memory. “People say trauma makes you who you are. That it’s something to heal from.” I let out a soft laugh. “But it’s not about healing, not really. You take it, use it, and mold it into something useful.”