Page 12 of Dark Therapy
She didn’t look away. Her face remained calm, but I could see the small changes, the flickers of something I couldn’t quite place. Sympathy, maybe, or a desire to understand. But it was too late for that.
“I learned one thing,” I continued, voice dropping to a murmur, just loud enough for her to catch. “There’s power in suffering—if you’re willing to turn it around.”
I leaned back, letting the silence stretch, daring her to break it, to say something. To her credit, she didn’t immediately. She just sat there, processing. I saw the war in her eyes—the urge to digdeeper, to see if she could reach whatever I kept hidden. But she wouldn’t get that close.No one did.
Finally, she cleared her throat, her professional mask sliding back into place. “Thank you for sharing that, Damien,” she said, carefully measured. “You’re right; trauma can mold us. But turning it around doesn’t mean losing yourself to it.”
Her words were steady, calm, and I could see she was trying to draw me back into her rhythm. But this was my story, my control.
I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a murmur. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Amelia. I didn’t lose myself.” I smiled, a dark edge slipping into my tone. “I foundexactlywho I was meant to be.”
Her question lingered in the air, pressing in, a little too close for comfort. “And your mother?” she asked, voice soft but probing, threading through the air with a gentleness that felt like an intrusion.
I kept my expression steady, allowing only the faintest hint of a smirk to touch my lips. She wasgood—better than I’d expected. But I wouldn’t let her see that she’d hit a nerve. Instead, I leaned back, casually crossing my arms, a mask of detachment settling over me like a second skin.
“My mother,” I drawled, keeping my tone light, almost conversational. “She was…unfortunate.”
Amelia’s face remained neutral, but I saw the way her fingers tightened around her pen, a subtle shift that gave away her interest. She was invested, waiting for me toslip, to reveal something raw.
I let my eyes drift off, like I was lost in some distant fucking memory, something blurry and half-finished. “She got fed up and tried to leave once. Thought she could just walk the away from him. From it all.” I let out a soft laugh, cold and empty. “Guess he had other plans.”
Her eyes flickered, and there it was—sympathy. That pathetic, fucking sympathy. It irked the hell out of me, but I couldn’t help but feel this twisted intrigue at the same time. She thought she could understand. Thought she could untangle the mess of it all. But it was too far gone for her, way beyond her reach.
“He didn’t take too kindly to her little act of defiance,” I said, my voice smooth, like I was telling a story. “One night, he decided to make it clear. Showed me exactly what happens when someone dares to defy him.” I let the smile creep onto my lips. “And he did. Right in front of me.”
I took a moment to glance at her, watching the way her jaw tensed, the slight softening of her eyes like she was trying to shield herself from what I was saying. She was absorbing it all—every fucking detail, her brain trying to process thehorrorI’d just painted.
“He made sure I saw everything,” I continued, voice a low murmur. “Every last second of it. He thought it’d teach me something. Thought it’d show me what happens when someone forgets their place.”
Amelia didn’t look away, and for a split second, I felt something simmering beneath the surface, an old, buriedrage. But I forced it down, clamping down on it as I always did.
After a moment, she spoke, her voice steady. “That must have been… incredibly painful.”
I laughed, the sound harsh. “Painful?” I echoed, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe for her. For me, it was… enlightening.” I let the word hang there, twisting her pity into something darker.
But her gaze remained unshaken, determined. “Damien,” she said, her tone softer, “no one should have to witness something like that.”
I shrugged, unaffected. “I didn’t have a choice. And I learned early that choices don’t matter as much as people think.” I leaned in, dropping my voice to a whisper. “People like to pretend they’re in control, that they can steer their own lives. But we’re all just following paths that were laid out for us, aren’t we?”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t try to change the subject. Her silence told me she was listening, really listening. And even thoughshe’d hit that nerve, even though the memory felt like acid beneath my skin, I wouldn’t let her see a single crack. Not now,not ever.
I stepped out of Amelia’s office, and the air around me felt thick, like her presence was still clinging to my skin. Her voice, those questions, the way she looked at me like she thought she could get inside my head—fuck, it made my blood boil, and I wanted more. Ineededmore.
I got into my car, the cold leather seat familiar beneath me, grounding me, pulling me back from the fucking edge. But I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
Barely a second passed before my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen—Claire.
Perfect timing.
“What?” I answered, the edge in my voice unmistakable.
Claire didn’t waste a second. “We’ve got a new job. Client wants it done today. You’re the only one who can handle it with… the level of finesse they’re asking for.”
I leaned back in the seat, a twisted smirk curling on my lips. “Details?”
She gave a soft, low chuckle. “Let’s just say, it’s someone who’s in a place of comfort. Someone untouchable, in theory. But our client wants to send a very clear message.”
Ah, I got it. This wasn’t just a job—it was anart. They didn’t want clean. They wanted something that’d fucking linger.