Just for one taste of the chaos he offers.
CHAPTER 34
GENEVA
The office is quiet except for the ticking of a clock on the far wall. My mind likens the sound to the ticking of a bomb.
I sit on the edge of a leather chair, the kind meant to be inviting but too structured to actually relax in. Across from me, Dr. Linton waits patiently, her pen poised over a notepad. She doesn’t push, doesn’t prod. The clinical psychologist simply waits, her calm, expectant expression making it harder for me to avoid the reason I’m here.
I take a deep breath, twisting the hem of my sleeve. “I need to talk about a… situation,” I begin, my voice steady but thin. “It’s hypothetical.”
Her brow arches, but she doesn’t comment. Just a small nod, encouraging me to continue.
“Let’s imagine a professional has developed complicated feelings,” I say carefully, choosing each word as if I’m navigating a minefield. Which is true since I don’t want to detonate my career. “And it’s about one of their patients.” I nearly choke on the last word.
Dr. Linton doesn’t react visibly, but the slight nod signals she’s following. “Complicated feelings,” she repeats gently. “Can you elaborate on that?”
I exhale slowly, my gaze dropping to my hands. “The person is dangerous. He’s the kind of man who thrives on manipulation and control. But there’s another side to him. A side that feels…real.”
She nods again, her pen tapping lightly against the notepad. “And this professional—you—feels drawn to this subject because of that ‘real’ side?”
I give her a pointed look. “I said this was hypothetical.”
“Of course,” she replies smoothly. “So this hypothetical professional is drawn to this subject despite their dangerous nature. Maybe even because of it?”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way her words strike closer to the truth than I want to admit. “It’s not that simple. This patient is more than just dangerous. They’re intelligent, protective, and capable of things that no one else would even think of doing.”
Dr. Linton’s pen stills, her eyes focused intently on me. “Protective. How so?”
I shift uncomfortably, the memory of Ghost’s hands on Lobo’s throat flashing in my mind. “They saved someone,” I admit quietly. “It was violent, yes, but it was also necessary.”
“And this professional, do they feel conflicted because of this act of violence? Or because it challenges how they see the subject?”
My throat tightens, and I look away, signaling my guilt. “Both,” I whisper. “They’re supposed to be impartial and objective. But this… this changed something. It blurred the lines.”
For the first time, Dr. Linton’s calm expression falters. “It sounds like this professional is carrying a lot of guilt.”
My stomach twists, and I fight the urge to get up and leave.Professionals like her—like me—are taught to read people, to see what they aren’t saying through body language. I know she’s reading me like a book, and I hate it. But how else will I get help?
“Hypothetically,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. “This professional knows how wrong it is. They know the risks.”
“And yet,” she presses lightly, “they’re here. Talking about it. Why?”
I don’t answer right away, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my sleeve. The room feels smaller, the air thicker, as I force myself to meet her gaze. “Because they don’t know how to stop feeling it. And they’re terrified of what it means.”
Dr. Linton doesn’t write anything. She just watches me, her expression steady but kind. “Acknowledging it is the first step. What you do with it—that’s where the real work begins.”
I nod as I lean back into the chair. What do I do with this feeling? As if I know how to answer that question.
“This isn’t just curiosity or fascination. It’s deeper than that. And that’s what scares them the most.”
“Deeper how?”
I glance down at my hands, noticing the way my fingers twist around each other like they’re trying to wring the words out of me. “It’s a… connection. The kind of connection they’ve spent their entire life avoiding. The kind that makes them vulnerable.”
Dr. Linton nods slowly. “And this connection… Does the subject reciprocate?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice cracking. “At least, it feels that way. But it’s impossible to know if it’s real or just manipulation.”
