“It would make me spend the day feeling like the ass who forgot about his wife.” His face was hard again, and a huge scowl brought his eyebrows clean over his eyes.
I’d celebrated too soon. I should have known better. Resisting hope and lightness, when the guilt was too embedded or the trauma too deep, was common. And I knew it. But I needed this as much as he did.
“Do you think your wife would feel like you’d forgotten her, Doug? Or do you think your wife would want you to move on?”
I knew the answer, because I’d read his files. His wife Maggie had passed after a long and painful battle with cancer. On her deathbed, she’d made him promise to stay with therapy, to do everything he could to live a happy life. She’d told him to find joy and to have the next adventure.
But Doug wasn’t ready to face that. And I’d pushed too hard.
With one last scowl, he rose and left the room without another word. The dark, sad, but familiar pressure of failure clamped over my heart.
“I’ll see you next week, Doug.”
I wasn't sure why I told the empty room that, but it churned inside me like it was true. Was that the power of being a word witch? Could I use it to compel people to open up, to return and seek the treatment they needed? I didn’t want to manipulate their emotions, but I needed to understand my power on a deeper level.
Later. This session had been a failure, but it was just the first one. I had an entire day full of patients to work through.
What could go wrong?
CHAPTER 14
Everything went wrong.
From the dragon shifter whose wife was threatening to leave him unless he got his hoarding tendencies under control to the troll with imposter syndrome, I maneuvered through my sessions trying to gracefully accept the supernatural I hadn’t known existed weirdly melded with modern problems.
I encouraged patients to use the chair, and most of them did. That should have been a good sign that there was a willingness to progress. But all they wanted to do was talk. And they didn’t want to talk to me.
Any attempt at alternative tools, or for them to see past their issues, ended in frustration and doubt.
The dragon even set the couch on fire.
I stumbled through each session, trying to use my alleged word power to make breakthroughs and reach to the core of their issues. If I could get one of my new clients to see their time with me as a positive, I figured that would be a start.
I had to admit, though, that the challenge was nice. It was the first time in a hot minute that I’d actually enjoyed my work.
Even though, as I closed the door on my first day, I felt like a complete failure.
“Why the sour puss?” Brianne slung her purse over her shoulder and turned off the light over the reception desk. “Rough day?”
“I never in a million years would have planned a day like this.” Ifollowed her out the front door. “I can’t seem to connect to any of my patients.”
“Well, I’m not one to counsel the counselor but Agatha always said the most crucial component to a good therapy practice was trust.” Brianne gave my forearm a reassuring squeeze. “That takes time.”
“I suppose.” I leaned against the porch as she descended the stairs. This close, the dilapidated facade of the house still held, and I couldn’t quite believe it was the same beautiful estate I’d just walked out of. Why did the house maintain such a pristine interior but look so shoddy on the outside?
“It’s not just that my methodologies are different from Agatha’s. There’s a wall between me and my patients. It’s the supernatural thing.”
“You’re a witch, Simone.” She turned to face me from the bottom of the stairs. “You’re supernatural, too. You’re just not used to it yet.”
“I don’t know that I’ll ever be.” There was a whiny petulance in my tone I couldn’t quite lose. “It’s not normal.” Her body tensed, and with a fidget she checked her watch. “Sorry, you’re on a timetable. Gotta pick the kids up?”
“My youngest ones are about to get out of school.” She beamed like a proud momma. “I like to walk home with them on Mondays. It’s a nice way to start the week.”
“I totally understand.” My heart jolted in my chest. “I used to pick up my son on Fridays for bubble tea.”
Well, at least the petulance was gone from my tone. Outright sorrow took its place. I tried to swallow down the surge of pain. To breathe through the rush of guilt that settled in my stomach, poisoning me as if I’d bitten into a thermometer and swallowed the mercury within.
“Simone?” Brianne rushed to me. “What’s wrong?”
