Instead, he frowns at me. “I thought we were making progress. I mean... we talk about things I don’t tell anyone. You understand me.”
He leans forward. Just a few inches. Just enough to make me wish that the session was already over.
“And I appreciate that trust. But therapy only works well when both people feel safe and clear in their roles. I need to maintain that standard with all my patients, Josh. I need to refer you out.”
Josh smirks, letting a long period of silence extend between us. Then he speaks again, his voice still even and neutral. “You know, you’re real good at sounding official, Dr. Pearson. Like you're reading from a script or something.”
I lick my dry lips as I take in his words. “I hear you, Josh. I do. But my decision is final. Today will be our last session.”
Another long silence stretches between us. The rhythmic patter of raindrops, usually such a balm to my heart, today makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I fight to keep my breathing steady and even as I wait him out. Then, slowly, Josh stands and moves toward the door.
“Alright. If that’s what you want,” Josh replies.
He walks to the door, then stops and turns.
“You know, some people might take this personally, Dr. Pearson. But not me. I’m very… understanding.”
Leave, please just leave.
I manage a small, polite smile. “Thank you for your understanding. Take care of yourself, Josh. Best of luck to you.”
Josh lingers half a second longer and then, finally, exits. The door clicks shut behind him.
I exhale deeply, noticing my hand trembling slightly as I set down my notebook. My eyelids close and images of a newspaper headline flash through my mind:
“DEMON OF THE PNW STRIKES AGAIN: EIGHTEEN-YEAR-OLD ABDUCTED OUTSIDE WSU DORM; NO SUSPECTS IDENTIFIED.”
Eastman’s flat, feral snarl of a smile replaces the image of the headline.
I lean forward and inhale deeply, trying to regain control. The office is quiet again—but somehow feels colder now. Haunted. Just like Pearson House. And everywhere else I go. I seem to darken everywhere and everything with my presence.
I rise and stride over to lock the office door. I’m beginning to feel like my whole life is locking doors these days.
I pull out my phone to text Bea.
Me
Did it.
Bea
Good job, Kitty Kat. It’s so hard, but you knew this was the right choice for your client.
Me
Yep. Thanks, B.
Bea
Anytime. XO
A sigh escapes my lips. Bea is right of course. I had consulted with her at length about ending treatment with Josh, whilestill protecting his confidentiality. All Bea knew was that I was having significant countertransference with a challenging client.
One impossible task down, one to go, I think wryly.
My phone buzzes and glancing down, I see Dr. Goldman calling me again. Wincing, my pointer finger taps the screen and I send him to voicemail.
I open my laptop to Google “Dr. S. Wagner” for the dozenth time since last night. My fingers tap furiously against the keys as I roll my neck to relieve some of the ever-present tension that has settled there.
