What am I saying?
The silence stretches, heavy and watchful. I take ten slow breaths. Then ten more, but my body refuses to calm.
The office hasn't changed, but the space feels tighter, like it's holding onto something that shouldn't linger. The couch across from me is empty, the cushion faintly indented where she sat. I don't look at it for long. I change my focus to the desk, the legal pad, and the neatness of my handwriting.
The pressure of the pen was excessive.
Irritation hits me as I notice the random circles of ink on letters.
Control matters now more than ever. Blue finally had a real session with me, and we made progress, even if she can't see it yet.
I lean back in my chair and finally allow myself to exhale fully. My pulse stays elevated, annoyingly insistent.
Adrenaline,I tell myself.
It's not atypical for me to have a burst of endorphins. A difficult session will spark it. Emotional disclosures always increase my physiological response. But what is unusual is the relief sitting in my chest.
She didn't hurt herself.
The words replay, unwanted and persistent. I didn't ask for that information. She offered it, almost cautiously, like she was gauging my reaction. I should have redirected immediately, clarified motivation, and assessed risk without reinforcement.
Instead, something in me steadied when she said it.
The response wasn't neutral, and I won't lie to myself.
I should put my notes into my computer and move on, but I open her file and stare at Blue Ivanov at the top of the first sheet, scolding myself how even her name is familiar in a way it shouldn't be.
I tear my eyes off it, scan earlier notes, and the clean language from the beginning. Impulse control issues, maladaptive coping strategies, and affective instability glare at me. It's straightforward and manageable, but then I look at my notes from our session, and my stomach clenches.
Today's documentation is more detailed and thorough, to the point of overcorrection. I cataloged her admissions carefully and ensured every phrase was clinically sound:withdrawal sensitivity, externalized regulation, fixation on authority figures. It's all accurate and defensible. Yet none of them captures the reality of how easily she settled when I drew the line, and she accepted my terms.
That part should be in the file, but I don't dare put it in.
Her attachment has shifted. It's now on me, and she's trying to keep me and please me. Therapy should be about her desire to help herself. Instead, she dug into wounds to keep me.
The awareness moves through me like a current in a sharp, fast, and undeniable loop. My chest tightens, not with alarm but with something cleaner and more dangerous. The sudden clarity snaps everything into alignment. I sit straighter without meaning to, my spine locking into place as if my body has recognized a threat or an opportunity and can't decide which.
She isn't just attached. She's oriented.
Toward me.
I close the folder and press my thumb into the edge of the desk, grounding myself in the pressure. This is why I forced the choice at the beginning of the session. I needed to see which way she would go when presented with a real consequence.
She chose to stay.
The thought lands with weight, subtle but undeniable. I don't allow satisfaction to surface and take shape. But something inside me eases, and that alone is enough to irritate me.
Obedience should not be grounding.
And yet, when she agreed—when she straightened her posture, met my gaze, and saidokaywithout deflection or challenge—the volatility in the room diminished instantly. Her anxiety quieted. My own followed. And that dynamic is dangerous.
I scrub a hand over my face and stand, moving toward the window. The city below is orderly, predictable. Cars move through intersections on unspoken rules. There are no blurred lines or ethical tension. I envy it briefly.
She framed me as the thing that stopped her.
For once, she wasn't dramatic or manipulative in our session. She stated facts, didn't lie, and got vulnerable when it wasn't sexual.
I handled it appropriately, redirected, and clarified that her safety cannot hinge on another person. And yet...
