I stay conscious of my tone, keeping it neutral and inviting. "That's a place to start. Often discomfort shows up before clarity."
Blue watches me say it. Her attention matches a wire pulled taut between us.
Skylar nods, interjecting, "We just want to support her. She's been…a bit better lately."
Better.
The word lands heavier than it should. I glance at Blue. "You agree with that?"
She beams at me with the same eyes that looked up at me while sucking my dick under my desk, and the image comes flying back. My cock turns hard as she states, "Yes. I've been sleeping. Eating. I'm focused."
I shift in my seat, put my clipboard on my lap, and praise, "That's good. What do you think contributed to that shift?"
Blue's gaze stays on mine. "Structure. Consistency. Being listened to and doing what you tell me to do." Her eyes burn brighter.
My jaw tightens a fraction before I smooth it away.
Mr. Ivanov leans back, arms crossing. "At some point, someone has to stop listening and start redirecting."
There it is.
I meet his gaze, unflinching. "You're right. Sometimes redirecting is needed."
Something flickers in his eyes, and I can't tell if it's approval or suspicion sharpened by the fact that I didn't contradict him.
Blue points at me. "He's never redirected me to do anything. Dr. Mercer has encouraged me to understand myself."
Mrs. Ivanov's hand tightens on her daughter's knee. "Blue," she murmurs, half warning.
"So let me guess. We're bad parents, and your mom and I are the reason you cut your arm?" Adrian asks, his eyes turning to slits.
I calmly assert, "No one is accusing you or Mrs. Ivanov of being bad parents."
"You sure about that?" Adrian snarls.
"Adrian," Skylar mutters, putting her other hand on his thigh.
He glances at her, grinding his molars.
I affirm, "Yes. Blue's obviously grown up in a loving household. She's openly talked about how much she loves and cares for her family."
He turns his scowl on me.
It's not the first time a father has sat across from me, angry and confused about why his daughter is in therapy. But Adrian Ivanov isn't a normal father. If the rumors are true, he has ties to the Mafia. So I proceed with extra caution and turn toward Blue. "How are things at work?"
"Fine. I'm very focused." She sits straighter, the stillness in her body contained, like something coiled and waiting. Her leg hasn't bounced once. Her hands rest loosely in her lap, fingers relaxed. She's grounded herself deliberately.
For me.
My pulse ticks up. I ask, "When you say you feel focused, what does that look like in practice?"
She tilts her head, considering. "I finish things. I don't drift. I don't get stuck in loops."
Her father's eyes narrow. "Loops?"
Blue shrugs. "Thought patterns."
I nod, encouraging elaboration. "And those have decreased?"
