Chapter 34 Geneva
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.”
“Which is a hallmark of their danger. That ability to blur the lines, to make you question what’s real and what isn’t.”
I nod. “Exactly. That’s what makes everything so complicated. Because even if it is manipulation, it doesn’t feel like it. Not in those moments.”
“And how does that make you feel? The possibility that it could be real—or that it might not be?”
“It’s torture,” I confess, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “If it’s real, then everything I’ve worked for is at risk. But if it’s not, then I’ve let myself be played. Either way, I lose.”
Dr. Linton sets her pen down to fold her hands in her lap. “That’s a heavy burden to carry. But I wonder if part of the weight comes from trying to figure it out alone. Isolation can amplify confusion, Geneva.”
The sound of my name startles me. It feels personal, too personal, even though I know it’s just her way of grounding me in the conversation.
“What would you suggest, then?” I ask. “That I tell someone? Confess everything and watch my career burn to the ground? My career is my identity. It’d be akin to suicide.”
Her expression remains steady. “Not that. But maybe it’s not about confessing to someone else. Maybe it’s about being honest with yourself first. About what you feel, what you want, and what boundaries you’re willing to hold.”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “Boundaries. Those are already in pieces.”
She doesn’t react to my deflection, her gaze unwavering. “Then maybe it’s about deciding what pieces you want to pick up, and what you’re willing to leave behind.”
The simplicity of her words cuts deeper than I expect, and I sit back, pressing my hands into my lap to steady myself. I don’t respond, because I don’t have an answer.
Dr. Linton lets the silence linger again, giving me space to process. Finally, she speaks, her voice softer than before. “It’s okay to feel conflicted, Geneva. It’s okay to not have the answers right now. But what’s not okay is carrying this alone until it consumes you.”
I nod, my eyes stinging with unshed emotion. The clock ticks in the background, marking the seconds that feel heavier than time should.
“Let’s start small,” she says gently, her pen poised again. “If this hypothetical professional could speak freely, without judgment, what’s the one thing they’d say to this subject?”
The question catches me off guard, and I frown. My mind flashes to Ghost, to the look in his eyes as I walked away, the unspoken words between us. And then, without thinking, the answer tumbles out. “I’d ask him: Do you care about me?”
Dr. Linton doesn’t look up from her notepad as she writes, her expression calm, her movements even. The scratch of her pen against paper fills the quiet, and for a moment, I feel exposed. Regretful. I know I need professional help, but this might’ve been a huge mistake.
Finally, she sets the pen down and folds her hands in her lap. “That’s an honest place to begin. And it’s okay to feel torn. Relationships—especially ones with this level of complexity—are rarely black and white.”
I shift in my seat, gripping the armrests. “But this isn’t a relationship,” I say quickly, as if saying it aloud will make it true. “It’s a professional situation that’s gotten… messy.”
And by “messy” I mean he had his fingers in my pussy.
Her brow arches. “Messy, yes. But not entirely professional, is it? At least not in how you’re experiencing it.”
The words sting, but she’s not wrong. “No,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “It’s not. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want this. Hypothetically,” I add lamely.
“I believe you. Remember that you’re human. Feelings don’t always follow logic or intention. What matters now is what you do with those feelings.”
“I don’t even know where to start.”
Dr. Linton leans forward. “Start with this: What do you want? Not what you think you should want, or what you’re afraid of wanting. Just simply, what do you want?”
The question hangs in the air, heavy and impossible to answer. I open my mouth, but the words catch in my throat. What do I want? To escape this? To understand it? Or worse, to let myself feel it, to follow this to its destined conclusion where I end up hurt and alone?
“I don’t know,” I finally say, my voice breaking. “I just know I can’t stop thinking about him. Even when I try. And it’s exhausting.”
Dr. Linton smiles at me with sympathy. “Honesty is good. When you think about him, is it fear you feel? Or something else?”
“Both,” I whisper. “It’s always both.”
Her expression softens. “That’s not uncommon. Attraction and fear often coexist in complicated dynamics like this. The key is understanding why. Why you feel drawn to him, and why it scares you.”
I close my eyes, the memories flashing behind my eyelids—Ghost’s smirk, his biting humor, the way he looked at me when I left the room. His euphoric expression when I came on his hand. “Because he makes me feel addicted.”
“Addicted,” she repeats. “That’s a strong word. It suggests there’s a pull you feel, something beyond just fascination or curiosity. Do you think that’s part of why you’re here?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I think about him all the time. About what he said, the way he looked at me… the way he saved me.”
“Let’s talk about that,” she says, her pen hovering over the notepad again. “When he saved you, how did it make you feel?”
I hesitate, the memory of that moment flashing vividly in my mind—Lobo’s body crumpling to the ground, Ghost’s hands still restrained but lethal, the way he turned to me afterward, calm and completely unapologetic.
“Conflicted,” I admit. “Because it was brutal. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch. But it wasn’t for himself. It was for me. He saved me, and I don’t know how to reconcile that with the person I know he is.”
Dr. Linton nods slowly. “It’s not uncommon to feel gratitude toward someone who’s protected you, even if they’ve done so in a way that feels morally or ethically complicated. It can create a bond, a sense of connection that’s hard to ignore.”
“That’s exactly it. And it scares me because I know he’s capable of so much worse. But when I’m around him, I don’t just see the manipulative side. No, I do see it, but I can’t stop it from affecting me. How do I make it stop?”
Dr. Linton’s gaze is unwavering, her tone firm. “You start by taking back control. By setting boundaries. Not just with him but with yourself as well. And you remind yourself that it’s okay to feel conflicted. It’s okay to be drawn to someone and still recognize that they may not be good for you.”
I cover my face with my hands, unable to look at her as the words deep in my soul begin to surface. “But I want him despite knowing all of that.”
“That’s a powerful realization, Geneva. You’re in a situation that challenges not only your professional boundaries but your personal ones as well. And that can be disorienting, even overwhelming. But the question now is: What are you willing to risk to explore these feelings of want?”
The more accurate question would be: Is there anything I’m not willing to risk?
And I don’t like the answer.