Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Red
Silence settles in the room, stretching thin, the kind that invites mistakes if you rush to fill it.
So I let it breathe. I've learned the value of pauses and how people rush to expose themselves when they think they're being given space.
But this silence is different. It presses inward, creating a wall of tension growing thicker by the minute.
I catalog the room the way I always do when something goes wrong. Three clients, one clinician, and four separate agendas strain the space between us.
Mr. Ivanov's rigid on the couch, his knees apart, and hands clasped like he's bracing for impact.
Mrs. Ivanov's angled toward her daughter, protective to the point of erasure.
Then there's my Bluebird. She sits opposite them, spine straight, legs crossed with deliberate economy, her gaze fixed on me as if I'm the only stable object in the room.
I play my part, staying composed and controlled, happy the mask fits like it always does.
I rest my forearms on my thighs and incline my head slightly, a posture meant to communicate engagement without intimacy.
I start, "Before we begin, I want to clarify expectations.
This is a collaborative session. We'll move slowly, and we'll stay grounded in observable behavior. "
Blue's mouth curves. It's subtle. Anyone else might miss it. But I don't miss things with her. Not anymore.
"Of course," she says, her tone light and agreeable.
Adrian exhales sharply through his nose, not quite a scoff, more of a release of pressure.
I note it without reacting and turn to him. "Mr. Ivanov, how are you feeling right now?"
He shifts, shoulders drawing back as if he's just noticed his own body. "I don't know. I'm here."
A non-answer which is defensive and territorial, but I didn't expect any different from him.
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?"
She nods. "Yes. Because I know where to put them now."
The answer is too open-ended to be safe, but I make a decision. "Where do you put them, Blue?"
Her gaze sharpens into further engagement. "Here. With you, Dr. Mercer." The edges of her mouth curl.
The word drops into the room like a match.
Skylar says, "I don't understand."
Blue turns toward her. "Dr. Mercer listens. He doesn't judge me. He tells me what to do when I feel like hurting myself."
Skylar's mouth drops toward the floor. Her eyes tear, and she blinks hard. "H-hurt yourself?"
Mr. Ivanov's jaw tightens. His eyes widen.
"Were you not aware that Blue hurts herself?" I ask.
"She cut herself. We told you that," Adrian defensively answers.
My heart races. "So you weren't aware it wasn't the first time?"
Adrian's cheeks turn red.
Skylar sharply inhales. Her forehead creases, and she puts her hand on Blue's back. "Sweetie?"
"It's not a big deal," Blue declares.
"It's not a big deal? Of course it's a big deal," Skylar half shrieks.
"It's not, Mom!" Blue insists.
Adrian's accent grows stronger. He lowers his voice. "What have you done, Blue?"
Blue looks at me and shakes her head. "I told you they'd blow this out of proportion."
"Hurting yourself is serious. We've discussed this," I remind her.
She licks her lips, and her gaze falls to my clipboard.
"Tell me what you've done," Adrian demands, grabbing Skylar's hand, his jaw twitching.
She blinks harder.
"Tell your parents," I order.
Blue slowly meets my gaze.
"It's okay. They need to know. You're safe here," I push.
"Safe here? She's always been safe with us," Adrian snaps.
I put my hand in the air. "I didn't insinuate that you had an unsafe household."
"Didn't you?"
"No." I lock my eyes on his, not flinching.
"Adrian," Skylar softly says, her voice shaking.
He slowly tears his gaze from me, and they exchange an intimate look.
I refocus on Blue. "Tell them how you've harmed yourself."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I'll tell them for you."
My veins turn hot. Adrian's head snaps toward me, but I don't look at him. I wait for her to speak.
She doesn't take her eyes off me, announcing, "Sometimes I use a knife, and sometimes I use pins."
"What?" Skylar blurts out in a whisper.
"Look at your parents, Blue," I direct.
"Yes, Dr. Mercer," she replies, and turns toward them.
I follow her gaze and internally cringe.
Adrian pins a distrustful gaze on me.
"Tell your parents why you feel the need to hurt yourself," I order.
Blue takes a deep breath and, in a neutral tone, declares, "I can't help it. Sometimes I need to feel the pain."
Tears fly down Skylar's cheek. She grips Adrian's hand.
"What do you mean you need to feel the pain?" Adrian asks.
Blue gets up, steps next to me, and flips the hourglass. She watches the sand slip from the top to the bottom, mesmerized.
"What do you mean, Blue?" Adrian demands in a strict tone.
I interject, "This feels productive. But I want to be mindful of pacing. Intensity without integration can be destabilizing."
Blue beams at me. "I trust you."
The words hit harder than any accusation could have.
Her father stands abruptly, the movement sharp enough to draw attention. His eyes flick between us, lingering a second too long on the space we occupy.
I glance back at Blue and see cold recognition.
This session is already compromised. Not because she's unraveling but because she isn't.
My beautiful Bluebird is playing all of us, running the session how she wants it to go.
"Please. Everyone, sit down," I redirect.
Adrian doesn't move.
Blue spins and sits on my desk, then crosses her bare legs a few inches from my face.
Adrenaline flies through me. I force myself not to look.
"Adrian, please sit," Skylar begs.
He looks at her.
"Please."
He finally caves and plops next to her. He scrubs his face. "I don't understand any of this."
Silence fills the room.
Confusion is an honest emotion. It's the only one in this room that hasn't been weaponized yet, so I let it linger a bit longer.
If I move too fast, if I react instead of regulate, this fractures completely.
I've walked into volatile family sessions before, full of addiction, violence, and secrets, but this one hums differently. The charge isn't chaos.
It's control.
Adrian's fighting for it.
Skylar wants it.
Blue already has it.
She sits on the edge of my desk, totally comfortable, like she belongs there. Her spine is straight, chin lifted, eyes bright with a disturbing triumph. Every inch of her body language is a provocation wrapped in compliance, telling me she's testing proximity, hierarchy, and reactions.
I straighten my clipboard on my lap, too afraid to lift it, and state, "Not understanding doesn't mean something is wrong. It means something hasn't been explained in a way that makes sense to you yet."
Adrian drags his hands down his face. "She's talking about hurting herself like it's…like it's nothing."
I nod, agreeing, "It isn't nothing, but it also isn't attention-seeking or defiance. Self-harm is a coping strategy. A maladaptive one, but a strategy nonetheless."
Skylar turns watery eyes on me. "A strategy for what?"
"For regulation. Control. For grounding when emotions overwhelm the nervous system," I inform.