Chapter 25 #3
“Please, have a seat wherever you’re comfortable,” Jasmine said, gesturing to the room before taking a seat on of the armchairs. She settled in, folding her hands in her lap, her posture relaxed but attentive.
Samuel chose the other chair, perching on the edge. He placed his bag on the floor beside him.
Jasmine didn’t speak immediately. She let the silence settle, allowing him to take in the room, to feel the space.
“First,” she began, her voice gentle but clear, “I want to thank you for coming. I know that first step is often the hardest.” She paused, meeting his eyes.
“I also want to assure you that anything we discuss in this room is confidential. What you say here stays here, with very few, specific legal exceptions which we can discuss if you’d like.
My primary goal is to provide a space without judgment.
I’ve worked with people from all walks of life, all faith backgrounds, and all kinds of experiences.
There is very little you could tell me that would surprise me, and nothing that would make me think less of you.
I'm here to understand, and to help you find your way forward, at your own pace.”
Her words were a script, probably one she’d delivered a thousand times. But they landed on Samuel’s raw nerves like a balm.
She asked him a few basic questions then; where he was from, what he did for work, if he’d ever been in therapy before.
Her tone was conversational, easing him in.
Samuel answered in monosyllables, his gaze fixed on a woven rug between their chairs.
He felt closed off, a vault sealed with rusted locks.
Jasmine didn’t seem frustrated. She simply listened, nodding occasionally. After a few minutes of this stilted exchange, she leaned forward slightly, her voice softening further.
“Samuel,” she said. “Can you tell me, in your own words, what brought you here today?”
The question hung in the air.
Samuel’s throat closed. He stared at his hands, now twisted together in his lap.
His mind was a cacophony, a jumble of images: the cold cube, his father’s livid face, Gael’s dark eyes, Penny’s serene smile, the feel of coming apart against a wall.
Words swarmed, but none would line up into a sentence.
I’m broken. I’m scared. I’m wrong. I want someone who terrifies me. I hate myself for wanting him. I’m lonely. I’m empty. They broke me and I'm afraid I'll never be whole again.
He bit his lip, hard, until he tasted the coppery tang of blood. The silence stretched. He could feel Jasmine’s quiet presence, her patient waiting. She didn’t prompt him. She didn’t fill the space with meaningless platitudes.
The pressure built, a scream trapped behind his teeth. And then, from the swirling chaos, one clear, desperate truth rose to the surface, stripped of all its context and cause. It was the core of it all.
“I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
The words were a whisper, ripped from a place so deep and raw his voice cracked on the last syllable. He hadn’t known he was going to say it until it was out.
Jasmine absorbed the words, her head tilting slightly. “Afraid of what, Samuel?”
Again, the torrent of answers.
Of hell. Of my father. Of being found out. Of Gael’s power over me. Of my own desires. Of the past. Of the future. Of myself.
His mind raced, tripping over too many possibilities. He opened his mouth. Closed it.
After a long minute, his shoulders slumping under the weight of it, he found another piece of the truth, a little closer to the center.
“Of being myself.”
Jasmine nodded slowly, as if this made perfect sense. “And that is?” she asked, her tone gently curious, not pressing.
That is? The question was a chasm. The answer was the monster he’d spent a lifetime running from.
He squeezed his eyes shut. His hands in his lap were fists, nails biting into his palms. The word was there.
It had been there since he was fifteen, since Michael, since Elias.
It was a simple, three-letter word. It was the key to the vault and the monster inside it all at once.
All he had to do was say it.
He couldn’t.
His breath hitched. Shame, hot and familiar, washed over him.
He was failing. He was pathetic. He couldn’t even say one word.
“A man…” he finally forced out, the words ground between his teeth, thick with self-loathing. He hated himself for the cowardice, for the evasion. “…who desires another… another…”
He couldn’t finish. The word lodged in his throat, a solid, choking thing.
“Man.”
It wasn’t a question.
Samuel’s eyes flew open. He looked up, his gaze crashing into hers for the first time since he’d sat down.
Jasmine was looking at him, her hazel eyes soft behind her glasses. There was no shock. No disapproval. No triumphant aha! There was only a gentle, knowing empathy, and a small, reassuring smile that held a universe of understanding.
“Right?” she asked softly, her head tilting again, giving him the space to confirm or deny.
The world didn’t end. The floor didn’t open up. The warm, safe room remained. The kind-eyed woman waited.
Samuel felt something in his chest, a knot he’d been carrying for half his life, loosen, just a fraction.
He nodded.