Chapter 14
That meant they weren't done. They weren't done with me. Why is this person doing this? Why can’t they just leave me alone? The paranoia I adopted has me constantly on edge, waiting for someone to pop out at any given second.
Not knowing who it is makes it even more terrifying. I have no inkling who this person could be. Protecting yourself becomes impossible when you can’t see the danger coming. As much as I like to think I can, this person has me beat.
I had stashed the note and picture along with the previous ones in a little wooden box in my closet.
I’ll keep all the evidence, and maybe if I have enough, the police will do something.
It’s worth a chance, right? By the way this person is tormenting me, I’m assuming they want me to get all riled up and scared.
I’m just going to pretend it doesn't bother me and go about my day.
If the motherfucker is watching, maybe acting nonchalant will bother him instead.
A little green box highlights Axel's name on my computer, and I tidy my office a little before heading down the hall. Time flew by as if it were in a rush. I spent my morning thinking about the note so much I hardly noticed thirty minutes had passed.
“Axel Gray?” I ask around the room of empty chairs. A tall figure fills the periphery of my eye, and I turn. The man looks rugged. He is tall, very tall. I smile and introduce myself before walking him back to my office.
Shivers trail up my legs, trickling slowly toward my neck as I feel how close he's following behind me. His presence alone fills the air with a dark aura looming. We enter my office; the last door to the left.
I can feel his gaze roam around the office, a little longer than others typically do, and it makes me question my decor choices.
I gesture to the sofa where I have my clients get comfortable.
Well, as comfortable as possible. Compared to the single wooden chair I sit in during session time, the sofa is the most comfy seat.
“Please have a seat on the couch, Axel. Make yourself comfy first before start,” I suggest politely. I watch as he hesitates a moment before completely switching his energy. He sits lazily with both arms resting along the back of the couch, legs spread wide, as his left begins to bounce.
A lot of my clients have a fidgeting tic. It’s nerve-wracking to talk to a complete stranger about your struggles or concerns. It doesn't bother me. He probably doesn't even notice he's doing it. The demeanor change is interesting, though.
His gaze takes me in, slowly, eyes devouring every inch of me. I shift in my seat, quickly wanting to break the silence. I clear my throat before speaking.
“So, tell me a bit about yourself and why you're here? I looked at your file and it seems like you have been here once before.” The answer he gives me is unexpected. All the words that continue to pour out of his mouth are unexpected, actually.
“I’ve seen psychiatrists, doctors, therapists, guards, you name it.”
The words effortlessly leave his lips, while the corner of his mouth curls upward in a devilish grin. Does he think being here is a joke?
I will admit, he has piqued my interest. I want to learn more about him, but every time I ask a question, he replies with a snarky response. It makes me question why he is here. Does he actually want help? Is he willing to put in the work to make changes? Does he get off on being sarcastic?
I don’t like my time being wasted. I have a feeling that's what this is. I want to snark back. It’s not like me to do that. I try to stay as professional as I can, but my patience today is already wavering thin. He could be projecting, but a part of me feels like that could be half the case.
Keep it professional, Dahlia. Some clients are bound to be tough.
He is like a puzzle that I’m determined to figure out. I just have to take a step back and reassess the information he gave me, filter through the un-needed pieces and find the perfect one. But what even is that? I believe it's going to start with his past.
I don't want to rush into any deep-seated trauma in the first session, assuming he has any. Based on his demeanor and deflecting, I detect he has some sort of trauma and is using his sarcasm as a blanket to shield himself from the outside world. I’m not entirely sure who he has seen in the past for help, but something in my gut tells me that I will be the one to crack him open.