Chapter 50
Vivian’s Point of View
Rule fifty: The more absurd the comparison, the better the deflection.
Remember that time I went decades without going to therapy?
I miss those days.
Sin and I returned to the Otherworld in the early hours of the morning. He insisted on carrying me through the Underworld.
When I protested, he reminded me that he could feel my exhaustion. Then, he had to go and whisper please, like it was hurting him.
Only moments after giving in and being surrounded by his warmth, I was lulled to sleep by the sway of his measured steps.
I barely woke when we made it back to our room, and Sin walked us into a dark shower, still holding me as he washed us. Once we were back in our bed, he pulled me against him and kissed my forehead before I fell back into a dreamless sleep.
That warm, cherished feeling is now long gone.
I hoped sleeping in would give me a pass to miss therapy, since we needed to brief the others. Of course, Sin must have thought of that, since he assured me that he already spoke to Morgana outside our room while I was out.
So, against my better judgment, I’m back in the sitting room that doubled as my gilded cage for the last two weeks.
Sin is leaning against the wall behind me, and I’m thinking he and Nymara might make good friends. They have so much in common. Both like to lean against walls, and both prefer to stay quiet unless they’re bossing me around.
Of course, I’m assuming Nymara is still alive, because that’s the only direction I’m letting my mind go – otherwise, I’ll crumble before I’m allowed.
As if summoned by my anxiety, pain slices through my chest, threading through every fragmented edge. Gritting my teeth, I commit even harder to ignoring the fact that I’m a ticking time bomb.
To make matters worse, sleeping on the problem didn’t help at all. Instead, I woke up to the feeling of cracks fissuring over the wells that contain my powers.
Even now, scorching heat bites at my fingertips, and I shove them under my thighs.
Nope.
Not happening.
Happy thoughts only.
My eyes drift to the couch I’m sitting on. It’s new, brought in to replace the one I ruined when I attacked Rydon.
I grin. The crackling subsides.
Dr. Parnard coughs, pulling my attention back to where he’s sitting across from me. I’ve just given him a brief explanation of everything that has been going on, figuring I probably owe him the truth.
The words come easily, and I’m surprised I can be this open.
Something about learning that you’re going to dissolve into madness and possibly try to destroy the entire universe is really liberating.
“So, to clarify, you eternally bound your soul to Sin after knowing him for only a few weeks – and he was the reason you were able to escape your previous, abusive relationship,” Dr. Parnard reiterates, looking at me from over his clipboard.
“I mean, there was a lot of stuff in between,” I answer, a bit defensively.
“Vivian, I’m concerned that you may have latched on to Sin because he was safe.
You seem to show a propensity towards unhealthy attachments, and you–” His words cut short, as he slaps a hand over his left eyebrow, and turns to glare at Sin.
“If you are uncomfortable with the subject matter, you can wait outside.”
Sin doesn’t bother responding, and Dr. Parnard lowers his hand to pick up his clipboard.
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to try and stop myself from laughing.
I fail.
His left eyebrow is gone.
The doctor gives me an incredulous look because, clearly, this would be way out of line in our realm.
Instead, I shrug. “My relationship with Sin isn’t up for discussion.”
Narrowing his eyes, Dr. Parnard writes something on his clipboard. He mutters something about ‘emotional volatility’ as he does it. Then, he stands and strides to the door.
He speaks to someone outside for a moment before returning with a shiny, metallic cloak.
“Fireproof,” he notes at my confused expression. “I understand working with magical beings will come with some… risks. I’ve tried to prepare as best as possible.” He drapes it over his blazer before settling back into his spot. “Now! Where were we?”
Before I can respond that we were just wrapping up, he exclaims, “Ah! Got it.” He taps his pen against his clipboard and continues, “Does your unwillingness to examine the health of your relationship with Sin stem from a deep-seated fear of being alone? Did you have a troubled childhood by chance? This screams of abandonment issues, usually initiated by parent-associated trauma.”
My jaw drops at the ultra-personal attack. “You do remember you’re a history professor?” I remind him, rather than acknowledging his weirdly accurate psychoanalysis.
“As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve been studying psychology texts in preparation for my permanent position in the Otherworld.
In fact, our session will be my proof of concept.
So long as things go well today, I’m hoping to open my services to other individuals here who would greatly benefit from counseling.
As such, I’m really counting on your full participation. ”
He sounds so excited that I don’t have the heart to protest. I mean, an unqualified therapist can’t possibly make things worse, can he?
I’m going to pretend I didn’t just ask myself that.
“Of course,” I answer, despite my better judgment.
“Excellent!” Dr. Parnard exclaims, flipping to a new page on his clipboard and drawing something.
There’s a tearing sound as he rips the sheet from the clipboard and places it on the table between us.
He’s drawn a pie chart, and each slice is labeled with a topic.
There are a lot, but my eyes immediately catch ‘communication, power imbalance, codependency, touch-starved tantrums, and emotional transparency.’
Dr. Parnard places his pen in the center of the circle, clapping his hands once before explaining the assignment. “Now, this exercise is a simple one. Spin the pen, and we’ll discuss whatever topic it points to.”
I don’t manage to hold back my groan. “I’d really rather not.”
But apparently, Sin is curious, since he walks over to read the categories. Smirking, he spins the pen for me. It lands on ‘sacrificial self-destruction.’
I narrow my eyes at the pen. “Rigged,” I mutter under my breath.
“Ah! Sacrificial self-destruction!” Dr. Parnard exclaims, ignoring my complaints. “This one has real potential. Let’s talk about martyr complexes!”
This experience is really solidifying my belief that therapy isn’t for me. But apparently, Sin is thoroughly invested, since he takes a seat beside me. He gives me a shit-eating grin.
I flush. “I don’t have a martyr complex.”
Sin tilts his head, one of his brows arching. “Did you want to start with the smaller sacrifices you’ve made? Or should we focus on the one where you’re refusing to let me save you?”
Despite his slightly playful tone, his gaze burns into mine.
Dr. Parnard pulls another pen from under his cloak and starts scribbling like mad.
Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air. “It’s not that simple. I’m not going to let you grind your own soul into a paste, just to glue mine back together.”
Another small shock of purple electricity snaps between my fingers, and I shove them back under my thighs.
I’m sure no one saw that.
Sin’s hand settles on my knee, and he rubs small circles over my fighting leathers.
Dr. Parnard watches us like we’re a science experiment. “Fascinating phrasing. If I may… why not let him help you?”
I give him an incredulous expression. “Because–” But I cut off when smoke starts to rise from the couch.
There’s a faint pulse of red light as Sin works to cancel out whatever power I’ve accidentally ignited the couch with.
But Dr. Parnard isn’t done prodding. “Because letting him sacrifice a part of himself makes you feel…” he starts.
I make a heroic effort to cram everything this conversation is dragging up into a neatly labeled box of repressed emotions. When that doesn’t work, I latch onto my frustration, since it’s easier to process than my other feelings.
“It feels like I’m slowly starving to death, and Sin is trying to cut out his organs to feed them to me,” I snap. Crossing my arms, I add in a huff, “No one likes sacrificial stew, doctor.”
It feels amazing to use anger, rather than repress it.
Has this been the cure to depression all along?
Maybe my mantra needs to be ‘don’t be sad, get mad.’
Until, of course, I remember that the main symptom of my shattered soul is violent urges. Sighing, I resign myself to sticking with old faithful.
Dr. Parnard’s brow is furrowed as he continues writing on his clipboard.
Sin leans into me and kisses my temple. “Just so we’re clear, I’d let you devour me any day,” he whispers.
I choke on my spit. “That is not helping,” I manage to hiss through wheezes.
He gives me an innocent look. “It’s not not helping.”
Dr. Parnard’s scribbling gets even faster as he mutters, “Subject responds to emotional vulnerability with sarcasm, respiratory distress, and mild arson.”
“You’re impossible,” I accuse Sin with a sigh.
He responds with a heart-stopping grin. “Yeah, but you want me anyway.”
My heart skips a beat. “Of course I do.”
Dr. Parnard finally stops writing. “I think we’re making some real progress here. Vivian, I sense that you struggle to accept help from others, perhaps stemming from deep-seated trust issues. Have you been betrayed by someone close to you?”
A brief flash of Emily’s twisted face, the day my peers attacked me in the forest, comes to mind. I immediately try to shove the memory back into its box.
Therapy is definitely not for me.
This feels like someone is trying to peel me open like an orange, just so they can ask if my juice is healthy.
Before I can blink, pain riots through me, and the table disintegrates, taking the pie chart with it. There isn’t even a pile of ashes left behind.
I’m going to pretend that was Sin.
Dr. Parnard coughs but otherwise looks unbothered.
“I believe we’ve dug enough for today, but I do have some homework for you both.
Vivian, I’d like to see you attempt trust falls with your closest peers, to experience how it feels to be supported.
” He pauses to look back at his clipboard.
“Ideally, you should use ledges no higher than one meter. I haven’t had a chance to draw up liability waivers, but let me know if you’d like one, and I’ll get it to you later today. ”
I frown, wondering if it’s too late to send him back to the Mortal Realm, but Dr. Parnard continues, oblivious.
“I also believe it’s critical that you and Sin discuss the self-sacrifice issue. You’d both benefit from role-playing as each other during the conversation.”
At my answering groan, he clutches his clipboard closer, like he’s worried it’s going to go the same route as the pie chart.
I mean, fair.
“I must emphasize that you not attempt the exercise around any open flames, sharp objects, or potential casualties,” he adds before waving a hand at the door. “I’ll be in touch when I’m ready for your next appointment. Now, kindly get out of my office.”
My mood only worsens when I glance at Sin and find him still smirking.
Nope. Absolutely nothing good can come from therapy.