The Therapist

Emily Richards was a part-time professor at a University college, she was married to a big business executive. She divorced her husband a month ago as a result of frequent domestic violence and abuse from her abusive husband. When I first saw her, she had just been sexually harassed by her husband, but when I asked her if she had been abused in her relationship, she tried to hide it because she felt responsible for the actions of her husband and she had an unyielding sense of loyalty towards him, it was self-destructive. She had been sent to me by Dr. Collins three months ago. It had taken me ten minutes to ascertain that she had developed Stockholm syndrome, a coping mechanism that allows patients to develop positive feelings towards their abusers over time. She believed that she was solely responsible for the way her husband treated her and that she deserved it. 

My gaze was drawn toward her, and I couldn't help but take in the sight before me. 

She walked in, her hesitant steps echoing the uncertainty in her eyes, her high heels clicking on the polished floor. The room was still bathed in soft, soothing light, and plush furniture that seemed to invite comfort and conversation. There was an air of vulnerability about her that was impossible to ignore. Her auburn hair hung loose around her shoulders, the curls seeming to frame her face like a protective shield. But it was her choice of clothing that immediately captured my attention.

She wore a dress that seemed better suited for a garden party in summer than a therapy session. Its pastel colors clashed with the fading foliage outside, and the floral patterns appeared almost mocking against the backdrop of her hair. It was clear that she was trying to blend in with a world that had moved on, while her wardrobe remained a reminder of happier times.

My eyes narrowed down to the straps of her purse that slung over her shoulder, and I couldn't help but notice the fresh paint on her fingernails. She just had a manicure recently. 

As she approached my desk, I couldn't help but wonder if she was trying to impress me or someone else. What had brought her to this point, dressed in a costume of outdated elegance? Was she trying to regain a sense of self, to reclaim the years she might have lost to her abusive past and bitter divorce?

At that moment, as I watched her with a mixture of curiosity and empathy, her attire might have been awkward, a vestige of a different era, but beneath it lay a woman who had survived, a woman who deserved a chance at a new beginning, however uncertain it may seem.

I motioned for her to take a seat, she looked entirely different, fresh from a divorce that left her feeling vulnerable, and now she seemed to be craving validation. Her desire to feel desired is overpowering, and as she sat across from me, I could see right through her gaze, it was calm, confident, and flirty. 

She crossed and uncrossed your legs, the slit in her gown revealing just a little more than necessary. Her perfume hangs in the air, intoxicating and seductive. In slow motion, she reached up and adjusted a strand of hair, letting it fall sensually across her face.

However, I remained composed, although I almost took a laugh but my focus was unwavering. I've seen this before, the desperation for connection masked as seduction. But my professional boundary has been unshakeable, and I'm aware that I have to guide her through her difficult times.

She tried to lean in, but her voice dropped to a sultry whisper as she said, "Dr. Stevens, I've been feeling so lost lately. And I need someone to help me feel... alive again."

I offered a sympathetic smile, one that carries compassion but no hint of desire. "I understand this is a challenging time for you, but our sessions are meant for healing, not crossing boundaries. Let's talk about your feelings and how we can work through them." I supposed 

I noticed a show of disappointment in her eyes, so I tried to acknowledge her.

 "Emily, my relationship with my patients will always be strictly professional, and my commitment to your well-being is unwavering, I want you to understand that." 

She looked down, as she started to fidget with her fingers. 

"But I'm interested in you doctor, what do I do about that?" she spoke, looking for clarity. 

"Well, sometimes when we feel lost in ourselves, we ought to seek momentary escape, but it's clear that true healing lies in facing your emotions and finding strength within yourself." 

She looked defeated by my choice of words but also oddly relieved, she sat back in her chair, tears welling up from her eyes. 

"You've taken the first step towards healing, even if it means acknowledging the pain and vulnerability you tried to hide behind a facade of seduction," I encouraged

"Thank you, Dr. Stevens, I apologize for my inconvenience," she said. 

"No, you don't have to. If at all, I'm the one who should apologize. You're a beautiful woman Emily, and you have been through a lot, but for ethical reasons, my job doesn't afford me the courtesy of life that much, not to talk of my patients. I hope you understand" I pleaded.

"Yes, I do" she answered, I let out a sigh of relief. 

We mostly discussed the aftermath of her divorce, I asked her questions about the kind of emotions she had been feeling ever since she became divorced from her husband, she had been taking it pretty well than I expected. I could remember when I instigated the idea of her taking a few steps back from her marriage to find closure, she hesitated at first. She showed signs of co-dependency, manifesting low self-esteem and a strong desire for approval from her husband despite the constant abuse. But, It got worse over time, and it became very clear that her marriage was unhealthy. One day, she was admitted to the hospital, she had several bruises on her face, and her hair had been messed up. The nurse tried to question her about her injury, but then she lied about it and claimed she fell off a stairs. The following day, we had an appointment that she missed so I tried to contact her, but she didn't pick up her phone calls for days, and I was beginning to worry about her. Her home address wasn't included in her file but she listed her next of kin's number so I called through. A young female voice answered on the other end. 

"Hello," the voice answered.

"Hello, hi, I'm Dr. Stevens. I'm a friend of Emily's. Well, she's my patient to be precise,"

"What happened, is Emily okay!" the voice became concerned over the phone.

"I'm her therapist. She was supposed to check in with me two days ago but she didn't, and I've been trying to reach her ever since, I can't find her address, but she listed you as a next of kin, so I decided to call you to check if you had been in contact with her," I explained 

"No, I haven't spoken to her in days" 

"Well, do you have a means of reaching her then?" I asked 

"Yes, I'll try to," she said 

"Alright, please if you do, kindly tell her to reach out to me, thank you" 

The call ended.

A few days later, Emily appeared in my office, her face was still sore from the bruises, I questioned her about it and made her promise not to lie, she explained everything to me including how she lied at the hospital. However, I decided that it was high time the police got involved, but she wouldn't allow me to because she didn't want him to end up in jail. But then, I had an honest conversation with her and explained to her my diagnosis about her condition, then she listened. I was able to convince her that the only way she was going to find closure was if she started helping herself, and that started by letting go. The following week, she called up her lawyer and filed for divorce papers, eventually she got the husband to sign the papers or she would report him to the police about the whole time he had been abusing her in their marriage. 

An hour had passed by before we ended our conversation that morning, before she left my office, she asked me to grab coffee with her sometimes, I agreed but only as a friend, I had the idea that somehow she might still be trying to hit on me, we laughed about it, then she left. 

It was getting past my coffee break, so I walked out of my office and informed my receptionist, Sarah glanced at me as I walked past her into the hallway, I could sense her eyes peering through me as I walked. She does that often.

I walked out of the building and over to the cafe shop just across the street. As I was passing through the walkway towards the end of the road, a man stood by the signpost wearing a blue face cap and a brown jacket, he had a nose mask on, so I couldn't see his face. I walked past him and turned to my right heading towards the cafe at the end of the block. 

I stopped at the entrance of the cafe and opened the door, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling burgers greeted me as I pushed the door open and walked straight towards the counter. 

The quaint little place nestled on the corner of Lake Street had become my sanctuary over the years, it was where I found solace. As I walked to the counter, I nodded at Jimmy, the owner who was standing behind the counter, his warm smile instantly recognized me. 

"Hey there Jude," his voice carried a hint of friendly familiarity

"Hi, Jim" I replied, a grin spreading over my face. 

"You know the usual."

Jim chuckled, his eyes twinkled with a shared secret 

As I waited by the counter, I turned to look around, then I noticed the man in a jacket sitting over at the corner with a newspaper in his hands, he was wearing the same blue face cap as the man earlier. He suddenly looked up in my direction and he was still wearing the same nose mask as earlier. Who still reads the newspaper in this era I thought. 

But somehow, I realized the man was still staring at me after a couple of glances. I was beginning to think that he might have been following me, but before I could think too much about it, Jim called from behind. 

"Here you go, Jude" he handed me a steaming cup of dark roast coffee, and the rich aroma wafted up to meet my nose. Then with a flourish, he handed me a perfectly grilled burger in a parcel, I took a moment to savor the scene.

"Thanks, Jim," I said, feeling genuinely grateful. "You make the best."

He winked at me with pride. "My pleasure. Enjoy." 

I walked out of the cafe and went to my favorite spot just across the road, this has been my routine for two years. I sat on the wooden bench in the middle of Summer's Park, it has always been my favorite spot for a year, I would normally go there to savor the meal I grabbed from Jimmy's Burgers. 

Just as I was about to grab a bite, my eyes narrowed down to a few meters to my left side, there he was, lurking behind the corner of the sidewalk, the same man from earlier at the signpost and at Jimmy's.