I open my eyes. “The pain’s too much today.” I flex my fingers to work out the stress. “I’m sorry you came all this way.”
She tilts her head. “I’m not. No matter if we resolve anything in this session or not, I still get to visit with my friend.” Her smile is warm yet practiced. This doesn’t bother me, because itdoesn’t mean she’s being insincere. Sadie just doesn’t experience emotions the way most people do.
Back in college, we noticed early on that Sadie exhibited traits consistent with antisocial personality disorder. Which stems, at least in part, from a kidnapping she endured as a young adult. She was tortured for days before she witnessed her abductor’s death during the rescue. She’s been able to channel her traumatic experience into a passionate career as a criminal behavioral analyst.
Only those closest to her know that her practiced mannerisms are a performance to blend with society. It’s also why I requested she be here today, to help me work through some residual complications from my own past that I was never able to confront.
Or rather,refusedto confront.
Sadie’s candor and insight might be uncomfortable for me, but she’s the only one who can give me the push that I need.
“You’ve really perfected the emotions thing,” I say, smiling. “But you don’t need to pretend with me, Sadie. You know this.”
Her features settle into their natural state. “I do it so often now, I barely notice. It’s like a reflex, as if I’m actually human or something.” She huffs a soft laugh.
I nearly reach out to her, but change course and pull my string from my pocket instead. Sadie is one of the only people I trust enough to let my guard down. “You’re as real as they come.”
Her expression shifts, more serious as she seizes a change in topic. “So, your most recent patient,” she says, “tell me about him.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Nice pivot.” She shrugs, unapologetic. “Well, since I can’t discuss our sessions…how do we do this?” I tighten the thread around my finger.
“You can tell me how the sessions are affecting youpersonally,” she says, “and why suddenly after all these years you’re thinking about the surgery.”
“Cause and effect.” I unwind the string. “It’s that simple, isn’t it?”
“It can be.”
I bury my thread in my pocket and cup my hands together, covering the scar along my palm. “I’m experiencing countertransference,” I confess to her.
Sadie shows no reaction. Countertransference is a normal occurrence in our field, a phenomenon where a therapist projects their own feelings onto a patient. Regardless of my training, I’m not immune.
“So this is the real reason why you asked me here,” she says.
“I mean, I am considering the surgery…but I also need to know if I should discontinue sessions with this particular patient.” My problematic attraction to Grayson is becoming more complicated.
She leans forward, and I notice for the first time that she’s wearing a V-neck shirt, allowing me a glimpse of the scar along her collarbone. Something she’s hidden since the day we met. “Are you agitated or anxious during the sessions?”
I think about our last session together. “Yes, sometimes,” I say.
“Do you think your back pain could be a distraction, some outside influence?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I wish it were that simple. I’ve dealt with that before.” I pause, mentally arranging my words before I’m able to voice them. “My attraction to him…it’s intense, Sadie.”
There’s no judgment in her green eyes. “Is it purely physical?”
I lick my lips. “It’s physical, and emotional, and something…consuming. It feels dangerous.” I hold her eyes, then let a faint laugh slip to break the tension. “Grayson is different,” I try to explain. “He’s intelligent. Extremely intelligent and self-aware. Passionate.” I inhale deeply. “And he might be the first patient I genuinely believe I can help.”
She studies me closely. “And you want that for him.”
“Of course,” I say honestly. “But he’s a manipulator, and I know the danger with manipulators. But I witnessed a breakthrough during our last meeting. I just need to work through what I’m experiencing, because I’m afraid without me, he’ll be sentenced to death.”
Sadie eases back in the chair—my chair. I’m the patient today. “You said the word afraid, London. Fear is a strong emotion. What else are you afraid of?”
I give my head a quick shake, a mock laugh held at the base of my throat. I know these tactics, I know the process, and yet it doesn’t make being in the hot seat any easier. “You want to know if there’s any correlation between my thoughts of surgery and my patient being on death row.”
She ticks her head to the side in a half shrug. “Is there?”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth. “I don’t think there is. The reasons for why I’ve put the surgery off have nothing to do with how I’m reacting to my patient.”
