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My Newest Obsession
Emily's Search History: Is it normal to find your patient attractive?
Emily
“—Andyouunderstandthatwhile our conversations are confidential, I am duty bound to report if you say anything that suggests you may be at risk of harming yourself or someone else.”
It’s the same speech I give all my new patients and yet, I still get some nut jobs who forget and accidentally spill the beans about something I absolutely will report them to the police for.
The last one was a paedophile who admitted to sexually abusing a seven-year-old boy. Somehow, he was shocked when the police turned up in the middle of our appointment after I’d subtly texted the receptionist.
Some people think therapists can’t discloseanythingyou say. That isn’t strictly true. If I believe someone is at risk of harming themself—or someone else—in the future, I’m legally permitted to inform the appropriate authorities. But historic crimes aredifferent. Someone can confess to murder, and as long as I don’t believe they’ll do it again, I’m required to keep it to myself.
The man on the faded blue sofa opposite me nods and lets out a gruff, “Yes.”
AndGodthat voice. Deep and gravelly baritone. One word and I’m ready to fall to my knees in front of him.
Hello? Professionalism? Ever heard of her?
He smells faintly of cinnamon—it’s comforting in a way that makes absolutely no sense.
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” I ask, forcing myself to focus.
The man shifts in his seat, sitting forwards slightly to rest his hands on his thighs. Thick, muscly thighs that strain against the stiff fabric of his jeans. Powerful thighs that would look good with my own wrap—
What the fuck, Emily?
“I’m a stalker.”
Like a bucket of cold water.
I force my face to remain neutral, my tone soothing. “Why do you believe that?”
His jaw clenches, his hands flex, the veins in his tattooed forearms becoming more prominent.
He stares at the ceiling—probably eyeing the cracks in it—before dragging his gaze back to mine, meeting my eyes with his striking grey ones. Iris’s so pale they almost don’t have a colour. I've never seen eyes so intriguing.
“I get this compulsion. This itch I can’t scratch with anything else. Ineedto watch them. To follow them. I think about them all the time.”
“Them?”
“Twenty-two.” The words are said casually. So casually you’d think we’re talking about the weather.
It takes everything in me not to react. I should refer him to a specialist in paraphilic disorders immediately with those words. But my ego tells me I can fix him. It’s the oldest trap in the book, and I’m walking into it with my eyes wide open.
“To clarify, you’re currently stalking twenty-two women?”
He shakes his head. “No. Past tense.”
“And presently?”
“Zero.”
“Have you ever hurt them?”
His lips curl in disgust. “Never.”