Lock Me Up And Throw Away The Key
Emily's Search History: Signs of countertransference in trauma specialists
Emily
I’minsane.
Completely, utterly, clinically insane.
It’s the only plausible explanation for why I’m sitting on the sofa next to my stalker—who, by the way, is wearing a creepy mask that makes him look like a bloody mannequin.
After it became clear he wasn’t going anywhere, I gave up on the idea of going back to sleep. And I certainly wasn’t going to… do what he suggested.
There’s something oddly familiar about him as we sit here, barely inches apart. Close enough that if I shifted even slightly, we’d be touching.
His body is ridiculous. When he sat down, his shirt rode upjust enough to give me a glimpse of his abs—six pack, maybe eight. Sculpted like a fucking Greek statue.
It makes me self-conscious. More so than usual.
He looks like actual perfection, and I’ve got thick thighs, saggy tits, and cheeks that puff out when I smile.
What the hell could he possibly want from me?
I haven’t even seen his face, but from his body alone I already know—he could haveanywoman he wants.
So why, in God’s name, am I not running for the hills right now?
I’m a therapist. It’s literally my job to analyse the human psyche. To understand people. Their motives. Their patterns.
And yet mine? Make absolutely no logical sense.
Hence… insane.
“Are you not uncomfortable?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence that stretches around us.
He tilts his head, the motion oddly inquisitive—though with that blank, mannequin-like mask, the effect is downright eerie.
“In the mask,” I clarify.
He shrugs. “Not really. I designed it to be breathable.”
Of course he did. Of course he designed his own fucking stalker mask.
“Do you do this with many women? Break into their homes, leave severed fingers, romance novels, little gifts?”
There’s a low, distorted chuckle. “Worried I’ve got eyes for someone else?”
“More like concerned fortheirwellbeing,” I retort.
He shakes his head. “You’re the only one for me, Angel.”
“Why me?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He shifts, turning his body towards mine, one arm thrown casually over the back of the sofa as he leans in. Close. Too close.
“Why you?” he echoes, muttering something under his breath I can’t quite catch. Then, louder, “You, Emily Morgan, are the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. And I want to bury my cock in every single one of your holes until you forget other men even exist.”
My breath catches. “So you just want to fuck me?” I whisper, heart pounding.