“Okay,” I say after a moment, trying to wrap my head around the next steps, “so he still needs therapy before being released?”
“That’s correct,” Dr Moss states, nodding faintly. “A few more sessions here before his release certainly won’t hurt.”
I nod in agreement. “I believe you’re right, Dr Moss, and I’m more than willing to work with Ty if that’s what you’d like.”
He stands, a soft smile gracing his aging features. “He’s definitely one of our calmer patients.”
I smile back, reassured by his words, though a small part of me remains suspicious. Years in a place like this can leave imprints on anyone, no matter how calm they might seem.
Dr Moss steps toward the door, his hand resting on the knob for a moment. “Let me take you to meet him,” he says.
I nod, gathering myself as we step out of his office and into the long hallway. Dr Moss escorts me through the lower-ground corridors, the air becoming cooler with each step until we reach what he mentions as the residential side of the building. It’s unsettlingly quiet, almost too quiet, and as we walk, I notice the rooms on either side, the doors heavily secured metal.
“Is this the place where the patients stay?” I ask as my eyes drift from door to door.
“That’s right, Ms Tate. The patients on this floor have their own closed rooms, which are much larger than those on the other floors. These individuals are more trusted, they have more freedom since they’re showing great progress and are being taught how to return to normalcy.”
I nod, taking in the information. The place feels sterile, controlled, as if everything here is designed to keep chaos at bay. I wonder what the top-level floor is like. It can’t be this quiet, surely. We continue walking until Dr Moss comes to a halt infront of an open door and I stop a few paces behind him, out of view.
He steps forward, poking his head through the doorway with a calm, almost fatherly tone. “How are you doing this morning, Ty?”
I can’t yet see the man in the room, but I feel a strange tension, like the atmosphere is suddenly too thick to breathe. This is the moment I meet the young man who once committed an unspeakable crime—the boy who took the lives of his parents. A mixture of interest and anxiety warps itself around me, wondering if this meeting will be as relaxed as Dr Moss tells me—or if I’ll be staring into the eyes of something far darker than I’m prepared to handle.
I don’t hear a response, but given Dr Moss’s nod, I assume Ty answered him silently.
“I’d like you to meet a student therapist,” Dr Moss says. “She’ll be giving you a few sessions before your release.”
Ty says nothing, but Dr Moss doesn’t seem concerned. He glances back at me with a nod, inviting me to step inside. Taking a breath, I cautiously turn the corner, adjusting my glasses.
As soon as I lift my eyes, I see him. Ty is laid out on his narrow bed, leaning against the white wall, a book in hand with one leg hanging off the edge. His entire broad frame is draped in black, from tight jeans to a dark fitted hoodie that’s pulled up over his head, casting shadows across his face. He has an eerie stillness about him. His skin is warm, tanned, a harsh difference to the cold darkness that envelops him, and his longish, jet-black hair hangs just over his eyes, concealing them like a veil.
He isn’t what I expected at all.
He’s extremely attractive, but there’s something more—a presence that fills the room, a mystery that clings to him. Hisfeatures are sharp, chiseled almost, carved perfectly, with full lips that seem too soft for someone with such a violent past.
His light brown eyes seem to draw me in, those intense spheres that seem to expand ever so slightly the moment they land on me. For just a split second, I see a flicker of something behind them—surprise, maybe interest—but then it’s gone, replaced by a distantness as he looks away, placing the book on top of his bedside cabinet with calm movements.
I stand in the centre of the room as he swings his long legs off the side of the bed, sitting upright, but he doesn’t say a word. The way he moves, the subtle tightening of his jaw, the calculated shift in his posture shows me he’s very aware of my presence, studying me, even though he refuses to make it obvious.
When Ty’s eyes finally return to mine, I clutch my notepad a little closer to my chest and my heart flutters as I extend a hand toward him.
“Hey, Ty, I’m Ms Tate,” I say, my words softer than I intended.
For a second, he just stares at my outstretched hand, as if considering whether or not to engage. Then, he reaches out and his hand—larger than I expected—envelops mine, the size between us clear. As his fingers close around it, a wave of sensations shoots up my arm, electric and unexpected causing my breath to stop entirely.
Ty’s brow lifts slightly at my subtle reaction, a faint glimmer of amusement dancing in his gaze as if he noticed. I quickly pull my hand back, trying to compose myself, but I can feel the heat rising in my neck.
I clear my throat, averting my eyes, inwardly disciplining myself. I’m not here to be affected by him, to crush on him—I’m here to be his fucking therapist.
I straighten my spine, my notepad now more of a shield than a tool and finally look at him again. “Shall we begin?” I ask.
“If you don’t mind, Ms. Tate, I’ll leave you two alone to get to know each other,” Dr Moss says from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder, offering a polite smile and a nod. “Thank you, Dr Moss,” I reply lightly.
The door remains open as I watch him stroll away, his footsteps gradually fading. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Ty watching me closely, his dark eyes dragging down my body, examining me with a force I’m not entirely used to. Maybe it’s been a long time since he’s seen a woman close to his age.
When I finally turn my full attention back to him, our gazes lock once more.