Layla
I swallowed hard, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach as his words echoed in my mind. "It's important to have someone you can trust," I replied, my voice barely a whisper. "Someone who can guide you through the darkness."
He studied me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine as if trying to unravel the secrets hidden within. "You have a way about you," he remarked, his tone laced with a hint of something dangerous. "A warmth, which draws people in. It's... intoxicating."
I felt a shiver run down my body at his words, a sense of unease settling over me like a heavy cloak. "Thank you," I replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "But let's focus on you now. Your journey is what matters most in this moment."
A sly grin appeared on his face.
"That is a beautiful piece." His eyes travelled on the newly hung painting of my office.
I chose to display the painting gifted by my stalker in my office, a decision I couldn't say I was proud of. Yet, this particular artwork possessed an undeniable beauty which didn't deserve to be discarded or hidden away. Though Amelia wouldn't be happy about this decision.
It was a gesture of respect towards the artist and the piece itself, rather than towards the one who gave it. However, I refrained from hanging it in my apartment, wary of hidden cameras and the invasive eyes that may accompany them.
I forced a tight-lipped smile.
"Thank you, it is a recent addition to the office." I replied, my voice tinged with discomfort.
"I can't help but feel drawn to it,
it seems like I have a connection with that painting." His black eyes, and the penetrating gaze seemed to peel back the layers of my carefully constructed facade.
I swallowed hard. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the thought of accepting a gift from a stranger, no less, my stalker.
"Yes, art has a way of evoking emotions."
His eyes lingered on the painting. "I wonder what the artist was thinking when they created it. What inspired them to create something so...." his lingering gaze returned to mine. "Hauntingly beautiful."
I forced a laugh. But my nerves were on the edge.
"I supposed we'll never know. But sometimes it's better not to dwell too deeply into the artist's intentions."
"Mhm."
Can this man at least blink.
"kieren, I feel like..... you're completely alright. This feeling of being....lost, could be because you are alone and you tend to indulge yourself in some overthinking. However, these are merely observations on my part. From what I've gathered, you appear to be in good spirits." I offered him my signature therapist smile.
"And, to be honest your body language is speaking so much. There's no hint of unease; in fact, you seem rather at ease and... relaxed." In fact, a little too comfortable and relaxed.
"Are you sure..., Layla? Because I think I need a few more sessions with you...; to find the actual problem and heal, of course." He met my gaze with an intensity, his eyes dark and unreadable.
I absentmindedly traced the edge of the file with my finger. "Ouch" I glanced down to see a tiny bead of blood welling up on the tip of my index.
Kieren shot up from his seat.
"Layla, are you alright?" His voice, deep and commanding, cut through the silence of the room, startling me from my thoughts.
"Oh! It's just a silly scratch, nothing big," I replied, trying to downplay the minor injury.
"Maybe we should take care of it first—" He began, his concern evident in his furrowed brow.
"Oh, no no. It's barely visible. Please, sit down," I insisted, gesturing towards the chair opposite mine. "We... were talking about your sessions."
His gaze lingered on my injured finger for a moment before he reluctantly took his seat. I quickly hid my hand beneath the desk, placing it on my thigh to conceal the small wound.
"Well, as I said, I don't think you need any kind of psychotherapy, you just need to engage yourself in activities you love, and have conversations with people, explore your interests more. But, you said you have no one to talk to so, we can have one or two more sessions, perhaps." I conveyed, but he is not as focused he was before. There were hints of anger and something else, I couldn't figure out.
"So, what do you say, Kieren?" I asked, shifting the focus back to our conversation.
"Oh, uh, sure. When will we have our next session?" he inquired, his tone guarded yet curious.
"You will receive a message from the official number of this hospital, once we check my schedule," I informed him, maintaining a professional demeanor despite the flutter of nerves in my stomach.
"I see. That is... good. I'll look forward to our next session," he replied, his expression still unreadable.
"Yes. Have a good day, Kieren," I said, offering a small smile.
As he rose from his seat, a sense of relief washed over me, mingled with a nagging sense of curiosity.
"You too... Layla," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of something I couldn't quite decipher.
He looked at me one last time before he turned and left.
As the door closed behind him I couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath his facade, and
how they might intertwine with my own.
"That, was the impatient patient?" Amelia leaned on the door with utter disbelief shining in her eyes.
"Oh my motherfucking goodness!"
Her voice was loud in excitement.
"I...know right." I gave her a naughty look. Maybe it's simply that we don't often see such strikingly handsome patients, making him stand out amidst the rest. Or perhaps, just perhaps, his appeal truly is undeniable.
Amelia's laughter died midway.
"Wanna talk about this painting?" She pointed at 'the' painting.
I choked on my coffee in embarrassment after being caught.
"I love it too much to hide it away, it's just because of the art and not the stalker, I swear. Please, le it be." I pleaded as much as I could.
"Well, I'd be lying if I said it's not worthy to be in your office, but, promise me, you'll get an inspection done for hidden cameras for that thing."
"Yes, ma'am. I will." I did a sarcastic salute earning a smile from her.
She left, and my eyes fell on the recent patient's file.
Name: Kieren Moretti.
Age. : 27
I placed the file back on the desk. That was enough information. My curiosity has always been a problem to me since childhood. And now, I was curious about this person. This man, who oozes power and danger.
Who is this man? And why do I feel laid bare, stripped of defenses, in his presence, as if he has glimpsed into the depths of my soul, with just one look?
I laid back in my chair and faced the ceiling.
Maybe it's the weight of my own worries, the burden of overthinking pressing down on me.
Or maybe it's the magnetic pull of his deep, dark black eyes, drawing me in with an irresistible force.
Or... Maybe, just maybe, this isn't our first encounter after all.