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Silent.
Ominous.
He doesn’t look like Marcus I’ve seen over our previous sessions.
For a week now, before each hypnosis session, he’s been there to reassure me. Promised me he won’t fuck me while in a trance. Won’t hurt me. Won’t dive too deep or take or alter my perception of him or myself.
He’s said he just wanted to understand. To pull out what my consciousness protects so ferociously against. Swore he’d navigate through my mind and extract what’s hiding there with surgical precision.
He’s let me keep my clothes on during those times.
Today, he says none of these things. Today, I’m naked and vulnerable before him on the couch.
The late morning sun shines on one side of his face.
Exposing the cruel one. Harsh, unforgiving rays highlight Marcus’s strong jaw. His high cheekbones. The gleam on the eye lit by the sun is nefarious.
It’s the other side that reminds me of the Marcus I remembered. The angles of his face blend into something softer. I can’t see an evil glint in this eye.
But still, neither side is exactly the Marcus from our sessions.
That reasonable side of him has been stowed away.
His kind side has no place here.
What’s left is a predator.
Ready to strike.
“Whom do you belong to?” Marcus asks in a low and menacing voice.
I know better than to challenge him when he’s like this. “You.”
“Good.” Then, without a preamble, Marcus clips, “Moon.”
No drifting smoothly into a trance.
No You’re getting sleepy or You’re on the beach, your toes dipping into the sand.
Nope.
In an instant, everything changes. My bones weigh a ton. My tongue is heavy in my mouth. I’m sinking into the couch.
The swift transition jars me.
I feel a little as though my head’s been shoved into the water violently.
I’m…
I…
“Leighton, listen to me.” A command. Not a question. Not Can you hear me? “You’re going to do as exactly as I say. Okay?”
In the back of my head, I hear his order for what it is. Marcus is adamant. He’s going to continue rattling the metaphorical bodyguard at the door to my subconsciousness.
My insides don’t really get it, though. They swoop at this beautifully scary man. Of this thigh-clenching monster.
When I don’t answer—can hardly even blink—he grips my jaw. Slightly less forceful than usual. Or maybe I’m too floaty to notice.
