Page 13 of Sinner’s Torment

Torment

The kid sitting across from me was twenty-eight years old, though he looked younger. Pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, hands that wouldn’t stop shaking no matter how many times he pressed them flat against his thighs. His name was Marcus, and he had been coming to see me for two years now, ever since his girlfriend had found him in their apartment bathroom with a belt around his neck and his wrists raw from rope burns.

He hadn’t been trying to kill himself. That was what he had told the paramedics, the ER doctors, the crisis counselor who referred him to me. He had been trying to recreate something. A scene, an experience, a high he had chased and lost control of.

Now he sat in my office, staring at the floor, trying to find the words to explain what had happened.

I waited.

Patience was the foundation of my work. I couldn’t rush trauma. I couldn’t force someone to speak before they were ready. All I could do was create space, hold it open, and let them step into it when they felt safe enough.

Marcus took a shaky breath. “I thought I knew what I was doing,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought... I thought I had it under control.”

“Tell me about the scene,” I said, keeping my tone neutral, clinical. “What were you trying to achieve?”

He flinched at the question, his shoulders hunching inward as if he were trying to make himself smaller. “It was supposed to be... intense. But safe. We talked about it. We had a safe word. We had rules.”

“And what happened?”

“She—” His voice cracked, and he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “She used the safe word. And I didn’t stop.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and damning.

I didn’t react. Didn’t let my expression shift, didn’t let the weight of what he just confessed show on my face. This was my job. To listen. To hold space for the worst parts of people and not flinch. But inside, something cold and familiar twisted in my chest.

“Why didn’t you stop?” I asked.

Marcus shook his head, his hands dropping to his lap. “I don’t know. I heard her. I heard her say it. But I was... I was so far gone. I was in this headspace where nothing else mattered except the scene, the control, the—” He broke off, his breath hitching. “I thought I was in control. I thought I could handle it. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t.”

“What happened after she used the safe word?”

“She started crying. Really crying. And that’s when I... when I finally stopped. When I realized what I’d done.” His voice was thick with self-loathing. “She left. Packed a bag and left that night. I haven’t seen her since.”

“Have you tried to contact her?”

“She blocked me. On everything.” He looked up at me, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “I don’t blame her. I fucked up. I hurt her. I violated her trust. I—” His voice broke again, and he buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I thought I was someone who could do this, who could be trusted with that kind of power. But I’m not. I’m just... I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” I said, the words automatic, practiced. “You made a mistake. A serious one. But that doesn’t define who you are.”

“Doesn’t it?” He looked at me, his expression raw. “How do I come back from this? How do I trust myself again? How does anyone trust me again?”

I didn’t have an answer for him. Not one that would help, anyway. Because the truth was, I didn’t know. I had been asking myself the same questions for years, and I still hadn’t found an answer that felt true.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I ignored it.

“Marcus,” I said, leaning forward slightly, “what you’re feeling right now. The guilt, the shame, the fear—that’s normal. It’s a sign that you understand the gravity of what happened. That you’re taking responsibility.”

“But it doesn’t change what I did.”

“No,” I agreed. “It doesn’t. But it’s the first step toward making sure it doesn’t happen again.”

He stared at me, his expression a mix of hope and despair. “How do I do that? How do I make sure I never lose control like that again?”

My phone buzzed again. I pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Mercy: Montana’s out. Called for a board meeting tonight. 7 PM.