Page 31 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

I set my mug beside the keyboard and flexed my fingers.

"Ready?"

Gerald sighed dramatically.

"No."

"I wasn't asking you."

"I know."

"I was asking them."

Frank glanced toward the window.

"They don't know what they're agreeing to."

"No."

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"They never do."

I rested my fingers on the keyboard. The blinking cursor disappeared beneath the first keystroke. Across the top of the page… One name appeared

Joey

Therapists smile too much. Not genuine smiles. Practised ones. The kind they learn in university. Tilt your head, soften your eyes, make people feel safe enough to tell you everything. It's clever, really. Almost manipulative. Almost.

Dr. Eleanor Hayes smiled exactly like that. I'd been sitting in her office for... what? Three minutes? Four? Long enough for her to decide I was broken. Long enough for her to assume she could fix me. People are fascinating like that. They meet you for five minutes and suddenly they're experts. One degree is framed on the wall, and everyone thinks they're God. I looked around her office instead. Cream walls, bookshelves, plants she forgot to water, and a candle labelled Rose Fields. Of course. Therapists are obsessed with roses. Apparently, flowers solve trauma. Who knew? A little family photograph sat beside the window. Husband. Two daughters. Golden retriever. Matching Christmas pyjamas. So Sweet. She followed my eyes and smiled.

"My girls."

"I guessed."

"You did?"

"You look like someone who labels food containers."

She laughed.

"I do."

"Like I said."

"You couldn't have known."

I smiled.

"I notice things."

"Oh."

She uncapped her pen.

"That's a wonderful skill."

"It depends on who's noticing."