The Therapist

For whatever reason, the therapist’s office looked familiar as soon as I walked in.  Up until that very moment, I had been under the impression I had never been to therapy before in my life.  My parents had never been ones to share their feelings very often and in return, neither did I.  But there was something about the vibe about Terry’s office that reminded me of my childhood.  Maybe it was the smell, but the more I paid attention to my surroundings, the more familiar the room became. 

On my third visit to talk with Marissa, I was beginning to remember my past more clearly and beginning to realize what was so familiar.  First, it was the scent of the laundry detergent Marissa used.  Second, it was the dangly earrings that immediately made my flashback to my childhood.  The final straw that launched a floodgate of memories, was the purple shirt she wore.  The same purple shirt I had proudly bought for my mother on the day she turned thirty-four.  Now that I was sure something suspicious was going on between my therapist and I, I needed to dig deeper into what it was and what it meant. 

I started slowly in hopes I would catch Marissa off guard.  As I made up a backstory about my life, I noticed her eyes start gleaming.  Whether it was interest or desire, I couldn’t tell.  After I had been seeing Marissa consistently for six months, I finally figured out her secret.  Or maybe I should call it my family secret.  Marissa was the reason I was an orphan at the age of twelve and she thought she could rub my face into what she had done.  Little did she know, I had recorded most of our sessions and knew exactly where she left her notes about each of my sessions. After all, it was her secrets I was exposing and I wasn’t going to the police with my findings. They were just for myself. As my first act of revenge she would understand how I felt. And she would know exactly where I would take it. And there was no way she would go to the police since she was a murderer. And a liar. And so much more.