The Spider Tattoo

Chapter 5

I was reluctant to leave. It was the way he talked to me - he didn't act like we just met. Every word he said seemed like he was talking to a good friend. As I walked away, I felt like I left a part of me with him in that moment. Somehow, he took a piece of my heart and encaptured it in those rich, deep brown eyes.

I was led down a short hallway and into a small room. It almost seemed too clean, with furniture and greenery neatly positioned in a fashion that was pleasing to the eye. I'd only been here once before, but I hadn't remembered it this way exactly.

I sighed as I sat down on a small black couch in the corner.

Here we go again, I thought to myself. I shuddered at the thought of what might be hidden in all the nooks and crannies of this room. From past experiences, I knew that even places that seemed clean often had hidden corners that were a spiderfest.

As the therapist walked in the room after me and shut the door, I felt unsettled. This reminded me too much of times before. I instantly clenched my teeth, not necessarily mad, but in preparation to push back my fear. I was ready to get over it.

"Hello, my name is Sarah," the woman said as she sat down in an armchair across from me, "and you must be Zoë?"

I nodded.

"Well it's nice to meet you," she said, casting a pleasant smile on my direction. "Alright. Are you here because of your fear of spiders?"

Her fingers were draped over the end of the couch like spider legs. I clenched my jaw and tightened my grip on the armrest. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the thought.

"Yes."

The memories didn't stop there. I kept seeing flashes of images: black lines swooping across the back of the man's muscled shoulder, the ghostly streetlamp, and the vacant look on my mother's cold, dead face.

No. I had to get over it.

"Alright. What types of problems do you seem to be having?"

I shuddered and took a deep breath. A tear slipped out of my eye.

"I can't get near them without panicking."

I never told the therapist it wasn't the spiders I was afraid of.

It was the memory of a witnessed murder.