Thank you, for listening

Chapter 1 : The first session

Tim Bradford sat in the waiting room, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the clock on the wall. Therapy. He'd heard all about it from friends, other officers, even the captain, but the thought of actually needing it felt like a defeat. He didn't need help; he'd been through worse than most. But his captain thought otherwise, and after enough pressure, he'd finally agreed to go,if only to prove he didn't need it.

The door to the office opened, and a young woman with a friendly but composed expression stepped out. She was holding a notebook in one hand and looked at him with a calm confidence he couldn't quite place. She looked... new here, but also as if she belonged, like she'd stepped right into a place she was meant to fill.

"Tim Bradford?" she asked, her voice steady, inviting.

"That's me," he replied, standing and trying not to seem too stiff. This wasn't an interrogation room; this was therapy, a place where you were supposed to relax, open up, get things off your chest. Tim could almost hear his own thoughts fighting back. Why was he even here?

He followed her into her office, a space with muted colors and soft textures. The walls were painted a pale sage green, calming and unobtrusive, the sort of color he figured therapists probably picked out of a handbook on comfort. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there,no, that was exactly it. He didn't want to be there. His instinct was to run, to be anywhere else. But Lucy was already closing the door, gesturing for him to sit down.

"I'm Lucy Chen," she said, sitting across from him. "But you can just call me Lucy if that's comfortable for you."

Tim nodded, but he didn't speak, his eyes darting around the room, taking in the small details: a couple of plants on a shelf, some framed photos, probably from her personal life, though nothing too intimate or revealing.

Lucy waited, studying him for a beat before she spoke again. "I know this is new for you, and maybe a little uncomfortable. That's completely normal. This room is your space as much as it is mine, so you can take your time to get used to it. No rush."

The soft, assured way she spoke caught him off guard. He'd expected the usual pitch, maybe something a bit more rehearsed. Instead, Lucy's words sounded genuine, like she actually meant it, like she actually cared. It was just her job, he reminded himself. She was supposed to care.

"Yeah, well, let's just get one thing clear," he said, the defense coming up before he could stop it. "I don't need this. I'm just here because my boss thought it'd be good for me. So, no offense, but if you're expecting some big breakthrough-"

Lucy gave a small nod, a subtle acknowledgment, no interruptions, just letting him get it out.

"-it's not gonna happen," he finished, feeling a strange satisfaction at setting the record straight. He was here on his own terms, at least, as much as he could be.

"I appreciate you being honest," Lucy said without missing a beat. "And if this ends up not being helpful, that's okay. But for now, you're here, and we have this time. So why don't we just see where it goes?"

Tim shifted in his seat, feeling the weight of the silence that followed. What did she want him to say? How was he supposed to talk about things he'd spent years avoiding?

Lucy continued, "Since it's our first session, why don't we start with some basics? You're Officer Bradford. How long have you been with the LAPD?"

"Almost ten years," he said, the words coming out with the ease of habit. "Started right out of army. Seemed like the right path."

She nodded, a quiet prompt for him to continue, and he could feel himself starting to talk without even meaning to.

"It's... the kind of job you have to be tough for. Not everyone makes it. Some people burn out. You get exposed to things you don't forget."

Lucy's gaze was steady, her expression empathetic but without pity. "That's understandable. You probably see a lot in a typical week that most people might only experience once, if ever."

Tim scoffed a little, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, well, you get used to it. You learn to deal with it. You don't take it home with you."

"Except sometimes you do," she pointed out gently, her voice light, like it was barely even a challenge. "That's human."

Tim paused, his gaze dropping for just a second. She wasn't wrong, and that was exactly the problem. When was the last time he'd really been able to shake something off? These days, it seemed like everything followed him home.

"Look," he started, running a hand over his jaw, "I get what you're trying to do here. I do. But what's the point of going through all this? It's not like talking is gonna change anything."

Lucy leaned forward slightly, just enough to let him know he had her full attention. "It's okay to be skeptical. And talking isn't magic. It doesn't just make things disappear. But it can help us process what we're carrying. It can make it a little easier to keep going, to stay connected to what matters to you."

There was a flicker in her expression, something he couldn't quite read but felt he understood somehow.

He wanted to scoff, to wave it off. But something about the way she'd said that-about staying connected-struck a nerve. He knew he'd lost that connection, whatever it was. His work was all he had left; anything else had slipped through his fingers years ago. There wasn't anyone waiting at home, no one who needed him to come back whole at the end of a shift.

"Why do you care about this so much?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Lucy seemed to consider his words, her expression softening. "Because I believe everyone deserves a chance to make peace with what they've been through. To see themselves as something more than just what they do or what they've experienced. It's... my job, yes, but it's also what I care about."

Tim didn't know what to say. She made it sound so simple, like anyone could walk into a room, face their demons, and just... heal. He wanted to believe that was possible, but the part of him that had lived this life, that had learned to shut everything down just to keep moving, couldn't help but reject it.

"I don't think I buy that," he muttered.

Lucy smiled, not put off in the least. "You don't have to. Not today. You just have to be willing to keep coming back, even if you don't believe in it yet."

There was something reassuring about her certainty, even if he didn't share it. For a moment, he let himself imagine what it might be like to leave some of it behind, to not be weighed down by the things he'd seen and done. But that was a fantasy, and he knew better than to believe in fantasies.

Still, here he was. And as much as he wanted to walk out, he was somehow... curious. How far could this go? Could someone like him, someone who had walled off every part of himself, actually come out of this different?

"Well, guess we'll see," he said, his voice softer, almost to himself.

Lucy nodded, a slight smile on her face as she closed her notebook. "I think that's all we need to start. Same time next week?"

He hesitated, half-expecting some last-minute pull to bail, but it didn't come. "Yeah," he replied. "Same time."

He turned to leave, feeling the strangest mixture of relief and dread as he walked out. He didn't know what he'd just signed up for, but something told him he was going to find out.