Dual Eclipse

4

The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence, and I drum my fingers on my thighs. 

Tick tock. It repeated the same chant, and my hand desperately searched my jacket for a smoke. 

“Mr Voinov. Tell me what made you reach for the cigar.” Mrs Brown eyed the cigar in my hand before she took her pen to her clipboard. I studied her curiously every time she had something new to write. 

“Should there be a reason for me to have a smoke?” I loosened the tie around my neck to the point where I removed the thing. It felt like a noose around my neck. I hated fucking ties and decided to stop wearing them tonight. Jeans and leather jackets were my things, or I’d prefer nothing.

I grin. 

Brown sighed and placed her pen down. She watched me for a moment and sighed again. “Not when we’ve spoken about how the smoke from that thing gives you lung disease and the sign behind me.” 

The red sign read, ‘No Smoking’ as if anyone would miss it upon arrival. I rolled my eyes and flipped the thing between my fingers. “We both know my lungs have no importance to you.” 

“You’re my client, and I intend to help people with whatever life throws their way. So tell me, Sasha, what made you reach for that cigar?” She frowned, determined to get an answer from me.

“Impulse.” It’s a fucking lie, and she damn knows it. 

“I thought you quit last week.” 

“I did.” It’s the truth, but what happens when you can’t have something you recently got an obsession with? It’s not even a fucking joke. 

“Want to share the reason you’ve picked it up again? Are those nightmares still haunting you when the clock strikes twelve?” Brown curls, pink lips and green eyes were not nightmares. They were a fucking sex dream that lit my body on fire. Christ. Now is not the time for this. 

Then explain the reason why you’re here. 

I’m starting to regret ever hiring Mrs Brown as my therapist. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. It’s not something that should ever leave this room, and she knows it. She can see it in my eyes, on my skin and hear it in the responses I give her. Why she had stayed after all these weeks will always make me wonder if she was doing it for the money I paid her or out of fear. 

I’d bet my life on the latter. Either Mrs Brown was stupid or blind. No amount of cash would protect her from my wrath, yet she still sat upright with a determined expression. 

“My nightmares will forever haunt me. Morning, noon and night.” 

“Are they still the same? Vivid images of you killing your father?” I studied her, the clock ticking louder by the second. 

I grin, and she squirms in her seat. 

“Am I making you uncomfortable, Kristina?” 

“Mrs Brown,” She cleared her throat. I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes left—twenty minutes too far. “I’ve gotten nothing out of you in forty minutes, Sasha. I’ve never known you to be the—” She paused, searching for the right word. “Quie— restrained type.”