Falling For The Mob

62 Therapy

Zoë

"So I can trust him?" I stare ahead of me with skepticism. "I'm not sure if this is a good idea."

Addy sighs, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You don't have to do this, Zo. But I thought this is what you wanted. Isn't that what you told Sam?"

Four nights ago, after she finally managed to calm me down, I had to admit to Sam that I was having too much trouble giving everything space in my mind. Given all the real torture she has been through, I was reluctant. I didn't want her to see me as weak, this is nothing compared to all the things her family members do to each other on a regular basis.

I honestly thought she would laugh at me. Instead, she suggested speaking to a counselor. Of all people, Sam Claymore suggested that I go to therapy.

I sigh at Addy. "Yes, I did say that, but I just don't see the real point. I can't very well work through it, I can't tell my therapist the full story. I mean, how am I supposed to explain that I was kidnapped and held captive for two days, yet somehow didn't go to the police?"

Addy, though never insensitive, releases a chuckle. "Leave it to Sam to forget something so important." She sighs. "Zo, Dr. Yang knows about us. I mean, not everything, but he counseled many people in our organization. Including Sam. So you can tell him anything."

With a gentle nudge, she pushes me towards the large oak doors. "You can meet with him to see how you feel. You can stop whenever."

~~~

"I'm usually not this evasive when people ask me questions. I've just never done this before."

He hums, his gentle eyes going down on the notepad on his lap as he scribbles something. "Therapy, you mean? You've never spoken to a professional?"

I bite my inner cheek, trying to sort through my thoughts. "No, not that. I've just never..." I sigh, suddenly growing irritated with everything.

"Can I ask you something?"

We have been in the room together for almost two hours without much progress. I've been struggling with sleep unless Sam is holding me, and though it's a temporary solution, it's not going to last. Still, for some reason, I can't seem to let my guard down, I can't seem to sort through my feelings about all of this.

Again, he hums, but gives me a gentle nod to continue.

"How can you do this work? Knowing all that you know, how can you sleep at night and not go to the police? You must have heard many confessions of illegal activities. Didn't you take an oath to protect your clients only until they are a danger to themselves or others?"

He places his pen down suddenly, but I keep talking. "I mean, this is insane, isn't it? You come across as a stable individual. Patient, level-headed. Undoubtedly you know that what these people are doing is wrong, yet you do nothing. Is there no moral code? Do you give in so easily? I mean, what could possibly be worth compromising your morals like this?"

He chimes into the heavy breaths puffing out of me. "You probably won't like my answer, but the reason is simple for me. Money. I make more here with one session than a week paid by insured patients. You work in the medical field as well, and though your choice to work in a hospital is admirable, surely you must be aware of how much more you would be making if you chose to go into the private sector."

We both stay quiet for a long moment before he picks up his pen and scribbles something down again. "You come across as a kind woman. One with strong ethical convictions that have never been properly tested. Is your frustration truly aimed at me?"