Raising a Psychopath

THIRTEENTH

Silently wrestling with my conscience and the unfolding realization, I finally found my voice, though it emerged hesitantly, barely above a whisper.

"Appointment number three." The words hung in the air between us, a tacit acknowledgment of the journey we'd embarked upon together.
My usual companion, the notepad, lay forgotten, leaving me feeling exposed in the vastness of my leather chair.
I settled into its embrace, allowing myself a moment to simply observe him, taking in the subtle changes that marked his behaviour.

There was a certain glow about him, an aura of accomplishment that seemed to radiate with each nonchalant gesture. Yet, beneath the veneer of self-assurance, there lingered a hint of pride, as if he had surpassed even his own expectations.

"How, uh..." My voice trailed off, a reflection of the turmoil swirling within me. My gaze dropped to my hands, their nervous dance betraying the unease that gripped me. "How are you feeling?" The question felt inadequate, too simple for the complexity of the emotions at play.

"Good. Great," he responded, his arms spreading wide as if to embrace the entirety of his experience. His posture, open and assured, stood in stark contrast to the shadows of the previous night that loomed in my memory.

I nodded, a silent attempt to bridge the gap between his outward display of well-being and the haunting images that refused to fade.
The horrors of what had transpired lingered at the edges of our conversation, an apparition both of us seemed keen to avoid.
Yet, his response, marked by a heavy sense of relief and perhaps even liberation, offered a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, we were moving towards a place of healing and understanding.

As I sat across from Roman, the weight of my own transformation bore down on me.
Gone was the psychotherapist who had graduated with a firm resolve to always do right by her patients, replaced by someone who had witnessed a line crossed without intervention. The incident from the previous night haunted me, not just for the act itself but for my own unsettling neutrality towards it. My silence, my failure to act, left me questioning the very foundations of my ethics and principles.

"Are you sure that you...that you -" My voice faltered, the gravity of the question causing a lump in my throat.
"Killed him? Fuck yeah," Roman's response was chillingly calm, his hand instinctively moving to his wounded shoulder as if to remind himself of the price paid for his actions. "Made sure of it."

The confirmation, stark and unapologetic, sent a shiver down my spine. My teeth clenched, not just at the reality of Roman's actions, but at the gnawing uncertainty that plagued me.
Who had been on the receiving end of those fatal syringes? The need to know, to understand the full extent of what had transpired, was overwhelming. Yet, Roman's casual acknowledgment of his deed left me grappling with an array of emotions—horror, confusion, and an inexplicable urge to protect him still.

"And what if the syringes are traces back to you-"
"No one would be able to find them. Plus, Avery has a history of abusing morphine, it wouldn't be out of reach to have him as a suspect," he elaborated, his arms folded in a manner that suggested he had thought this through. "There's no way they'd look at me first. How can a wounded teenager do anything like that to a grown man?" His logic was chillingly sound, adding another layer of complexity to the situation.

"Well, did you have a motive for this man's murder, or was it just to get back at your father?" The question seemed to pierce through Roman's composed exterior, igniting a spark of anger I had seldom seen.
He leaned forward, his body language shifting to one of barely contained fury. "First of all, don't you ever fucking dare call that absolute piece of shit my father," he seethed, his voice laced with venom. "Second, the other piece of shit with him deserved to die. I will never kill for no purpose. The better the reason, the sweeter the revenge, and I'm putting everything on the goddamn line to make this cotton-fucking-candy sweet."