Raising a Psychopath

TWENTY FIRST

Lights blurred past me as I drove, each one streaking by like a comet in the night sky. My thoughts were a tangled mess, speeding just as recklessly as my car. The urgency to reach my destination tightened around my chest like a vice.

Roman had installed the freezer in the living room, its presence an ominous fixture that hummed quietly in the background. He plugged it in with a finality that felt haunting, leaving its purpose hanging in the air.
I tried not to think about it, knowing too well that the truth would reveal itself, whether I was ready for it or not.

Greg had left in a hurry, his face pale and eyes wide with some unspoken realization after reading the receipt that listed Roman's full name. The image of his spider tattoo haunted me, its dark ink a permanent fixture on his skin that seemed to whisper secrets I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
It was just a tattoo—many people had them.
But in the pit of my stomach, a nagging voice insisted it was something more. If Roman had intentions of hurting Greg, wouldn't he have acted already? Or perhaps he was waiting, biding his time for everything to fall into place perfectly.

I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs of doubt and fear.
My relationship with Greg was undeniably over, not just because of the tattoo, but because of the growing chasm of secrets between us.
It wasn't just a tattoo, not really. He'd said he got it years ago—did Roman see it...when Greg... If Greg...?
My heart raced as the pieces tried to fit together in a puzzle too complex to solve at a red light.

Suddenly, my breath caught.
Too many coincidences, too many secrets.

I slammed on the brakes, my car screeching to a halt outside the building. As the dust settled and the engine ticked in the silence, I knew it was time to face whatever waited for me inside.

"Seriously, Ally, what's got you so on edge today?" Roman grumbled.
I felt different; every fibre of my being was charged with a tension that screamed for release. I was unravelling, and I desperately needed someone else to take the reins—someone equipped to handle what I couldn't.

I stepped out, with Roman trailing a few steps behind, his mood visibly soured by the morning's tension.

We stood before the door of Dr. Anaya Balewa, renowned as one of the best psychotherapists in the state.
Younger than me, she radiated an aura of wisdom and calm that belied her years. Her skin was a rich, warm chocolate, and her hair was styled in dozens of neat braids that were pulled back into an intricate low ponytail, cascading down her back.

"Ally Darling?" Dr. Balewa's voice was both questioning and warm, a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.
I nodded, barely managing a smile, and her gaze shifted to Roman, appraising him with a professional curiosity. "Roman," she acknowledged with a nod. "Please, come in." She stepped aside, her gesture inviting us into her sanctuary.

The office was a study in minimalism and comfort. We settled on a plush black couch opposite her, the room devoid of the usual trappings of a therapist's office like notepads or recording devices, at my insistence.
This session was meant to be informal yet pivotal—I needed insight into dealing with Roman.

"Roman, Roman, Roman," Dr. Balewa greeted him with a consistent, warm smile that seemed unshakeable. "I've heard quite a bit about you."
She knew everything that was safe to share—the contents of Roman's file from FMRC, all the troubles and challenges he faced growing up, everything except the dark, twisted paths his life had recently taken.
As soon as we stepped through the door and Roman realized the true nature of this meeting, he shifted dramatically.
His body tensed, his eyes narrowed, and he shot me a look that could only be described as a silent rebuke, completely disregarding Dr. Balewa's presence.

"Roman?" she prompted again after a tense quiet fog had filled the room. Her eyes flicked between us, and I found it impossible to tear my gaze away from the vigour radiating from Roman's icy blue eyes.