nyctophilia
[ nĭk′tə-fĭl′ē-ə ]
n.
a preference for the night or darkness
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"Oh we're definitely killing them then, I need to pad my stats anyway."
"You sound like a serial killer."
"I know, I still wonder why...
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I stood nervously in front of the therapist's office door, fiddling with my fingers as I glanced at my watch. The appointment was scheduled for 8 am, and it was currently 7:58. I had been up since 7, my stomach churning with nerves.
Unlike me, my 'husband' was back at the cabin, on the floor, I might add. Why the floor? Because I shoved him off the bed in the middle of the night as payback for what he did back at HQ. Childish? Maybe. Satisfying? Absolutely.
Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand and knocked three times on the door. The sound barely had time to echo before the door swung open with surprising force, sending a gust of air straight into my face. My hair flew wildly, obscuring my vision.
As I hastily smoothed my hair back into place, I scowled slightly before looking up to meet the overly cheerful face of Park Hajoon.
"Ah yes, Mrs.Choi, right on time! Please, come in!" he said brightly, stepping aside to let me in.
I resisted the urge to cringe at the name, "Uh, you can just call me Ria. It's fine." I said quickly, stepping inside and looking around the room.
We obviously had to use fake names to hide our identities. I was Choi Ria, the 'loving' wife of Choi Minsoo.
"Okay, Choi Ria-"
"Just Ria, please." I interrupted, forcing a polite smile as I sat down in the chair in front of his desk.
Hajoon raised an eyebrow at me, his cheerful smile faltering for a moment before he picked up a pen and notebook. My eyes immediately flicked to the notebook as he jotted something down. My heart sank when I tilted my head slightly and caught a glimpse of his handwriting:
Does not like to be addressed by husband's surname.
Seriously? Did he have to write that down? My jaw tightened as I bit back a groan.
Can someone just shoot me in the head already?
Hajoon set the notebook down and adjusted his glasses, leaning forward slightly as his gaze locked onto mine. His eyes, sharp and calculating behind the thin frames, sent a shiver down my spine.
I gulped. For a moment, he looked more like a mafia boss than a therapist. My mind wandered to darker possibilities: What if he's the drug lord?
But just as quickly, his expression softened into a kind smile, catching me off guard, "Alright, we will begin our session now." he said gently.
