Sinister Obsession | 18+

|10| Red stained sheets.

Saint

"Tell me three things about yourself," Jane, the therapist in her mid-fifties with short blonde hair and glasses perched on her nose, asks as she sits across from me.

I'm not typically one to open up to anyone, especially not a therapist. However, things have reached an unhealthy point, and I believe that speaking to someone might actually be beneficial. Well, maybe it will be.

"Well, my name is Saint. I like the color black, and I think I'm starting to develop a sinister obsession," I say, keeping my gaze fixed on her as I lean back in the cherry red leather seat.

"Tell me more about this obsession and how it's affecting you," Jane inquired, her voice soft but penetrating.

"It's like... I can't escape it, you know?" I started, feeling the weight of my words. "The thought of... of ending something that's been haunting me, following me everywhere. It's like a shadow that won't go away."

Leaning forward slightly, Jane showed her attentiveness. "When did you first start feeling this way? Is there something specific that triggered these thoughts?"

Cassio.

"It's been building up for a while now," I confessed. "Certain events, memories... they keep resurfacing. And it's not just during the day; it creeps into my dreams too, making sleep almost unbearable."

"It sounds like this is causing you a lot of distress," Jane noted, jotting down a few notes.

"It feels like a constant battle," I continued, my voice tinged with determination. "A part of me wants to confront it head-on, to end this torment once and for all."

Jane nodded, her expression empathetic as she listened intently.

"I've imagined scenarios," I admitted, my gaze shifting to a distant point as I spoke. "Where I confront it, where I take control. It's like a need, a compulsion to rid myself of this... presence."

"Visualization can be a powerful tool in understanding our emotions," Jane remarked, her tone encouraging.

"But it's not just in my mind," I said, a touch of urgency creeping into my voice. "I feel it in my bones, this need to act. To find closure, whatever that may entail."

Jane scribbled a note in her notebook, her pen pausing briefly before she met my eyes again. "And how do you envision this confrontation?"

I paused, considering her question carefully. "It's... visceral," I began, searching for the right words. "Raw. Like a storm breaking loose. There's anger, frustration... but also a strange sense of liberation."

"It sounds like there's a lot of pent-up emotion," Jane observed, her tone gentle yet probing.

"It's like I'm on the edge," I confessed, a hint of vulnerability slipping into my words. "One step away from something... irreversible. But at the same time, it feels like the only way forward."

Jane nodded empathetically, her eyes reflecting genuine concern. "Being on the edge can be frightening, but it also means you haven't crossed that line yet. We can work together to find ways to step back from that brink."

I took a deep breath, absorbing her words. "I know, but it's hard to ignore this constant urge, this feeling that it's the only way to truly be free from it all."

"Let's explore what 'freedom' means in this context," Jane suggested, her voice gentle but probing. "Is it about removing a threat, or is it about finding inner peace despite external circumstances?"

I paused, contemplating her question deeply. "For me, it's about both," I admitted, my voice carrying a mix of determination and apprehension. "I want to rid myself of this shadow, but I also want to reclaim a sense of control over my own life."