[Insider] The Therapist Ch. 03 (Patreon)

Hey Friends! Who's ready for another crazy ride in the world of Dr. Nathan Coleman? We are still very early, but this was maybe my favorite chapter so far. It felt very easy to write, and you get a pretty good look inside the lives of Ethan and Mei.

Now that we are three chapters in, I may go ahead and publish to the supporter tier later this month to try and drum up a little more excitement for it. Hope you're all enjoying the choices and story as much as I am. Can't wait to hear what everyone has to say.

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"Uuuhhhh," Ethan's voice cracked as he braced himself about her. His arms were trembling, and sweat was rolling down his forehead as his release rolled through him. Mei's body lifted from the bed, her legs wrapped around his thighs. Her eyes were closed, her face a mask of pleasure as she held him there. She hadn't made much noise this time, just the occasional sharp breath when he found the right angle, but her body was still responsive. Her fingers were still gripping his shoulders as she let out a shaky breath and lowered back onto the bed, the faintest of smiles on her lips.

"Good morning." He pressed his forehead to hers, giving her one last kiss. "Twice in less than twenty-four hours." He grinned. "Did my birthday come early?"

She barked out a laugh, her cheeks tinting as she slapped his arm. "Don't get used to it. Besides, you're the one that woke me up." She kissed his cheek as he rolled onto his back. "I was just going with the flow."

The sheets had ended up bunched at the foot of the bed at some point, and Mei lay beside him uncovered. She didn't reach for them. She just lay there, basking in the afterglow of what just happened with her arm covering her eyes trying to catch her breath.

"I should shower." She stretched, arching her back slightly before swinging her legs off the bed. "I still need to find something to wear for spirit day. It's dress like a Hawaiian day."

"Good thing I just gave you a lay."

Mei's body went stiff as she stood from the bed. Ethan groaned fearing he'd said too much. He expected her to reach for her Kimono next to bed. Her gaze caught it, then she looked down at her body like she was weighing her options.

Ethan admired the sway of her hips, her toned legs and perfect bubble butt. He let out a sigh when she disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

He climbed out of bed and grabbed a pair of boxers from his dresser, looking over the mess they'd made in the bedroom. It almost felt too good to be true, like he was in a dream.

"I'm going to run into town and grab a coffee before work," he called after her. "You want me to bring one back?"

"No thanks. I'm okay."

He stood there for a minute staring at the bed. He never wanted to wake up.

---

Wheelhouse Coffee was only a 10 minute drive into town. Like most of the shops on Front Street, it was an older building and had seen better days. But it had been part of the community for fifty years and was still owned by the original family. Friday mornings were usually busy. It was the usual crowd of regulars mixed with those who liked to treat themself before the weekend.

"Mornin, Ethan," Dana, the barista, yelled from behind the counter. She was already reaching for a cup. She was in her twenties, with dark hair and a nose ring. The daughter of the original owners. She worked here most days. "Large dark roast, splash of oat?"

"You know me too well."

"What's got you so bright-eyed this morning?" She raised an eyebrow as the espresso machine hissed behind her. "There's a little more pep in your step."

Ethan chuckled. For a moment he considered her question, but then how could he respond? That his wife's therapist had somehow convinced her to enjoy sex after just one session? That another man had found a way to excite her more about sex than he ever could? A cold chill washed over him. It didn't just sound ridiculous, it sounded creepy, in a way he couldn't describe.

"Just a good morning," he said, and left it at that.

Dana gave him a look like she'd noticed whatever just past through him, but she didn't press it. Instead, she went back to work on the espresso and Ethan pulled out his phone and found his sister's contact.

You won't believe who moved in next door. We should catch up soon. Dinner this weekend?

He switched threads and opened Nathan's contact. He wanted to say something, to acknowledge what had happened, but knew he had a tendency to say too much. The image of Mei walking across the bedroom flashed through his mind, and his chest swelled.

He started typing, deleted it. Started again.

Hey Nathan. I guess the session yesterday was successful? I'm already seeing a difference in Mei. Last night was incredible. This morning too. I don't know how to thank you. Murphy's this weekend? I owe you a beer. Or ten.

His skin pimpled with goosebumps before he pressed send. His mind drifted back to articles he'd dug up yesterday, to Mei's shirt being tucked in. Then to the good part. Mei coming to bed in just his oversized t-shirt. The way she initiated.

He hit send.

"Ethan." Dana slid his coffee across the counter. "Large dark roast. You want a pastry? Just pulled the almond croissants."

"I'm good, thanks." He pocketed his phone and grabbed the cup. The coffee was hot enough to burn, and he blew across the surface as he headed for the door.

His phone buzzed as he crossed the street, the flashing yellow caution light blowing gently in the wind.

Nathan: I'm glad to hear it, Ethan. She put in a lot of hard work yesterday. A beer sounds great. Murphy's tomorrow night, say 7?

Ethan sent a thumbs up and leaned against the tailgate of his F-150. The paint had faded from blue to something closer to gray years ago, and the bed was scratched from hauling mulch and lumber, but it ran great. He took a long drink of his coffee and watched Front Street come to life. A woman pushed a stroller past the bookstore. An older man in a flannel unlocked the door to the hardware store across the street.

His phone buzzed again.

Sierra: Can't this weekend. Dealing with James stuff. Rain check?

He scrunched his face. James stuff. That was Sierra-speak for things had gotten bad again. Ethan and his sister were always close growing up, so she shared more with him than maybe a sister should. She told him about how their sex life had fizzled out a couple of years ago. That was when she'd first found Nathan's booked. It helped, or so she said. But every few months they would seem to get in this funk where she was convinced he was cheating, he would call her crazy, and she would reach out to Ethan to vent about it, before repeating the entire process over again. It was a vicious cycle, and one he didn't feel like dealing with at the moment.

He pocketed his phone. He was on cloud nine right now, and he didn't want anyone bringing him down. He'd call her next week. When things settled.

He pushed off the tailgate and started down the sidewalk. Jade Garden was just a couple of blocks down the road. The chill in the air before rain always made the walk enjoyable. The salt from the harbor carried through the air, mixing with the aroma from Wheelhouse making the stroll all the more pleasant and he nodded at a few friendly faces as he passed.

The boba shop was small, just a counter and four stools, run by a woman who barely spoke any English. The menu was handwritten on a chalkboard, and a string of paper lanterns hung above the register.

"Mango tea, light ice, extra boba?" Ethan mumbled as he entered the shop.

The woman smiled warmly and nodded, taking his credit card.

He watched her work as he waited, his mind drifting to Mei trying to explain the water cycle to a bunch of second-graders in Hawaiian shirts. She loved her job and would always come home raving about one of her students. But he knew how much it took out of her, and she'd appreciate the boba to get her through the day.

Tea in hand, he headed back up Front Street toward the truck. The walk was short, five minutes at most, and by the time he climbed into the cab, he'd already decided how tomorrow night would go. He'd buy Nathan a beer, tell him about Mei's progress. He'd ask about the hypnosis, just for his own peace of mind. Then thank Nathan one last time for ensuring his marriage didn't end up like Sierra's.

***

The mango tea was sweating on the kitchen counter when Mei came out from the bedroom, her hair still damp from the shower. She stopped in the doorway, still wrapped in just a towel and stared at it. Ethan must have come home while she was in the shower, set it down, and left again without a word.

She picked it up and shook her head, smiling despite herself. The tapioca pearls shifted at the bottom as she took a sip. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. Perfect. Light ice, extra boba. It was little things like this that made Ethan so perfect.

She carried it upstairs to get dressed.

Spirit day. She was pretty sure she had a Hawaiian shirt somewhere in her dresser. In just a few hours she'd have Twenty-three second-graders running around more interested in their plastic leis than listening to her explain the water cycle. She was going to need every ounce of that tea.

She slipped on a pair of green, cotton panties and baggy jeans. That was the easy part. Next, she started rummaging through her other drawers, pushing aside her usual cardigans and blouses, looking for something that could pass as Hawaiian. Her hand brushed against something in the back. A fabric that was softer than the usual cotton or wool she expected. She pulled it out.

A white bralette. Delicate lace trim along the edges. The fabric was light enough it was nearly see through. She turned it over in her hands, the lace soft between her fingers.

Her breath caught as she stared at it. She'd forgotten she still had this.

No. That wasn't true. She hadn't forgotten. She'd buried it. Shoved it in the back of a drawer after her mother... She pushed the thought away. When she moved in with Ethan she kept it. Not because she planned on ever wearing it again, but because throwing it away would have meant her mother had won.

Her thumb traced the edge of the fabric as she remembered the night she bought it. Something shifted in her chest and she unconsciously rubbed her thighs together. The memory arrived all at once. The weight of it against her skin, the way her boyfriend stared at her when she came out of the bathroom with it on.

Her hands fidgeted and her breathing grew shallow. As if in a trance, her fingertips reached up, tracing her collarbone, just above where the fabric sat. She chewed on her lip, turning it over in her hands again as if trying to decide what to do with it. She had to leave soon. She still hadn't found a shirt to wear and she needed to leave in forty minutes. Ethan had never gotten to see her in anything like that before. It wasn't fair. He was so good to her. He'd brought her a boba today without being asked. But this was stupid. She was already running late. She needed to—

She dropped the towel and slipped it over her head.

Somehow, It still fit. She smiled and turned to face the mirror on the back of her dresser.

The white lace was tight against her skin, snug around her ribcage, the thin straps pulling it taut across her chest. She could see the outline of her nipples through the fabric, dark against the thin weave, already hardening in the cool air of the bedroom. The bralette left her midriff bare, a strip of golden skin between the lace and the waistband of her jeans, which sat just below her navel. Her collarbones, the swell of her chest, it was all on display.

The rush of excitement from when she was younger washed over her. She felt powerful, sexy. In a way she hadn't felt in years, maybe ever. She turned slightly, examining her profile. The way the lace followed the shape of her. She lifted one hand and ran a finger along the edge where lace met skin, following the line of it across her chest. The touch sent a small shiver down her side.

Her mind drifted to last night. The way Ethan's eyes lit up when she walked out of the bathroom. His words of encouragement.

She grabbed her phone off the dresser. He would lose his mind. She'd tell him she was thinking about him, send the picture then rush off to work. He'd probably turn the truck around, race home and lock her in the bedroom.

She laughed to herself as she framed the shot in the mirror, making sure to capture everything from her collarbones to just below her waist. The lace. The skin. The way it all looked in the pale Friday morning light. The shutter sound was sharp in the quiet bedroom. Mei looked down at the screen.

The woman in the photo stared back at her. Dark hair slightly damp, falling over bare shoulders. White lace. Exposed skin.

Something shifted. Not a thought, exactly. More like a change in the air pressure of the room, a subtle wrongness that seemed to wash over her. She looked at the photo again. At the woman's smile. At the way her chest was offered up to the camera like—

"Jiàn huò."

The word arrived in Mandarin first, the way her mother's voice always sounded when she was truly angry. Mei's brain supplied the translation half a second later.

"You look like a cheap whore."

Her confidence cracked, the air left her lungs.

What was I thinking?

Cold water dumped over her head. Her hands were shaking. She jabbed at the screen, deleting the photo. Her finger missed the button twice before it finally disappeared and the phone clattered onto the cluttered dresser.

Did it send?

Panic seized her chest. She fumbled picking up the phone and checked her messages. Checked her photo album. Checked her recently deleted. Nothing sent. The photo was gone.

The relief almost buckled her knees, but the fear stayed. The fear that someone might have seen her like that, even Ethan. It was obscene. No self respecting woman would dress like that, let alone send a photo of it. She wrapped her arms tight around her chest, her shoulders curled inward. It was the same feeling she had six years ago, when her mother came home and rushed into her bedroom because she heard noises. Mei began to shake, remembering the cold look in her mother's eyes. The words she said and Mei rushed to put on clothes, her boyfriend terrified beneath the sheet.

The shame flooded back, filling all the space the confidence had occupied seconds ago. It was familiar, almost comfortable in its awfulness. She knew how to exist inside this feeling. She'd been doing it for years.

Why did I think this was a good idea?

She couldn't track it. The decision to put the bralette on, to take the photo, it didn't feel like something she would do. In the moment, it had felt so natural, so easy. And now it felt like something she'd done in a dream. Something that had happened to someone else in a room she didn't quite remember entering.

She couldn't look at the mirror. She turned away from it, fast, and grabbed the first shirt she saw on the hanger, an old flannel shirt, and yanked it over her head. She would just use one of the plastic leis she had for the kids. Next, she ripped the bralette off, not looking at it as she shoved it back into the drawer. Same spot. Deep in the back, under everything else.

On her way out, she grabbed the boba tea from the dresser. The condensation had soaked a ring into the wood. She wiped it with her sleeve.

She didn't look at the mirror again.

***

The rumble of Ethan's truck pulled Nathan from his notes. He crossed to the window and parted the plantation shutters just enough to watch the F-150 back out of the driveway next door. The truck rumbled past, and Nathan tracked it as it made its way down the short road. Then it turned onto Harborview Lane and disappeared.

Nathan's gaze shifted to the house. Mei was in there alone, probably still wrapped in the blankets after a night of lovemaking. Or, maybe she was already in the shower, running through all the things she and Ethan did last night.

His mouth went dry as he loosened the collar of his shirt. He was fairly certain she was still feeling the effects of his conditioning. How would she respond if he walked over and asked to borrow a wrench or some flour? He closed his eyes, imagining her answering the door still wrapped in a sheet. She would step aside, let him in, completely comfortable with the intrusion.

He held the image for a moment longer and felt his jeans grow tight. No, he needed to focus. He had work to do. There would be time for all of that later. He adjusted himself, then turned back to his desk.

The monitor displayed a frozen frame from yesterday's session. Mei on the couch, eyes closed, hands resting in her lap. Timestamp: 19:23:47. He'd been reviewing the footage since six this morning, taking notes in his legal pad, cataloging each response and compliance marker. He sipped his coffee, the third so far this morning. He always found it easiest to review footage first thing in the morning while his mind was sharp, before too many distractions festered in his mind. He stole one more glance out the window then pressed play.

The footage advanced frame by frame. Her breathing deepened. Her shoulders dropped. The tension in her jaw released as she sank into the trance. Textbook induction. He made a note: Subject responsive to standard relaxation protocol. No resistance during initial phase.

He scrubbed forward to the eighteen-minute mark. This was where it got interesting. On screen, his recorded voice gave the instruction. "I want you to take off your shirt."

Her hands moved to the hem. Then stopped. Hovering. He remembered noticing it during the session, that brief hesitation before she complied. At the time, he'd filed it away as minor resistance, nothing unusual.

Now, watching the footage, he saw something else.

He switched to the bookshelf camera feed. The angle was tighter here, focused on her face. He scrubbed back ten seconds and let it play.

"I want you to take off your shirt."

Her fingers curled into the fabric. Her lips parted slightly. And there, beneath her closed lids, her eyes were moving. Rapid, darting movements. REM activity. Her subconscious was processing something, working through the suggestion, pushing back against it even as her hands obeyed.

He paused the frame and leaned closer to the screen. His fingers ran through the scruff on his face, still getting used to the coarse texture. He'd missed this yesterday. The resistance had been invisible to the naked eye, buried beneath her apparent compliance. But the footage didn't lie. Some part of Mei had fought him. His tongue slid past his lips, moistening them slightly. "Interesting."

He scrubbed forward to the underwear. Same pattern, but stronger. Her thumbs hooked into the waistband and froze there for two, three seconds. Her whole body trembled. On the bookshelf feed, her eyes moved rapidly beneath the lids, and her brow furrowed just slightly. A micro expression of distress that vanished the moment she complied.

He made another note: Subject shows stronger will than anticipated. Resistance manifests subconsciously during key compliance moments. Compare to GH at equivalent stage.

Grace had been easier. Even in her first session he could tell she was eager to please, almost desperate for his approval. By Session 3, she'd started dressing differently. She'd Leave one button undone on her blouse, hold eye contact longer. She even began playing with the pendant on her necklace, drawing his attention to her chest without seeming to realize she was doing it. The conditioning had taken hold fast because she'd had nothing to fight it with. The island had broken her before Nathan ever met her.

Mei was different, a greater challenge. While she had similar scars as Grace she didn't have the trauma. Her issues with her mother were long standing, they would need to be dismantled brick by brick.

The thought brought a smile to his face. A stronger foundation meant a more impressive transformation. When Mei finally let go completely, it would be because he'd earned it. Grace was merely his playground, a stepping stone to understand his techniques and missteps. Mei would be his masterpiece.

They had three more sessions together before Ethan's birthday. Session 3 was a turning point for Grace, for Mei it would be a spark that would grow into an inferno.

He saved his notes and began the editing process. The official recording needed to be clean, just in case anyone asked. He trimmed the footage, adjusted timestamps, removed any frames that might raise questions. The version that remained showed nothing but a standard therapeutic session. A woman discussing her anxiety. A doctor listening with professional concern. The angle was too high to show Mei's body, and the audio that was left was nothing extraordinary.

When he was satisfied, he copied the unedited files to an external drive. His cock swelled as he grabbed the black Sharpie from his desk. MM-01.

He crossed to the diploma wall and swung the University of Florida frame aside. The safe chirped as he entered the code, and the lock released with a soft click. Seven drives sat inside, arranged in neat rows. He slid MM-01 into the empty slot at the end, then let his hand drift back across the others. His fingers brushed the spine of GH-03 and lingered there.

Grace at her best. Grace before she'd ruined everything.

He pulled his hand back and closed the safe. Straightened the diploma until it hung level.

His phone buzzed on the desk. He crossed back and checked the screen.

Ethan had messaged him while he was reviewing the footage. A smile curved on his lips.

I'm already seeing a difference in Mei. Last night was incredible. This morning too.

He typed a quick reply confirming tomorrow night at Murphy's, then set the phone aside. Ethan was the key to all of this. He'd tell Nathan everything he needed to know, be his eyes when Mei is at her most comfortable. That's how he'll really know when his methods were starting to take hold.

He shut down the computer and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

Eight drives in the safe now. Room for more.

***

The laptop screen was the only light in the apartment. Grace hadn't noticed the sun go down. She'd been at the kitchen table since noon, and now the windows showed nothing but black glass and her own reflection. Her brown eyes looked hollowed, with large bags under them, her dark hair suggesting it was time for a shower.

She looked away. She knew she looked a mess, but that wasn't important. She was tired of every man in her life taking what they wanted from her. Using her for their own sick pleasure then casting her out into the cold. The legs of the chair scratched the floor as she stood, pacing the room.

The apartment was small. One bedroom, a kitchenette, a bathroom with a shower stall barely wide enough to turn around in. A downgrade from the house she'd shared with Thomas, but he was gone now, had served her the papers while she was still in St. Augustine's Psychiatric Facility. She didn't blame him. She'd shown up at another man's house naked. She'd sent photos, written letters she couldn't remember writing. What husband could survive that?

On the counter, three prescription bottles stood in a neat row. She took them every morning. Lexapro, Seroquel, Trazodone. The cocktail St. Augustine's had sent her home with, the chemical leash that was supposed to keep her stable. She was stable. She was taking her meds, filling out job applications, reading the self-help book her discharge counselor had recommended. She was doing everything right.

The dishes in the sink said otherwise. The unopened mail piling on the coffee table. The fine layer of dust on the television she hadn't turned on in two weeks.

None of that stuff was important right now. What was important was finding him.

The table around her laptop was covered in paper. Printouts of therapist licensing databases, maps of Washington and Oregon with small towns circled in red pen, screenshots of Nathan's old practice website that she'd pulled from the Internet Archive before it disappeared completely. News articles about herself, highlighted and annotated in the margins. All of them calling her a stalker. Nathan had called her an Obsessive patient, very unstable. But that wasn't always true. Not until he started putting her under. Planting seeds in her mind. Of course, she couldn't tell anyone that she would sound crazy, and she wasn't crazy.

She'd learned to be careful. St. Augustine's had taught her that much. Looking crazy got you locked up, even when you were right. So she kept her research organized, her notes legible, her process methodical. If anyone asked, she was writing a book. Processing her trauma. Moving on.

But there was no one left to ask.

She pulled up another licensing database and typed in his name. Florida had been a dead end. He'd let his practice there lapse, forwarding address unknown. The ethics review had found "insufficient evidence of misconduct." He still had his license. He could practice anywhere. But he wouldn't go just anywhere. He would go somewhere with rain.

She remembered the sessions at his house. The ones that would always end up in his bedroom. She couldn't remember how, or even when it started, just the intensity of it. How much she'd wanted to please him. Her nails dug into her forearm as she recalled those nights.

He would put on rain sounds to fall asleep. White noise through the bedroom speakers, the soft static of a storm that wasn't there. He'd told her once, half-asleep, that if he ever retired he'd move somewhere where it rained all the time. Somewhere quiet.

He wouldn't stay in Florida not with all the press, and Hawaii felt too out of place for him. She'd narrowed it down to three states. Washington, Oregon, Northern California. Hundreds of towns. Thousands of therapists. And she had no proof he was even practicing, no proof he'd gone anywhere near the coast.

The warm sensation of blood on her fingers brought her back to the apartment. She jerked her nails away from her forearm, then let out a frustrated groan as she slammed the laptop shut and moved toward the kitchen for a paper towel.

She pulled the last one from the roll and pressed it against her arm, then filled a glass of water at the sink. Once she was satisfied the bleeding had stopped, she moved to the trash can to throw the towel away, but paused when she saw it was overflowing. She couldn't remember how long it had been like that. She turned toward the cabinet under the sink to grab a fresh bag, but her eyes went wide.

A journal was wedged behind a box of trash bags. She'd shoved it there when she moved in, not wanting to look at it, not ready to throw it away. One of the ones from during treatment. Her therapist in St. Augustine, not Nathan, had told her to document everything. Write down what you remember. Write down what you don't.

She pulled it out. The cover was soft, worn at the edges. She opened it to a random page.

Her own handwriting. A date from two years ago.

Session 5. I felt butterflies as soon as I walked into his office today. His eyes lit up the second he saw me and his smile immediately made me feel safe. Not since The Father has anyone understood me like this. Thomas tries, but he doesn't get it. I used to feel so much joy when I went home to him, but now I can only think about when I get to see Nathan again. He makes me want to be free. To open myself in ways I thought were gone forever. I wore a skirt to our meeting today and I swear every time I saw his eyes go to my legs I felt a heat I'd never felt with Thomas. Did I marry the wrong man?

Grace's stomach turned. She remembered writing this. She remembered believing it, but she couldn't remember why or how it started.

The night that everything fell apart, the one that the media played on a loop. She couldn't even remember driving there. Only that she was standing on his doorstep, naked, certain he wanted her, convinced this was what they both needed.

He put this in me. Her nails found her arm again and she pulled them away. He made me feel this way. He made me think I wanted him. And then he turned it against me.

The obsession she'd felt, the desperate, consuming need to be near him, it hadn't been love. It hadn't been attraction. It had been programming. Code he'd written into her brain while she sat in his office trusting him. And she was still running it. Every time she thought about him, every time she pulled up another database, every time she caught herself reaching for the phone to call a number that had been disconnected for a year. She knew that was him. Still inside her. Still pulling the strings.

The difference now was that she could see it. She couldn't cut the wires, but she could follow them back to the source. She could get him to admit what he'd done. To tell her how to make it stop, to—

She slammed the journal shut, her hands shaking.

She was going to find him. Not because she loved him. The media would say it was because she was obsessed, in love. Maybe she was, once. But now she knew those feelings had been manufactured. Dr. Nathan Coleman was trying to play God, but he wouldn't get away with it.

The gaps in her memory, the things she couldn't explain. He had those answers, and she needed to know them. He would tell her how to make it stop, how to cut out the part of her brain that still reached for him in the dark.

She would make him tell her.

"I'm not crazy." Her voice was hoarse in the empty apartment. She said it again, louder. "I'm not crazy."

***

Nathan was already seated at the bar when Ethan's truck pulled into the lot. He watched through the window as Ethan climbed out, noted the spring in his step, the way his shoulders sat looser than they had a week ago. A man who'd gotten what he wanted. He walked with confidence, the same confident stride Nathan had seen hundreds of times before.

The bartender, the same one from before with tattoos climbing both arms like ivy, had already been by once to ask Nathan if he wanted another whiskey. Nathan just shook his head, pulling the last drop from the glass and sliding it back to him. He'd let Ethan order him an IPA when he got inside.

"Nathan. Thanks for coming out." Ethan was already grinning when he walked up to the bar, the words threatening to tumble out without prompting.

"Wouldn't miss it." Nathan shook his hand, gestured to the empty stool beside him. "What are we drinking? I'm still not sure what any of these flavors are."

Ethan laughed and flagged down the bartender, happy to take charge with his new friend. "Two Hazy Wonder IPAs."

The bartender nodded and turned to pull the beers. Ethan drummed his fingers on the bar, grinning like a kid with a secret he couldn't keep.

"So." He was already leaning in. Classic disinhibition. "I don't know what you did, but it worked."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? I'm glad to hear that. What happened? Did she open up a little more?" He knew what would come next, but it was important that Ethan felt like he was the one in control of the situation.

"Thursday night. After the session." Ethan shook his head, still grinning. "She came to bed in just my t-shirt, which honestly would have been more than enough."

The tattooed bartender brought them their drinks and for a minute looked like he wanted to stay and listen. When he realized they had stopped talking because of him he smiled and headed toward the other side of the bar.

"But then, she climbed on top of me. Initiated the entire thing. She even kept the lights on." He laughed, disbelieving. "I mean, sometimes she would... I don't want it to sound like—" He caught himself and glanced around the bar, then lowered his voice further. "I'm just saying, it's a bit out of character for her to get like that." He took a long drink from his beer. "And the sounds she was making. I mean, she was actually into it. Not in her head at all."

Nathan nodded, trying to feign wanting to slow him down. "Sounds like it was quite the night. Any regrets in the morning?"

"That was even better." His voice carried again and he lowered his head as if ducking from the police. "Friday morning when we woke up she—" He trailed off, the grin widening. "Let's just say I was almost late for work."

Internally, Nathan was cataloging every word. Initiated. Lights on. Vocalizing. Morning sex unprompted. The suggestions had taken hold faster than expected. Mei's response rate was exceeding his early projections.

"That's wonderful to hear. She's doing the work. You should be proud of her."

Ethan's grin faltered slightly. "Yeah. It was amazing. But then..." He picked took another pull of beer, slower this time. "When she got home from work Friday, it was like she was someone else. She looked out of it. I chalked it up to work, you know these things happen, especially when dealing with kids all day." He grimaced as he recalled the events. "But then we went to bad and it was like she was racing to turn out the lights. When I kissed her goodnight, it was like her entire body tensed up." He spun the cold bottle around in his hand. "Is that normal? For her to be so hot then cold?"

Fascinating, Nathan thought to himself. She seemed to take to the condition just as quickly as Grace, but then it decayed at a much more rapid rate. He'd need to adjust, to find the missing thread.

"That's not unusual," Nathan said, shrugging. "First sessions often create a kind of... overcorrection. Patients feel liberated, they push themselves further than they're ready for, and then the anxiety catches up. She probably felt vulnerable about how open she'd been with you."

Ethan nodded slowly. "That makes sense. I just—" He looked around the near empty bar. "I don't want to lose the progress, ya know?"

"You won't. These things take time. The fact that she responded so strongly this early is a good sign."

They sat in silence for a moment while Ethan considering what he was being told. He set his bottle down and rotated it slowly, watching condensation bead on the glass. Nathan recognized the tell, he had more questions but wasn't sure how to ask them.

"Can I ask you something?" Ethan finally said. "About the hypnosis."

"That depends. I can't answer any questions that would jeopardize confidentiality." He balled his free hand into a fist under the counter. This was dangerous territory. "Honestly, even just talking to you like this could be seen as an impropriety."

"I know I just... how does it work? Is she in any danger? Like long term stuff?"

Nathan kept his face neutral. He needed to shut this down, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. She said she remembered being under, and she also said mostly. But then there's..." Nathan almost felt sorry for him. The man couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. "I read some stuff online. About how hypnotherapy is supposed to work. And people were saying their loved ones started having gaps."

He was doing research, that wasn't good. There were so many false narratives about what Nathan did. Fake news that didn't understand the science and spoke in absolutes.

"Ethan, I'm going to be direct with you." He turned to face him fully. "Mei is completely safe with me. But she revealed some heavy stuff. Now, my guess is, she told you she couldn't remember because she doesn't want to share it with you."

Ethan's eyes went wide. He hadn't considered that Mei would be hiding something. Nathan pressed on. "I need you to trust the process. What happens in session is between Mei and me. That has to be absolute."

"I wasn't trying to—"

"I know. You're her husband. You love her. It's natural to be curious." Nathan held his gaze. "But if Mei knew you were asking me about her sessions, it would compromise everything. your marriage included." He let the words land. He didn't want it to sound like a threat, but he needed to put enough fear in Ethan that he would stop digging.

He gave a reassuring smile, then continued. "She needs to know that space is hers. Not a performance for you, not a report she has to give. Just her, working through her own barriers."

Ethan's shoulders dropped. "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"There's nothing to apologize for. Just trust me. You asked me to help for a reason." Nathan clapped him on the shoulder. "She's doing beautifully. I mean that."

Ethan nodded, took another drink. The tension in his jaw loosened. Nathan watched him reset, watched the guilt settle into acceptance.

Too easy.

They talked for another twenty minutes. Nathan asked about work, about Harmony Falls, about the hiking trails he'd read about. He let Ethan ramble, nodding at the right moments, steering the conversation like water finding its level.

Eventually, Ethan circled back. "So my birthday's in three weeks." He said it casually, but Nathan caught the undercurrent. "You think she'll be ready? For, you know..."

"The sex tape?" Nathan was smiling. He knew it would get a rise out of Ethan.

"When you say it like that it sounds—"

"It sounds like a husband who wants to feel close to his wife." Nathan shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with that. But three weeks..." He shook his head slowly. "I'm not going to lie, it's a tight window. But if we can keep Mei focused on the positive changes I think we have a chance."

He watched the mix of emotions cross Ethan's face. He didn't need to give any further guidance. Ethan was smart enough to understand what that meant. Most importantly, he hoped Ethan would realize it meant stop looking for reasons for it to fail.

They finished their beers. Nathan signaled for the check, but Ethan waved him off.

"I got this. Least I can do."

Nathan didn't argue. He pulled on his jacket while Ethan settled the tab, then they walked out together into the cool evening air. The parking lot was half-empty, a few trucks scattered under the yellow lights.

"Hey," Ethan said, stopping beside his truck. "Can I ask you something else? Totally unrelated."

"Sure."

Ethan hesitated. pulled out his phone and read a message, then pocketed it again.

"My sister. Sierra. She's up in Bellingham." He avoided Nathan's gaze. "She's the one I was telling you about before. With all your books."

"I remember."

"Right. Anyway, her marriage is kind of all over the place. Has been for a while. I was wondering if you would, you know, see about taking her on as a client. I don't know if you do remote sessions, or if she could drive down sometime. But I figured I'd ask."

Nathan considered this. Another patient. Another woman with a struggling marriage, another husband oblivious to the depth of the problem. The symmetry was almost elegant.

"I'd need to speak with her first," he said carefully. "See if she's a good fit. But I'm open to it. If she can come to the office. I don't do remote work. I don't trust the internet."

"Or even..." Ethan kicked a rock into the parking lot. "What about me?"

"What about you, Ethan?"

"I just... You're already working with my wife and obviously my marriage has some things we are working on. Would it be helpful if you started seeing me as well?"

"You want me to take you on as a patient?" Nathan didn't shock easily, but this surprised him.

"Totally separate from Mei of course. I just, well you know, maybe it would help with her progress. See that you can be trusted, and I have my own baggage I'm dealing with."

"Tell you what." Nathan extended his hand. "Let me think about it. I don't have the capacity to take on both you and your sister yet." Ethan nodded. "I'm not saying no, just need some time to consider which case would make the most sense for me. Which one would help you the most?"

"Of course," Ethan said, quickly. "I understand either way. I'm just happy you're working with Mei. Truly."

They said their goodbyes and Nathan started his Mercedes, watching Ethan climb into the cab of his truck. Both options created very unique possibilities for Nathan and for his treatment plan. But which one made the most sense?

# CHAPTER 3 - CHOICE POINT

The Decision

## PATH ONE: Sierra

"Ethan's sister could act as a counterweight to Mei."

Taking on Ethan's sister as a client presented a lot of unique possibilities. He could try different methods with her, weigh those results against Mei's and ultimately prove his revolutionary treatment at a more rapid pace.

***

## PATH TWO: Ethan

"Ethan said he had his own issues to work through. That could be useful in guiding Mei while at the same time keeping Ethan at bay."

He didn't work with many male patients. Most of Nathan's work had always been with the female in the relationship, he preferred it that way. Still, seeing Ethan could unlock a lot of doors that were previously closed. Not only could he ensure Ethan didn't stumble onto something damning but he could use it as a way to have Ethan help lower Mei's guard even quicker.

***

## PATH THREE: Decline them both

"He was on the verge of scientific greatness. He wasn't worried about client count."

While taking on another patient would be great for his expenses, that was never what this was about. He needed to stay solely focused on Mei. She was the one who would be the key to his redemption. Everything else was just noise.