Page 28 of Unholy Fate

The day’s pain,discomfort, and anger dissolved into a foggy haze. The bedside lamp glowed dimly in my peripheral vision. I thought hazily about turning it off, but it was too late. Too tired, too exhausted, I let my eyes slide closed.

The fog of slumber thickened, blurring the edges of reality. Gradually, a familiar office materialized around me. The leather couch beneath my body felt solid and real. Somewhere nearby, a clock ticked softly, its rhythm grounding me in this dreamscape.

Across from me sat Ian. I’d dreamed he was my therapist before, but now I couldn’t remember what happened or what we’d talked about. I just had a sense that he wanted to help me.

He reclined in his chair, posture relaxed, smiling warmly as if this were just another routine session. The sight of him sent a flicker of relief through my chest. Talking to Ian always made me feel better, even if it had been ages since we last met like this. Had it been ages? How many times had we met? I would’ve said not many but now it felt like we’d been meeting all my life.

I took in his appearance, the dark hair falling artfully over his brow, the hint of black nail polish, the touch of eyeliner accentuating his deep brown eyes. There was something undeniably seductive about him, an alluring edge beneath the cool professionalism. He reminded me of a brooding rock star turned therapist.

“Hello, Evelyn. It’s good to see you again.”

“Ian,” I said, some of the tension already easing from my shoulders at his calming presence. “I’m so glad you’re here. I really need someone to talk to right now.”

He leaned forward slightly, giving me his full attention. “Rough day today?”

The events of the past day bubbled up inside me. The strange happenings, the fear, the helplessness. It all threatened to overwhelm me. But here, in the safety of this space, perhaps I could finally unburden myself. I recounted my tale to my sympathetic therapist.

Ian’s expression turned sympathetic as I confessed the horrible day I’d had.

“I feel like I’m falling apart,” I said as the tears fell. “Like I’m losing control of myself, of my life. I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

He tilted his head, considering me thoughtfully. “You’ve been carrying a heavy load lately, Evelyn. No one could fault you for struggling under that kind of pressure.”

More tears spilled at his validation. “I just don’t understand what’s happening to me. I feel like I’m not myself anymore.”

He reached out and took my hand, his touch electric even in the dreamscape. “You’re stronger than you know.” His thumb stroked soothingly over my knuckles. “I’m here for you, Evelyn. You’re such a good girl.”

His low, deep rumble wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I met his deep brown eyes and saw flickers of... what? Intensity? Intimacy? Things I had no name for?

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, his words vibrating against my ear.

A warmth spread through me from his words. Why did they make me feel so good?

“I’m proud of you.”

That made me frown, his words echoing a past memory, a faint whisper at the edge of my mind. I sat back and tried to bring the recollection to the forefront of my mind.

“You know you deserve to feel good,” Ian continued. “You’ve been so strong for so long. When’s the last time you let yourself relax, let yourself feel good?”

“I...I don’t know.” I stuttered, the question catching me off guard. It felt so similar to a dream I had, the one with Father Hudson where I had feltthingsfor a man of the cloth I had no business even dreaming about.

Wait. This was another dream. This wasn’t real. If it was my dream, that meant I was in control. I could change it. I closed my eyes, willing myself to wake, for the dream to change.

“Why would you want to change this?” Ian coaxed, using my own thoughts against me. “You deserve this. You deserve to feel good. It’s okay to let go.”

My eyelids fluttered open to find him sitting so close his leg was touching mine, his presence overwhelming but not threatening.

“I don’t know how,” I admitted shakily.

A soft smile curved Ian’s lips as he carefully caught one of my tears, his finger warm against my jaw, the touch tender and intimate. I watched, mesmerized, as he licked the tear from his finger.

His words, honeyed and persuasive, tugged at me as I battled for control. “This isn’t right,” I protested, trembling. “I shouldn’t be…”

“You’re safe here.” Ian said. “There’s no judgment. No one to tell you what you should or shouldn’t feel.” Ian’s face kept shifting, phasing from his into Father Hudson’s, the dreams blending together in a surreal way.

The words were both Ian’s and Father Hudson’s. Both men made me feel happy and safe, albeit in different ways.

“There’s no judgment here, Evelyn. No one to tell you what you should or shouldn’t feel.” The dreamlike image blurred the lines between their faces, their voices intermingling in a surreal echo.

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