Page 13 of Body and Soul

Eli gave a tired smile in return, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks, Shepherd.”

I could feel the shift happening, the slow unraveling of the walls he’d built around himself. This wouldn’t happen overnight, but the process had started. A few more carefully placed conversations like this, and he would trust me completely. Then, he would give me what I needed—answers about the cult. And maybe more than that.

But for now, I would let him think he was in control. After all, trust was the foundation of every manipulation.

I leaned back in my chair, allowing a thoughtful silence to hang between us for a moment. Eli's eyes were still wary, but there was a flicker of curiosity there too, a hesitant openness. I knew I needed to tread carefully, to offer just enough vulnerability to draw him in without revealing too much.

“You know,” I began, my tone measured and reflective, “I understand what it's like to feel unsafe. To carry scars that no one else can see.”

Eli's gaze sharpened, his body stilling. “You do?”

I nodded slowly, as if the admission pained me. “When I was a child, my family got involved with a cult.” I paused, letting out a heavy sigh. “They believed in harsh discipline, in breakingthe will of children to make them obedient. I experienced things there that no child should ever have to endure.”

Eli leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. “What kind of things?”

I shook my head, looking away as if overcome by dark memories. “Deprivation. Isolation. Physical punishment. They convinced my parents it was necessary for our spiritual growth. Of course, it was really about control. Manipulation. Stripping away our sense of self.”

The story I was feeding him was only half true, but he didn’t need the truth. This wasn’t about truth. It was about getting the information I needed from him, one way or another, and he’d be far more likely to give me what I wanted if he felt we had a deeper connection.

Eli swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around his coffee mug. “How...how did you get out?”

I met Eli's gaze, letting some of the old pain show in my eyes. “It wasn't easy. The cult had their hooks in my whole family. Especially my sister.”

I paused, my jaw clenching at the memory. “When I started to question things, to rebel in my own small ways, they came down on me hard. More discipline. More brainwashing. They tried to break me.”

Eli was watching me intently now, his own posture tense. “But they didn't.”

“No,” I agreed quietly. “They didn't. But it took years for me to find the strength to leave. To break free of their control, both physically and mentally. And even then, I couldn't save my sister. She was too far gone.”

Eli's eyes flickered with something like recognition, and I knew I had struck a chord. He understood that sense of helplessness, of watching someone you love slip away into the grip of manipulation.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “That you had to go through that. That your sister did.”

I nodded in acknowledgment, letting the moment hang between us, heavy with shared pain. “It's why I became a psychiatrist, you know. I never want anyone to feel as alone and powerless as I did back then.”

Eli's gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers tightening around the coffee mug. “I get that,” he murmured. “Wanting to help others who've been through hell. To make some kind of sense out of the senseless shit you experienced.”

I leaned forward slightly, my voice low and earnest. “Is that why you want to be a tattoo artist? To help others reclaim their bodies, their stories?”

Eli's head jerked up, surprise flickering across his face before he quickly shuttered his expression. “I... I don't know. Maybe. I never thought about it like that.”

“Trauma has a way of shaping us,” I said gently. “Even when we don't realize it. The choices we make, the paths we take, are often a response to the pain we carry. An attempt to regain some control.”

Eli swallowed hard, his gaze skittering away from mine. “Yeah. I guess so.”

I let the silence stretch between us for a moment, giving him space to process. Then, quietly: “Eli. Look at me.”

He hesitated, but after a beat, he dragged his eyes back to mine. The wariness was still there, but it was now edged with a fragile sort of curiosity. A tentative hope.

I held his gaze steadily. “You're not alone anymore. I know we don't know each other well yet, but I want you to know that I’m here to support you in any way you need.”

Eli's eyes searched mine, uncertainty warring with a fragile glimmer of hope. “I... I appreciate that, Shepherd. But I'm notsure what you think you can do for me. My problems aren't exactly the kind that can be fixed with a few therapy sessions.”

I leaned back slightly, giving him space while still holding his gaze. “I'm not offering to fix you, Eli. I don't think you're broken. What I'm offering is understanding. Support. A safe place to unpack some of what you've been through, without fear of judgment.”

He looked away, fingers restlessly tracing the tattoos on his forearms. “And what do you get out of it? People don't offer something for nothing.”

Smart kid. Wary, but perceptive. I let a small, rueful smile touch my lips. “You're right. I do have an ulterior motive.” I paused, letting the admission hang in the air between us. “The truth is, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we met at the club. There's something about you, Eli. Something that draws me in.”

---