In the quiet tension of the room, the clock ticked steadily and softly.
Opposite Lorna Jenkins, Michael Hudson sat slouched in the old leather chair, his face unreadable and his arms folded tightly across his chest. His body language made it obvious that he had reluctantly accepted this session.
Untouchable, Lorna sat on the edge of her seat with her notepad on her lap and her legs crossed.
"Today, no clipboard?" Dryly, Michael asked.
Her lips slightly curled as she answered, "I find it puts people on edge." Furthermore, you are not a case file in my eyes. You are a human being.
Michael stared at her for a long time. "Usually, therapists don't try to flatter their patients."
"I'm not trying to flatter you." "I'm watching," she said calmly.
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly at that. Not nothing, but not a smile.
She folded her hands neatly and leaned back. Tell me what caused the most pain. The fact that you didn't anticipate it, or the betrayal?
Michael let out a sharp sigh but remained silent.
Finally, he remarked, "That's a loaded question."
"That's the truth, too." She spoke in a soft yet firm tone. "Michael, you're not the first man to be duped. However, this is more than just heartbreak—your retreat, your silence. You're embarrassed. As if your life's foundation were a fake one.
His eyes grew stony. "Do these lines come naturally to you, or do you practice them before sessions?"
Lorna did not recoil. "I read people." Additionally, you're making a concerted effort to be unreadable.
A tense silence fell between them. The way his gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a second longer than was necessary was palpable to her. The faint glimmer of interest behind his protective exterior.
Michael's voice trailed off, now softer. "You sound like someone who has experienced it."
Before she recovered, Lorna's breathing became a little labored. "Grief understands grief."
"And have you recovered?"
"That's not my purpose here," she shot back.
Michael grinned. "All right. This concerns me."
"You're evading."
"And you don't respond."
Their gazes met. They exchanged an unspoken message. A change. Not with warmth, but with a spark neither of them had anticipated, the air changed.
At last, Lorna averted her gaze. "I am not the subject of this conversation."
Michael spoke in a hushed, more contemplative tone now. "Perhaps it should be."
Abruptly, she got up and paced in the direction of the window. Raindrops dotted the glass, and a chilly grey mist enveloped the outside world.
"When two broken people try to fix each other, they usually create more cracks than they heal," she said cautiously.
Quietly, he examined her. "Who said I was attempting to mend you?"
The query persisted.
They had a genuine chemistry that wasn't yet romantic. Beneath the sarcasm, the silences, and the glimmer of understanding between people, it hummed. Lorna had experience with emotional transference and projection with patients. However, this... felt different. Sharper. more hazardous.
She faced him once more in a businesslike tone. "Today, we'll stop here."
Michael got up too and approached her slowly. "Next week at the same time?"
She gave a nod. "If you're open to it."
He laughed aridly. "I have never been willing before."
He hesitated as he passed her on his way to the door. "Lorna Jenkins, you're not what I expected."
She didn't smile. She spoke steadily, though. "Mr. Hudson, you're not either."