Under the surface
1077 Words
Noah stood by the window of his penthouse, the city lights casting across the room. The message from the unknown number echoed in his mind.
“You’re not ready for what’s coming next.” He had shown it to Clara earlier that day.
“It’s just paparazzi trying to mess with you,” she had said, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “They’ll do anything for a reaction.”
But Noah wasn’t convinced. There was something unsettling about the message, something that felt personal.
The next afternoon, Noah found himself back at Roy Miller’s office. The waiting room was quiet, the soft hum of the distant air conditioner the only sound in the room.
He glanced at the clock. It was 2:55 PM, he was five minutes early.
Roy opened the door to his office and offered a warm smile. “Noah, come in.”
Noah stepped inside, taking a seat on the familiar leather armchair. The room was just as he remembered, minimalist, calming, with a faint scent of lavender in the air.
Roy sat across from him with his notebook in hand. “How have you been since our last session?”
Noah hesitated. “I received a message. It was anonymous. He said, "I wasn’t ready for what’s coming next.”
Roy’s brow furrowed slightly. “How did that make you feel?”
“Uneasy,” Noah admitted. “Like someone’s watching me.”
Roy nodded. “It’s understandable to feel that way. Especially given your public profile.”
They delved into the topic, discussing Noah’s fears, his past experiences with the media and the pressures of fame. Roy’s questions were gentle, probing, allowing Noah to open up at his own pace.
Roy leaned back, setting his pen aside. “You’ve done a lot of talking these past few sessions… about the industry, your career, Clara, even your insomnia.” He paused. “But we’ve never really touched on you.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “I thought all of that was about me.”
“It is,” Roy said patiently. “But not the "real" you. "Not the one behind the career and headlines.” He gave a light smile. “I’m talking about the version of you that existed before the cameras.”
Noah’s jaw tightened slightly. “What difference does it make?”
“It makes all the difference,” Roy replied, his tone calm but firm. Our fears don’t come from what we do now. They come from what we’ve lived through.”
Noah leaned back, resting his head against the chair. “So what? You want me to dig into childhood trauma now?”
“I want to understand what shaped you,” Roy said gently. “Only if you’re ready.”
There was a long pause. Noah’s gaze drifted towards the window, to the streaks of orange and purple sky melting into the horizon. “You’re assuming there’s something dramatic in my past. Maybe there isn’t.”
Roy studied him. “I’m not assuming anything. But every time I ask about fear, you redirect. "It’s like there’s a door you don’t want me to open.”
Noah gave a dry chuckle. “You really think it’s that deep?”
“I think… you’re afraid of being seen,” Roy said softly. “And not in the way the cameras see you.”
Noah’s fingers tapped once against the arm of the chair. Then he stopped. “You know what it’s like to have people expect perfection from you?” he asked. “To wake up every morning knowing you’re not allowed to slip?”
“I imagine it’s exhausting,” Roy replied. “And lonely.”
A flash of something, pain, maybe crossed Noah’s face before it disappeared behind the mask again.
“People don’t want the truth,” Noah said. They want the image. The brand. If you break that, you become a liability.”
Roy tilted his head. “Did someone teach you that? Or did you learn it the hard way?”
Noah’s lips pressed into a line. “You ask too many questions.”
“It’s my job.”
Another silence stretched between them. Noah’s walls were still up, but Roy could sense the cracks forming. The shift in his tone. The way he avoided eye contact whenever the subject came too close to something raw.
“Okay,” Roy said, easing the tension. “Let’s try it differently." What’s the one thing that keeps you up at night? Not the interviews or stress… but the *fear*.”
Noah didn’t answer at first. His jaw moved slightly as he considered the question, or maybe wrestled with how not to answer it at all.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Losing control.”
Roy didn’t write it down. He didn’t need to.
“Control over what?”
“Myself,” Noah said. My life. My image. Everything.”
“That’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”
“It’s safer that way.”
Roy nodded slowly. “You think people are dangerous?”
Noah’s eyes flicked at him. “No. I think trusting people is dangerous.”
“And have you always felt that way?”
As the session progressed, Noah found himself observing Roy more closely. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the calm sound of his voice, the subtle strength in his posture. There was something grounding about him, something that made Noah feel seen.
A thought flickered in Noah’s mind. It was an image of Roy leaning in closer, their faces inches apart. He shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the thought.
“Is everything alright?” Roy asked, noticing the movement.
“Yeah,” Noah replied quickly. “Just… lost in thought.”
Roy offered a reassuring smile. “That’s okay, this is a space for thoughts.”
Noah nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. He was aware of a growing tension, a pull towards Roy that went beyond the professional. It was confusing, unexpected.
As the session came to an end, Roy stood. “Same time next week?”
Noah hesitated. “Yeah. That works.”
Roy walked him to the door. “Take care, Noah.”
Noah stepped out into the hallway, the door closing softly behind him. He leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.
His mind raced with questions. Was he falling for the doctor?
- Writer
