The Savior’s Trap

Chapter Four – The Root

The circle settled into its rhythm, the shuffle of chairs quieting as Elena folded her hands on her lap. The air was thick with expectation, heavier than the carafe of water in the middle of the room. Her clipboard rested on her knees, pen poised, though she knew most of the words tonight would sink deeper into memory than into paper.

“I’d like us to go a little deeper tonight,” she began, her voice steady, calm. “We’ve talked about what brought you here—behaviors, choices, patterns. But I want you to think about the root. Where does it come from? What do you believe is at the heart of your struggle?”

A silence spread across the circle. Most of them avoided her eyes. Then Chloe—the shy one with nervous fingers—took a shaky breath and spoke.

“My mother…” She hesitated, twisting the edge of her sleeve until the fabric nearly tore. “She wasn’t really a mother. She was like a nun. Always praying, always judging. She acted like s*x was dirty, shameful, something only bad women did. I grew up thinking even kissing was a sin. But when I finally… crossed the line, I couldn’t stop. It was like I had to drown myself in it just to prove I wasn’t her.”

Her voice wavered, and her eyes darted to the floor.

Elena’s chest tightened. She had heard stories like this before—strict moral purity flipping into reckless rebellion—but it always landed heavy. Children learn more from silence than from words. A home with no language for desire leaves them defenseless against it.

“Thank you, Chloe,” she said softly. “That was brave.” She made a note on her clipboard, though her thoughts lingered on the young woman’s flushed face.

Peter, the restless man with tapping feet, leaned forward next. “For me it was the opposite. I didn’t have it. Not for years. I was invisible. Girls looked through me like I didn’t exist. And then, when it finally happened… I couldn’t stop. It felt like I had to make up for all the time I’d lost. Like the world owed me, and I had to collect.”

He gave a sharp laugh, but it was bitter, hollow. “Now I don’t even know if I want it half the time. I just can’t stop chasing. It’s like I’m stuck proving something I don’t even believe anymore.”

A few heads nodded—recognition, shame, relief.

Elena leaned slightly forward. “Deprivation and excess are often connected,” she said. “Both are about hunger. One starves you, the other drowns you, but either way, you’re not in control of your own need. That’s why we’re here—to learn control, not through denial, but through understanding.”

Jessica, bold as always, smirked and spoke without hesitation. “I don’t think I have a root. I like what I like. I use what I want. I don’t think there’s a tragedy in my past to blame. Maybe I was just born this way. Why should I apologize for it?”

The room went still, and Elena felt all eyes turn to her.

“There is always a root,” she said carefully, but firmly. “We are not born broken. Something—our families, our childhood, our fears, sometimes even our culture—shapes us. Naming that root doesn’t mean you’re excused. But it gives you the chance to understand yourself instead of living in the dark.”

For a heartbeat, Jessica’s smirk faltered. Then it returned, sharper, as if daring Elena to keep pushing.

Before she could, Vincent’s voice cut through the quiet.

“But tell me, Elena…” His tone was smooth, unhurried, and far too familiar. “Can’t someone just love s*x? Isn’t that possible?”

The way he said her name was like velvet over glass. Elena felt her pulse catch in her throat. She blinked once, twice, forcing her mind to steady. It was just a question, she told herself. Just another provocation from a patient. Yet something in his delivery—too casual, too direct—made it feel as though he was speaking only to her, and not to the group at all.

For a fraction of a second, she had no answer. The silence stretched, and she felt her authority slipping. They’re all waiting. You can’t freeze.

At last, she drew a controlled breath. “Loving s*x is not a problem,” she said. “It’s natural. Intimacy is part of being human. But love for s*x is different from being consumed by it. When it becomes the only way to feel alive, when it disrupts your life, your relationships, your work—then it stops being love. It becomes dependency.”

Vincent leaned back in his chair, his arm draped lazily over the backrest. The faintest smile tugged at his lips. He didn’t challenge her, didn’t argue. He simply let the silence stretch as though her answer amused him.

“Interesting,” he murmured finally.

The smirk grew. It wasn’t overt, but it was enough to make her breath falter. Elena felt an unwelcome heat crawl into her chest. She turned her eyes to the clipboard, scribbling a meaningless line just to avoid looking at him.

But she didn’t need to look. She already knew—three of the women were staring at him again. Chloe’s nervous awe, Jessica’s bold hunger, Holly’s fragile fascination. The air seemed charged, as though the circle had tilted around him.

Elena straightened her back. “Let’s remember,” she said evenly, though her voice carried more steel than before, “this space is for honesty, not provocation. Questions are welcome. Testing boundaries is not.”

Her eyes flicked to him for just a second. His smirk widened, as though he had gotten exactly what he wanted.

He’s not just here to talk, she realized, a chill threading through her stomach. He’s here to see what happens when he pushes.

The rest of the session blurred. She guided the group through more questions, nodding, encouraging, correcting when necessary. Outwardly, she was the same professional she always was. Inside, her focus frayed every time she felt his eyes on her. He wasn’t loud, he wasn’t disruptive, but he didn’t need to be. His presence was enough.

When it was finally time to end, Elena felt the weight of exhaustion settle into her shoulders. She closed the session with practiced words: “Thank you all for your honesty tonight. We’ll continue next time, and I encourage you to reflect on what we discussed. Remember—respect, confidentiality, and boundaries. They protect you more than you realize.”

Her gaze landed briefly on Vincent as she spoke the last word. He was watching her, steady, his expression unreadable but his smile still there.

One by one, the others left. Chloe rushed out, clutching her bag. Peter tapped his foot all the way to the door. Jessica lingered long enough to throw Vincent another look. Holly gave a small, nervous smile before slipping away.

Vincent stood last. He rose slowly, straightened his shirt, and looked at Elena longer than necessary. Then, with no farewell, he walked out.

The room emptied, leaving her alone with the untouched tissues and the still-full carafe of water. Elena let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her hands trembled faintly as she laid her pen down.

She told herself it was just fatigue. Just another difficult group. But the truth burned hotter in her chest.

Vincent’s question still echoed inside her, twisting itself into something dangerous:

What if he’s right? What if it really is possible to just love s*x?

And worse—why did the way he smiled when he asked it make her want to believe him?