Chapter 4: Compromise
1141 Words
ASHER
Maeve Whitman is standing in my office, in my world where I am in control and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how someone so tiny can make me feel so... cornered.
“Can I have a seat?” She asks, her voice careful
“Sure.”
She takes her seat while glancing at Greg, who is sitting quietly on the leather couch in the corner, as if he is waiting to see how this plays out.
“He is my PA,” I tell her. “He stays.”
She turns to me with that calm, collected demeanor that’s starting to get under my skin, not fidgeting or hesitating. Her poise makes me feel like a caged animal, pacing while she holds the key.
“Of, course.”
I fold my arms, leaning back against my desk. “You have got five minutes, Dr. Whitman. Use them wisely.”
She doesn’t seem fazed. “Thank you again, for seeing me on such short notice,” she begins, her voice steady but with a hint of warmth. “I felt bad about how things ended in my office, and I wanted to talk to you.”
I raise an eyebrow, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, you felt bad? And here I thought therapists were supposed to have thicker skin.”
A ghost of a smile touches her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I assure you, Mr. Kingston, my skin is plenty thick. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
Of course, it is.
Her gaze flickers to Greg for the briefest moment before locking back on me.
“I’m here because I think I can help you. You need someone to help you untangle whatever is happening, and whether you like it or not, I’m your best shot.”
I can’t help but let out a laugh- a short, bitter sound that fills the room. “You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”
Her calm façade doesn’t waver. “I think highly of my work, Mr. Kingston. And right now, my work is trying to make sure you don’t self-destruct.”
Greg clears his throat, but I ignore him. My attention is locked on her now. “Why?” I ask, stepping closer. “Why do you care? Are you this invested in all your clients, or am I just a pet project to you?”
Her expression hardens, just a fraction.
“You are not a project, Mr. Kingston. You.aee someone who clearly needs help, and like I said, I take my job seriously. If you were expecting me to walk away just because you are difficult, I am afraid you will be disappointed.”
Difficult? That stings more than it should.
I narrow my eyes, studying her. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. If anything, she leans into the tension, like she is used to staring contests with stubborn men.
And considering her job title, she probably is
“You really don’t give up, do you?” I mutter.
She tilts her head slightly, her tone softening just enough to disarm me. “Why would I? If you were drowning, would you want someone to let go just because you fought them off?”
My jaw tightens. “I’m not drowning.”
“Not yet,” she says, her voice quiet but firm.
The words hit harder than I want to admit. I glance at Greg, who’s now sitting forward, his elbows resting on his knees, watching us like this is some kind of tennis match.
He doesn’t say anything, but his expression speaks volumes.
“She has got a point, Sir,” he says finally, his tone careful. “You can’t keep ignoring this.”
I glare at him. “I don’t need a lecture, Greg.”
“No, you need help,” Maeve interjects, her voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. “And that is not an insult, Mr. Kingston. It is reality. You told me yourself that the blackouts and memory gaps are getting worse. How long are you going to pretend they are not a problem?”
I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t realize how much of a mess this is?”
“Then let me help you,” she says simply.
Her calmness is maddening. It’s like she knows exactly how to push and pull without breaking a sweat.
“You don’t get it,” I snap. “You don’t know what it is like to lose time, to wake up somewhere and not remember how you got there.”
Her expression softens slightly, but there’s still steel behind her eyes. “No, I don’t. But I know what it is like to see someone spiral because they refused to ask for help.”
Greg sighs, standing up and crossing the room to stand beside me. “Sir, think about it. You said it yourself- this is getting worse. Do you really want to wait until it costs you everything?”
“It’s already cost me,” I mutter, my voice low.
I glance at Maeve again, her calm gaze unwavering. “And what if you can’t fix me? What if this is just... who I am now?”
“It is not,” she says firmly. “You are not broken, Mr. Kingston. You are just... lost. And that’s something we can work through.”
Greg places a hand on my shoulder, a rare gesture of support. “She’s right, sir. You have got nothing to lose by trying. But if you keep ignoring this, you’re going to lose a hell of a lot more.”
The room falls silent, the weight of their words pressing down on me. I hate this- feeling cornered, feeling like I’m out of options. But they’re not wrong.
“Fine,” I say finally, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “I’ll do it. I’ll come back for the sessions.”
Her shoulders relax, but she doesn’t look smug or victorious. Just... calm.
How annoying
“Thank you, Mr. Kingston. I can assure you, you are making the right choice.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I add quickly, holding up a hand. “I have one condition.”
Her brows lift slightly. “What condition?”
I get to my feet, meeting her gaze head-on. “The sessions will be held in the privacy and safety of my home. Take it or leave it.”
Her lips part, as if she’s about to respond, but she hesitates. Just for a second.
And in that second, I feel like I’ve regained a sliver of control.
“I can work with that.”
- Writer
