TOBI
The office smells like old books and coffee, a quiet kind of suffocation. The leather chair beneath me is too comfortable, too inviting, like it's trying to trick me into letting my guard down.
Dr. Johnson sits across from me, her expression unreadable behind her thin-rimmed glasses.
She's been my therapist for years, long enough to know when I'm lying. But I don't lie to her—
not really.
I just don't tell her everything.
I adjust my cufflinks, letting the silence settle.
She's waiting for me to speak first, but I don't.
"You're thinking," she says.
I exhale through my nose, a slow smirk tugging at my lips. "Always."
She doesn't look amused. "And yet, something about this thought is different."
My smirk deepens. I do enjoy how well she reads me. It's a rare quality.
I lean back in my chair, drumming my fingers lightly against the armrest. "I saw her again."
She doesn't rush me. She never does. She knows I'll talk—eventually.
"She was... different." I continue, though the word feels wrong the second it leaves my mouth.
"No. Not different. More refined. More controlled." | let out a low chuckle. "She looked me dead in the eye and lied. Flawlessly."
The words should hold frustration, but they don't.
They hold something else entirely.
Satisfaction.
Dr. Johnson tilts her head slightly. "And how did that make you feel?"
I let out a dry chuckle. "What? You want me to say I was heartbroken? That I'm devastated?"
I shake my head. "No. I expected it. It was.…impressive and entertaining."
She raises an eyebrow. "Entertaining?"
The memory flickers behind my eyes—her smirk, her voice laced with venom, the way she played the game so seamlessly.
"She pretended not to know me at first," I say, my voice almost conversational. "Played her part well. Cold. Detached" I pause, exhaling through my nose. "But I knew better."
Dr. Johnson tilts her head slightly. "And what makes you so sure?"
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head.
"Because I know her. Because I watched her fight not to react when I said her name." I shift, resting my ankle over my knee. remembering the way she smiled -taunting, deliberate. "She didn't flinch. Didn't waver."
exhale, tapping my index finger against my knee.
"She asked me a question. 'And if I am this Maya you speak of... what then?'"
Dr. Johnson's brows lift slightly. "And what did you tell her?"
I smirk. "That she owed me a dance."
She doesn't react. She rarely does, but I catch the faintest twitch of her lips.
"And she agreed?"
I nod once. "Of course."
There's a pause, then—"What does that mean to
you?"
My jaw clenches slightly. The answer is obvious.
"She's engaging," I say. "She may have denied it, but she didn't walk away." My voice dips lower.
"She chose to play the game."
Dr. Johnson watches me carefully. "And if she hadn't?"
My smirk doesn't waver. "She would have."
She exhales, setting her notebook aside. That's never a good sign. It means she's shifting the conversation to something heavier.
"Tobi," she says, her voice measured, "why her?"
I lean forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees. "You already know why."
"Say it."
I don't answer immediately.
Because the truth isn't simple. It isn't clean.
It's all-consuming.
I run my tongue along my teeth, exhaling slowly.
"Because she's Maya."
She waits, letting the weight of my own words settle.
"Tobi," she says, her voice measured, "do you think your fixation on her is... healthy?"
I hum low in my throat. "Fixation is a strong word."
"It's the correct word."
I lean forward slightly, elbows resting on my knees, my gaze locking onto hers. "I don't expect you to understand," I say. "This isn't about obsession. It's not about control." I exhale slowly, tilting my head. "It's about inevitability."
Dr. Johnson doesn't break eye contact. "And what happens when inevitability leads to destruction?"
I smile, slowly. "Then so be it."
Dr. Johnson studies me. Not in judgment, not in shock—
just understanding. And maybe that's why I still come here, why I haven't abandoned this charade of normalcy.
Because she sees me.
And she knows that this isn't just about control.
It's about inevitability.
She sighs, rubbing her temple. "Tobi, this road you're walking-"
"I've already chosen my path," I cut in, standing.
The session is over. There's nothing left to discuss.
She watches me for a beat, then nods. "Very well."
I pause at the door, gripping the handle, then let out a quiet chuckle.
"She called me pest, you know," I murmur, glancing over my shoulder.
Dr. Johnson lifts a brow. "And you liked that?"
I hum, considering. "Maybe."
Her voice had been sharp, full of irritation, but beneath it—
beneath all the steel and venom—
I caught it.
The flicker of recognition.
"But that wasn't my favorite part," I admit, fingers tightening around the doorknob.
Dr. Johnson waits, silent.
I tilt my head slightly, my smirk deepening. "She said she'd shoot me."
She had spat the words out between clenched teeth, her composure cracking just enough to show me the fire beneath.
I'll put a bullet through your skull
I'd believed her.
I still do.
And yet...
The thought doesn't deter me.
It excites me.
Dr. Johnson exhales slowly. "And that doesn't concern you?"
I chuckle. "It should."
I push open the door, stepping into the hallway, but I don't leave before throwing one last glance
over my shoulder.
"The thing about pests, Doctor?" I murmur.
"They always come back."