Chapter 1 - Call Me Sassy
The therapist’s office smelled like lavender and lies.
Soléne sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, arms crossed so tight her shoulders ached. Everything in here was too soft-soft lighting, soft colors, soft music humming from a speaker hidden somewhere behind a plant. Soft like someone trying too hard to make her relax.
She wasn’t relaxing.
She didn’t even want to be here.
The therapist-Dr. Maren, according to her little plaque on her desk-clicked something on her laptop. The sound was too loud in the quiet room, too sharp, too nosy. Her eyes flicked up for a second, then back down at the screen.
“Hmm,” she murmured, tapping a key. “You booked your session under...Sassy?”
Here we go.
Soléne rolled her eyes so hard she felt it in her neck. “Yeah. That’s what people call me.”
Dr. Maren looked up fully this time, her expression calm in that practiced therapist way that made Soléne want to get up and walk out. “I like to address my clients by their real names,” she said gently. “Unless there’s a reason you prefer something else.”
There it was. The nosiness. The digging. The reason she hated the idea of therapy in the first place. People always wanted to know too much.
“I don’t like my name,” she muttered, shifting on the couch. “So call me Sassy.”
A beat of silence. Not judgmental. Not pushy.
Just... quiet.
Which somehow made it worse.
Dr. Maren nodded once, slow and thoughtful.
“Alright. Sassy it is.”
The way she said it-soft, accepting, like she wasn’t fooled for a second-made something uncomfortable twist in Soléne’s stomach. She looked away, focusing on a tiny thread sticking out of the rug. If she pulled it, the whole thing might unravel.
Fitting.
“So,” Dr. Maren said, folding her hands in her lap, “What brought you in today?”
Soléne scoffed. “A website and a stupid moment of weakness.”
The therapist didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. Didn’t react at all.
She just waited.
And that-more than anything-made Soléne feel exposed.
She wasn’t ready for this.
She wasn’t ready to talk
She wasn’t ready to be seen.
But she was here.
And the door was closed.
And the hour had already started.
So she took a breath she didn’t want to take and stared at the rug again.
“Look,” she said, voice low, “I’m only here because I needed... something. I don’t know what. But don’t expect me to spill my whole life today.”
“I don’t,” Dr. Maren said softly. “We start where you’re comfortable.”
Comfortable.
Right.
Soléne leaned back, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“Then I guess we’re starting with nothing.”
And the therapist nodded like that was perfectly fine.
