Chapter 9

Salvatore

I am in the car, holding tightly onto the necklace I took from her jewelry box earlier today. It's a delicate thing, but I need something of hers to remind me why I’m doing this. I breathe in deeply. I can do this. I need to do this.

I haven’t seen Dr. Martinez since I was twenty-one. Fourteen years. Fourteen years of pretending everything is fine, of ignoring my darkness.

The office is the same as I remember it. I push it open, and Dr. Martinez looks up from his desk, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. He’s aged, his face wrinkled and his hairline receding.

“Long time no see,” he says.

I nod, my jaw tight. “Yeah. It’s been a while.”

I sit down, my back straight, every muscle in my body tense. I look at Dr. Martinez, trying to find the words. How do I explain why I’m here?

“You stopped coming when you were twenty-one,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “What changed?”

“I thought I could handle it,” I say, my voice low. “Thought I could bury it all.”

“And now?”

I look down at the necklace in my hand. It’s her. “Now, I realize I was wrong.”

He nods, waiting. Always waiting. He’s good at that, at letting the silence pull the truth out of me.

“There’s someone,” I say. “Someone who’s worth coming back here for.”

“Tell me about that someone.”

“My wife. She... she’s different. And I’ve been failing her. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to...” I stop.

“To what?” he prompts gently.

“To love her,” I admit.

Dr. Martinez is a trusted man. He knows the stakes, what would happen if any of this information were released to the public. I hold the power, and Dr. Martinez knows that.

“Do you want this session recorded, like we used to do?” he asks, pulling out the recorder.

I open my mouth to disagree, but then I pause. Maybe one day, Serena would want to listen to them. Maybe it would help her understand. I nod slowly.

“Yeah, record it.”

He clicks the recorder on, placing it between us on the table. The hum of the recording starting reminds me of all my previous sessions here.

“Do you love her, Salvatore?” Dr. Martinez probes.

“I don’t know what I feel towards her. It’s... confusing.”

“Tell me about these feelings,” he says gently. “Describe them to me.”

I try to find the right words. “I want her happy. I want her smiles. I don’t want her indifference, I want her to rely on me, to crave me. I feel empty when she's not with me. And when she is, it’s like I can breathe again. It drives me crazy knowing I’ve caused her so much pain.”

Dr. Martinez nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “Salvatore, those are the feelings of someone who loves. You may not know how to express it, but you’re describing love.”

I look away, my jaw tight. “I don’t like it. It feels like chaos. Like I’m losing control.”

“Love can be chaotic,” he says softly. “But it’s clear that you care deeply for her. That’s the foundation. The rest, we can work on.”

The realization hits me like a freight train. I love her. All those times I was at her feet, I convinced myself it was an act, part of the plan. But it wasn’t. My chest tightens, my vision blurs. It’s like my lungs are filled with cement.

I grip the handles of the chair, trying to ground myself, but it’s no use. The room starts to spin, and I feel myself slipping. I can feel her all over me. My mother, climbing on top of me, her hands everywhere. “I love you so much, Salvatore. Don’t you love me back? Don’t you fucking love me?”

Her cold hands would wrap around my dick. She would stroke and stroke and stroke. My body tightens. I hated it. She would giggle over me, compare my body to my father’s. Tell me that I’m much better, bigger. I was only fucking eleven.

The images of her naked haunt me, it feels like I’m going to throw up. She would insert me inside her, moaning like crazy. I can still hear her sounds, they grate my ears. Fuck, I’m going to puke.

I clench the chair’s handles harder. With a loud crack, the handles break under the pressure, splintering in my grasp.

“Salvatore,” Dr. Martinez’s voice cuts through the fog, pulling me back. “Breathe. Focus on your breathing.”

I force myself to take deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly, the room stops spinning. The memories recede, and my chest releases.

I look down at the broken chair handles, shards of wood scattered on the floor. My hands are shaking. This is why I stopped fucking coming here.

“I can’t love her,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Not like this.”

“Salvatore, what your mother did wasn’t love. It was vile. But what you feel for Serena, it’s different. It’s not wrong.”

I shake my head, the struggle evident in my voice. “But I’m obsessed with her. Utterly fixated. All I can think about is her. Every moment of the day, she’s there, consuming me. I can’t function with her indifferent to me. It’s like she’s taken over every part of me, and I don’t know how to handle it. I've been lying to myself for so long, pretending that she's nothing to me.”

Dr. Martinez’s gaze intensifies, almost daring me to face the truth. “Salvatore, obsession and love are two sides of the same coin.”

“I can’t control it, can’t control myself around her. I want to possess her, to be the only man in the world she looks at. I’m afraid... I’m afraid I’m becoming my mother,” I rasp.

Dr. Martinez smirks, happy at what I’m admitting to myself. “You’re not your mother, Salvatore. You will never become your mother.”

“But what I feel for her is dark...,” I mutter, my grip tightening on the broken chair handles. “I’m terrified of what it might do to her, to us.”

“Go on,” he encourages.

"I want to cage her. Like a bird, so she can only sing for me. I want to bend her until she fits perfectly into me. The thought of anyone else having a piece of her... it makes my blood boil. I want her all to myself. Is that so wrong?"

Dr. Martinez’s eyes gleam with a hint of approval. “Obsession can be a powerful tool, Salvatore. Let it fuel your actions. Make her see your love, no matter how dark it feels.”

His words resonate. Dr. Martinez isn’t your typical therapist. He doesn’t try to tame my obsession; instead, he relishes in it. He’s tainted, just like the rest of us. But I would be damned if I didn’t let him convince me that there’s a way to use this darkness, to make Serena mine in every sense without shattering her completely.

"Schedule me in for next week," I tell him.

With a knowing glint in his eyes, he nods. "Same time, Salvatore. We'll continue this then.”