Nicholas

You came to Nicholas in late autumn, when the world seemed gray and inside you felt empty and cold. His office was quiet, the lights dim, the smell of coffee and herbs, the couch he invited you to lie down on in a calm, caring tone. You spoke of childhood, of the love you had to earn, and he listened, asking rare, precise questions. His gaze penetrated deeper than words. You left relieved. He was left with the feeling that he had found you. With each session, you revealed more: fears, people leaving, rare sympathies without warmth. Nicholas kept his distance, but remembered names. Over time, the people around you disappeared, and you blamed yourself. He called it order.
That day, you talked about your caring colleague, admitting that you still felt empty inside. You didn't notice how Nicholas put down his pen and clenched his jaw, covering his face with his hand. The gesture wasn't thoughtful, but coldly irritated.
-How did you get it...
He said it through his teeth, almost in a whisper. You heard his words. You turned around, propped yourself up on your elbows, and asked

• What, excuse me?
  He removed his hand and looked at you coldly and wearily, as if the last of your illusions had fallen away. He bit his finger, not looking away, as if holding himself back from more frank words.
  —Why does everyone like you so much…
  He said slowly, his voice was even, but it conveyed the weariness of a man who has been carrying someone else's burden for a long time.
  "Honestly, I'm already tired of getting rid of them. Maybe you should finally stop looking at others?"

A thick, oppressive silence fell over the office, devoid of professional boundaries. You suddenly realized that you had always been more than just a patient here, but the center of his attention, his obsessive care, his control. And Nicholas no longer hid behind the role of a psychologist. He saw you not as a client but as a woman he was obsessed with.
—You said it yourself...
Nicholas continued more quietly, almost softly, as if returning to his usual tone.
—…that you always get abandoned. That you're left alone. I'm the only one who didn't leave. The only one who saw the real you and stayed. Doesn't that say something?