I stared at the paperwork doctor Riley's assistant gave me, skimming over the information in the file pertaining to my new client.
Declan Isaacs.
There's a lot to unpack here. He's been in therapy since the age of four. His mother abandoned him when he was just a baby, but came back and seems to have caused a lot of trouble for him and his family.
There's information about a custody battle, abuse allegations, and his journey to overcoming selective mutism. I kept reading further. My heart dropped. Apparently, Mr. Isaacs shot and killed his mother when he was just four years old.
It's going to take a lot of therapy to heal him from this kind of trauma. If that's even possible. Sometimes a client may never experience the freeing feeling of no longer being bound by their trauma, fears, and or problems.
Despite going through years of school in order to get where I am, I still feel so unprepared. I have several clients, but I have yet to deal with one who is this broken.
Luckily, when something is broken most of the time it can be fixed. I'm not saying my clients need fixing, but being in therapy will benefit them greatly in their journey to find healing.
I sighed, setting down the file filled to the brim with notes. After doctor Riley's passing due to old age, all of his clients, except the one I was given were transferred to doctor Newman.
I don't know why he didn't just give doctor Newman all of his clients, but I'm sure he has his reasons. I only wish he were still here so I could ask him.
Before his passing, I spent a bit of time under doctor Riley's wing. Not only am I the youngest in my department, but I'm also fairly new. I've only been working here for a few years now, doctor Riley having taught me nearly everything I know.
But even with his help, I still feel so unprepared. I've never had a client like Mr. Isaacs. I just hope I'll be able to do as good of a job taking care of him as doctor Riley had.
I looked up from the notepad on my lap, the sound of someone knocking on the door filling my ears and tearing me from my worried thoughts.
I cleared my throat and sat up straighter in my chair. "Come in."
The door opened and in walked my newest client- Declan Isaacs.
I was immediately drawn to the tattoos on his arms and neck. There was just so many that it was hard to focus on just one.
A pair of emerald green eyes flickered to me and my heart began to race as my body stiffened. "Welcome Mr. Isaacs," I greeted, forcing out a smile in an attempt to hide how nervous I am.
"Mr. Isaacs is my father," he said lowly. "Please, call me Declan." He took a seat in the dark brown leathered chair across from me, pushing his hips forward to sit manspread.
He was wearing a simple solid white tee shirt and a pair of dark jeans, which he somehow managed to make look oh so attractive. The shirt he was wearing clung to his body, revealing a toned torso underneath.
I swallowed, suddenly needing some water for my parched throat. His green eyes bore heavily into me, his eyes scaling my body slowly. "Aren't you a little young to be a Therapist?"
"Would you prefer someone older?"
"No. You'll do just fine," he murmured, his eyes falling to my legs.
Clearing my throat once more, I tugged at the hem of my black dress, attempting and failing to shield my legs from his hot gaze.
Retrieving the file off my desk, I stared down at my notes as a way to distract myself from the discomfort I feel under Declan's piercing gaze. "So, I hear you want to put an end to your speech therapy sessions. Is that true?"
He nodded. Writing this information down in my notepad, I moved on to my next question. "Are you still having nightmares?"
He nodded a second time. "Every night."
"Do you want to tell me a little bit about that?" I still haven't looked up, his eyes damn near burning a hole into my body.
"No."
"Okay. Well, are you still taking the medication doctor Riley prescribed you?"
"Yes."
"And how's that been going?"
"Fine."
I looked up, hearing him give me yet another vague answer. I sighed, sensing some discomfort on his end. "I know I'm not doctor Riley, but I really am here to help." He didn't respond. So I asked, "how can I make you feel more comfortable in my presence?"
Despite his relaxed position, he had an impenetrable brick wall up. His shoulders were tense, the muscles in his face tight. And he hasn't stopped bouncing his bent knee since he sat down.
As this was only the first session, I wasn't going to try and pressure him to open up to me. I wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible, so that when he's ready to open up to me- he will.
"Tell me your name," he finally spoke after a moment of lingering silence.
"Dr. Claire."
He shook his head. "Your first name."
"Aya."
"Aya," he repeated, licking and biting his lip. He hummed, seeming to enjoy the way my name tasted and sounded on his lips.
The alarm on my little white clock went off, indicating that our session had ended. Not much was said, but the time still seemed to pass us by pretty fast.
Declan stood to his feet, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He made his way over to the door, his hand on the knob as he paused to turn to me.
"See you next week, Aya." He smirked, his eyes skimming over me once more before he left my office.
I let out a heavy sigh, as if I had been holding my breath for the duration of our session. I fanned myself with my hand, feeling hot all over and needing to cool down. "God, I need a drink. Or two."