I enter the building.
Haley is already waving at me like I am a person she expects to see. This feels suspicious.
“Did you get a chance to try that noodle place?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “I got the exact same thing you did.”
She beams. “Well? Did you like it?”
“Yes. As did my cat.”
Haley blinks. “Your cat?”
“Yes,” I say again. “I accidentally dropped a noodle on the floor and he ate it.”
She laughs. Loudly. With joy. This seems excessive.
“That’s adorable,” she says.
“It was unintentional,” I clarify.
She shakes her head, still smiling. “You’re funny, Jennifer.”
I make a note to investigate this later.
I walk past her toward my office, mentally preparing for the day. I review the book in my head. Chapter five.
Eye Contact
I hate it already.
Eye contact is too intimate. It feels like staring directly into someone’s soul without permission. Or like being stared at by a predator. Or both.
The book claims eye contact shows confidence, trust, and engagement. It does not mention that it also feels like staring into the sun but emotionally.
I sit down in my chair and open to the page anyway. There is a diagram. Two people staring at each other. Both smiling. Neither uncomfortable. This is obviously fiction.
The client arrives on time. A man. Mid-forties. Very intense eyes. He sits down and immediately locks eye contact with me like we are about to duel.
Oh no.
I try to look back. I do. I really try.
Three seconds in, my brain starts screaming.
Five seconds in, I stop processing words.
Seven seconds in, I forget how faces work.
He’s talking. About his job. About stress. About expectations. His eyes do not blink.
I glance down at my notebook.
He stops speaking.
“…Is something wrong?” he asks.
“No,” I say quickly, snapping my eyes back up.
Mistake.
Too much eye contact.
My vision sharpens unnaturally.
This is what prey must feel just before being eaten.
I am suddenly aware of everything about his face. The pores. The eyelashes. The exact moisture level of his eyeballs. This is too much. No human needs this much detail about another human.
Uhh… uhh… quick. Pretend to write notes.
I drop my gaze and fumble for a pen.
Where is my pen.
Why do I never know where my pen is.
The man keeps talking. Something about deadlines. Expectations. Corporate culture. His voice becomes background noise, like a podcast I didn’t choose.
My hand pats the desk. Too fast. Too frantic.
Please. I need a pen. Any pen. I don't care if it's sparkly and says some encouraging bullshit on the side.
He pauses mid-rant.
“…Do you need help looking for something?” he asks.
“No,” I say immediately.
That was too fast.
Well. What do you know.
A glittery pen.
It is pink. It is obnoxious. It clicks when pressed and has an encouraging quote printed on the side.
You’ve got this!
Statistically inaccurate, but comforting.
click93Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqFVcdiYPXD
click
This makes me happy for some reason.
Okay. Jennifer. Focus.
This will be painful.
I look up.
Directly at him.
In the eyes.
For one slow, agonizing second.
“Continue,” I say.
I immediately look back down at the notepad and begin writing absolute nonsense. Lines. Circles. The vague impression of words. If anyone ever audits these notes, I will be arrested.
He resumes talking. His voice steadies.
I nod occasionally without looking up. Once every few seconds. Like a bird.
I risk another glance. Just a fraction of a second. Peripheral vision only.
I can do this.
My heart is racing. My hands are slightly sweaty. My soul has left my body and is waiting in the hallway.
“So yeah,” he finishes, exhaling. “That’s… pretty much it.”
I stop clicking the pen.
“Thank you,” I say, still staring at the paper.
There is silence.
“…You’re a really good listener,” he says suddenly.
I freeze.
“That’s funny,” I reply carefully. “Because I barely looked at you.”
“That’s the best part,” he says.
I blink.
Slowly.
“That is not what the book said,” I murmur before I can stop myself.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I take a note. For real this time.
❌ Eye contact constantly
✔ Brief eye contact + listening
When he leaves, I sit alone in the office, staring at the book.
Eye Contact.
I draw a small arrow beside it and write:
Optional. Use sparingly.
I close the book.
My eyes hurt.
But the session worked.
Again.
This is becoming a pattern, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
Another client walks in.
Immediately, alarm bells.
I am getting clients back-to-back with no buffer time. This is deeply concerning. There is supposed to be a pause. A reset. A moment to breathe and remember I am a physical being with limits.
I look at the client.
I already don’t like her.
This is not personal. This is instinct. The kind that flares before your brain can explain itself.
Her sobbing starts before she even sits down.
It is loud. Sharp. Wet.
Ow. My ears.
I glance toward the hall where Karen is standing outside her office.
Even she is scowling at the client.93Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7BmKzYLKae
Or maybe she’s scowling at me.
Hard to tell. Karen’s face lives in a permanent state of judgment.
She notices me looking.
She rolls her eyes.
Good luck, I guess… she mouths.
Thanks?
The door closes.
The sobbing escalates.
This is either:
1. Someone with a lot of problems who needs professional help and possibly ice cream,93Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFdVXdZA0jw
or93Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjqyYS7bjmt
2. Someone who thrives on performance and should be put in community theater.
Either way—
Ow.
My ears.
And this client is wasting my time.
I sit down anyway. Because I am apparently still doing this job.
“What seems to be the issue?” I ask, already bracing myself.
She gasps like I have just asked her to relive a war crime.
“Everything,” she wails.
That is not specific. That is not helpful.
She launches into a story that has no beginning, no middle, and no end. Names appear without introduction. Grievances stack with no hierarchy. Every sentence ends in a sob sharp enough to pierce glass.
I try to follow.
I cannot.
My jaw clenches.
I attempt eye contact. Immediate regret. Her face crumples harder, like I’ve unlocked a bonus crying level.
I look down. I try to take notes. My pen squeaks traitorously against the paper.
She cries harder.
This is a nightmare.
Okay.
New strategy.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, standing abruptly.
She pauses mid-sob. “W-what?”
“I will return,” I say. This may or may not be true.
I walk out into the hallway and shut the door behind me with more force than strictly necessary.
Peace.
Glorious, ringing peace.
I press my forehead against the wall and breathe. Once. Twice. My hands are shaking. My ears feel like they’re vibrating internally.
I make my way down the hall.
Karen must be with a client of her own. I don’t hear her voice when I step out, which is surprising. I expected her to appear immediately, like a blood-scented shark. Especially since Vicki is off today.
I reach Robert’s office and open the door without knocking.
“Robert. Help.”
Robert looks up from his desk like I’ve just said a cursed phrase.
He’s new. Like me. Except he has credentials. And training. And confidence. Robert knows what he’s doing.
I do not.
“W—what do you, uh… need help with?” he asks.
“I am experiencing auditory distress,” I say. “And emotional irritation. Possibly rage.”
He blinks. Once. Slowly.
“Okay,” he says carefully. “Do you need me to—”
“I’m going under the desk.”
“Oh. O—okay.”
I crouch immediately and tuck myself beneath his desk. It is dark. It is quiet. It smells faintly like coffee and printer ink. This is acceptable.
“Jennifer,” Robert says gently, leaning over in his chair, “do you need me to take over the session?”
I consider this.
The answer is yes.93Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡf3KZ4s5rTO
The answer is very yes.
“I believe,” I say from the floor, “if I return to that room, I will either cry or scream or both. Possibly at the same time.”
There is a pause.
“That’s… fair,” Robert says.
I hear him stand up.
“Stay here,” he adds. “I’ll handle it.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. This is important. He should know this is important.
After a moment, he hesitates.
“For the record,” he says, “this was the right call.”
I close my eyes.
My hands stop shaking.
“Oh,” I reply. “Good. Because I did not think I could justify it morally.”
Robert snorts before he catches himself.
I stay under the desk until the buzzing in my ears fades and my thoughts stop colliding into each other. When I finally crawl back out, the world feels… quieter. Manageable.
I sit against the wall and exhale.
I did not scream.
I did not cry.
I asked for help.
93Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCQH8XDy5et
and then Add to home screen.