Night Therapist

 Jeanne Duchamp yawned mightily and stretched herself out onto her couch. The tension that inhabited her body slowly ebbed away with that motion. She swept her long locs out from behind her to rest on her left side.

"Last thing I wanna do inadvertently pull my own hair while napping," she muttered. Her surroundings were rather homey; wood paneled walls, burnt umber hued couch, and all the other bits of furniture were made of heavy oak. One thing of note was the heavy bookcase to her left, laden with all sorts of literature. The low lighting in the room was causing her to slowly drift off. Maybe just one quick nap before her session, she thought. 

Just as she was about to drift off, her cell phone buzzed in her jeans pocket. Groaning in effort, she rolled off the couch and grabbed the still ringing phone from her pocket.

"nnnnhello?"

"Doctor Duchamp? I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?"

She cleared her throat noisily and replied, " Oh no, I was just on the couch. Nothing huge. And I told you, Damon, call me Jeanne. I'm your therapist."

"Er, yes. Jeanne. Anyway, I'm here for our 8pm appointment?"

Jeanne glanced over to the wall clock, and sure enough it read 7:55pm. Definitely like Damon to be early.

"Sure, let me buzz you in. See you soon." She hung up and walked to the door and pressed a matte grey button. Waiting for a few moments, she opened her office door and leaned on it. Any moment now.

A soft chime rang throughout the hallway accompanied by a sliding sound. Not even two minutes later, a tall gentleman with slightly haggard features rounded the corner and waved at Jeanne sheepishly.

"Damon. Good to see you. Come on in!"

She stepped to the side, gesturing for him to go in before her. He nodded slightly and did as he was bid, immediately making a bee line for the couch. Before he sat down, he took a heavy looking backpack off his person and set it as gently as he could on the floor. Despite all his care, there was a noticeable thud when contact was made.

Jeanne closed the door back and looked at her patient for a moment. 

"So, do you need anything before we begin? Water?"

Damon nodded emphatically at the suggestion. "Water would be great, thanks."

Turning left, she clicked on the light in the little kitchenette area. At first, she thought it was a bit of a foolish idea to have something like this in an office. However, there have been times where she's had to work late and a kitchen was an absolute godsend. She opened the door and found an unopened water bottle. She called out to Damon and gently tossed it in his direction.

He yelped and inadvertently juggled the bottle before it was safe in his hands. A slow smile peeked out from the sheer curtain of his dark brown hair.

"I got it," he said softly.

Jeanne made her way back into the office area. She sat down in the recliner closest to Damon and smiled at him. 

"Give me a second to grab my notes, alright? And while I do, you can tell me about your week. That alright?"

"Sure," he murmured. As she set about doing exactly what she said, she could hear Damon slowly talking about his life.

"Earlier this week, a guy cut me off in traffic and decided to blame it on me. I'm proud that I didn't react, but I kinda wish I did? I dunno."

She finally sat down in the recliner near him, picking up her note pad in the process.

"Well, were you angry when that happened?"

He blinked hard, slightly blindsided by the question. 

"Yes. Yes I was. But I figured worse things could have happened to me, so there was no reason to get mad."

Jeanne scribbled a few things in her pad, tapping the pen against the paper.

"Damon. There's nothing wrong with being mad. It's important to let yourself experience your emotions. As with all things, there can be excess, but stunting yourself can be harmful."

He looked back at her and gave her a sad smile. She noted this and was surprised at how drained he appeared to be. The bags underneath his eyes were more pronounced, worry lines were a little deeper. You wouldn't know that this poor kid was in his mid 20s.

"There're consequences to any and all actions, doc," he began. "And with me, the actions lead to very dire consequences. I have to keep myself in check. I have no choice in the matter."

She was silent for a moment, mulling this over. 

"I respect why you mention it, but I still want to help you. I believe you can be a fuller version of self..."

Damon's wristwatch beeped insistently. 8:45pm.

He then pointed at the watch face, nodding at his therapist. "Doc, it's time."

She nodded wordlessly and walked to the bookcase. Tracing her fingers across the embossed letters, she landed upon named "The Mystery of the Old Fishing Village." Her fingers gently gripped the top and pulled downward. The bookcase began to sink into the wall and open inward, revealing a staircase leading to a lower level. She felt around for the light switch and was rewarded with a click. The dull grey hallway was illuminated. 

All this seemed to not faze Damon in the slightest. He picked up his bag with a grunt and proceeded to follow her down. A short time later, the staircase led into a spacious concrete room. The only decor in the room was a bed on the far left, a small fridge, a small air unit and a chair seated across a wall with four heavy chains attached to it. 

Damon sat his bag near the chair and fished out a hefty looking manacle. He then pulled out three more, letting them clunk against the floor. 

She watched him work silently and deliberately. He then looked up at her. "Little help?"

Jeanne nodded wordlessly and set about helping him. He passed her one of the manacles and she fastened it to his left ankle, and did the same for the right. She then threaded it through the chains and tugged it twice each time: just to make sure it was safe. Damon backed himself fully up against the cool wall and sighed. 

"Now the top ones."

She stood up on the chair and repeated the same actions. Jeanne hopped down and backed the chair away for a moment. 

"Anything you need for now?"

He looked down at her, smiling tiredly again. "If you could turn on the air conditioning, it'd be a huge help."

"Got it." She rushed over to turn it on, the machine humming to life. 

Damon sighed contentedly as he felt the cool air reach him. 

"Thanks, doc."

"I asked for you to not call me that."

"Fine. Thanks, Jeanne. For everything."

"No problem. It's not just my job to look out for you, I just want you to want the best for yourself."

"I kno--!" Any further conversation was cut off by the breath catching in his throat. He flung his head back and a pained scream tore from his throat. What followed was something that always fascinated  her, but wholly terrified her at the same time. 

His bones were cracking and contorting in multiple ways. Damon's legs were growing longer, his knees popping and reversing direction. His soft brown eyes looked wild throughout the transformation, and all the while, still screaming. Damon's face elongated and his jaw dropped as if someone forcibly pulled it down. His teeth grew longer and sharper, fur began to sprout everywhere. 

She didn't look away. She couldn't. Despite what he was and how he explained it to her, she didn't turn away because no matter what his form took; he was still her patient. He trusted her enough to have him safely confined during the full moon. If that wasn't trust, she didn't know what was. 

The screams were replaced with pained howls that slowly ebbed over time. Jeanne sat about ten feet away, looking at him.

"Don't worry. I got you, Damon. We're in this together, bud."