After the early hours of pretending like the other person didn’t exist in the room, 9:00 a.m. finally struck.
The first client arrived exactly on time.
Mary had led her in with her usual grumpy efficiency, and a moment later the office door clicked shut.
Annabelle.
Drogo’s brows arched slightly. The young lady looked smaller than he remembered.
With her white skin dusted with freckles, her brown hair pulled back too tightly; her frame was thin with lanky limbs folded inward like she was trying to take up less space than she already did. Dressed in an oversized cardigan and pleated skirt, the thick glasses filled most of her face.
Drogo grimaced. Her usual nervous posture.
Annabelle sat on the client sofa and immediately began twisting her fingers together, pressing her knuckles white with her knees angled inward. She hunched her shoulders slightly.
Silence lingered.
Across from her, Drogo sat composed as usual with a straight posture, having his hands resting calmly on the notepad on his lap.
Next to him—Karen glittered.
There was no other word to describe her.
Bright gold short dress, the latex-like fabric hugging her body with a shine that caught every movement of light.
She looked like she had walked into the wrong building and decided to stay anyway.
Drogo broke the silence eventually.
“Annabelle?”
She flinched slightly.
“H-hi, Dr. Drogo.”
“You’re fidgeting again,” he noted calmly. “This isn’t your first session. You seem more nervous than usual. Did something happen?”
Annabelle’s fingers tightened.
Her eyes drifted and landed on Karen.
Karen did not soften her gaze.
She stared at the girl with complete indifference, lacking all sense of welcome and ease.
Annabelle swallowed and looked back at Drogo, pinching the fabric of her cardigan.
“I- I didn’t know…” she stammered. “I didn’t know you had a new assistant.”
Drogo glanced at Karen.
Karen looked absolutely nothing like an assistant to a therapist.
He returned his attention to Annabelle.
“It’s a new transfer arrangement. Ms. Benjamin is assisting me for now.”
“I t- th- thought you used to work alone.” She watched the floor.
“I did,” he replied evenly. “This is something I’m trying out. You don’t need to worry about her. She understands confidentiality and might even help us through your session.”
He shot Karen a brief look. Karen, for reasons known only to herself, was chewing gum.
She leaned back in her chair then crossed her legs, giving Annabelle a lazy glance.
“Hi.” The word was flat.
Annabelle’s discomfort visibly increased.
She inhaled sharply, then exhaled too quickly. Her chest began rising unevenly.
“Is i-it okay if it’s just the two of us, Dr. Drogo?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Drogo opened his mouth to respond.
Karen interrupted. “If it’s just the two of you, how exactly am I supposed to assist?”
Annabelle’s fingers stilled for a second before resuming their nervous twisting.
Drogo’s jaw tightened briefly. “Karen,” he called quietly.
Karen shrugged.
Annabelle nodded quickly, almost apologetically. “It’s fine. It’s okay.” She forced herself to breathe.
Drogo shifted his tone back to calm.
“Let’s continue from where we stopped last week. How have things been at school? How is your relationship with your classmates? Are they still bullying you?”
The effect of his words was immediate. Annabelle’s face flushed red in embarrassment.
Her eyes darted toward Karen again, then back to Drogo. She looked like she wanted the word bullying erased from the air.
Her fingers gripped her skirt now.
Drogo noticed, and so did Karen; that was unnecessary to her.
Annabelle lowered her gaze to the floor, her voice shrinking. “They… they’re not as loud about it anymore,” she said softly. “But they still whisper.”
Her cheeks burned.
She could feel Karen’s presence in the room. The glittering presence and aura felt oppressive and somewhat mocking to Annabelle.
“They don’t say it directly,” she murmured. “It’s more like… jokes.”
Drogo leaned forward slightly, voice steady. “What kind of jokes?”
She hesitated.
“About how I dress. About how I look. They say I look like I’m stuck in middle school.” A weak laugh escaped her. It wasn’t real. “They call me… paper. Because I’m too thin.”
Well, at least they’re bullies and not liars. It took a lot for Karen’s lips not to open with those very words.
Meanwhile, Drogo’s expression didn’t change, but his tone softened. “And when they say these things, what do you feel?”
Annabelle swallowed. “Embarrassed. Like I shouldn’t be there.”
“Shouldn’t be where?” Drogo grimaced.
“In class. In the cafeteria. Anywhere.”
Karen shifted in her seat; the latex fabric of her dress made the faintest sound.
Annabelle noticed, and so did Drogo.
“Do they ever threaten you?” he asked carefully.
Annabelle shook her head quickly. Too quickly. “Not really.”
“Annabelle.”
Silence.
Her breathing picked up again.
“They just say things like… if I don’t ‘fix myself,’ no one will ever want to sit near me. Or that if I don’t learn how to dress properly, I’ll always look like a before picture.”
Karen let out a small, unimpressed exhale. “They’re not wrong about the wardrobe,” she muttered under her breath.
Drogo’s head turned slowly.
“Karen.” His tone was a threat.
She raised both hands in mock surrender, shifting the gum between her cheek. “What? I’m just saying confidence helps.”
Annabelle’s shoulders folded inward further.
Drogo’s voice dropped lower, calmer. “Annabelle, look at me.”
It took effort, but she finally did.
“When they make these comments, do you believe them?”
Her lips trembled slightly. “I- I try not to. But… I see how they look at me.”
“And how do they look at you?”
“Like I’m defective.” Annabelle’s voice cracked.
The word hung in the air.
Drogo’s jaw tightened subtly.
“You are not defective, Annabelle,” he said evenly. “You are being targeted because you are quieter and you don’t retaliate. That doesn’t make you lesser. It makes you mature.”
Karen tilted her head. “Or,” she inserted casually, “it makes her an easy target.”
Drogo closed his eyes briefly. “Karen, please.”
“What? It’s practical.”
Annabelle’s breathing grew uneven again.
Drogo immediately shifted closer, voice firmer but soothing. “Annabelle, focus on my voice. Slow breath in.”
She obeyed.
“Out.”
Her shoulders rose and fell shakily.
“You are safe here,” he continued. “No one in this room has power over you.”
Well, that’s insulting… Karen arched a brow but stayed silent this time.
Annabelle blinked rapidly, fighting tears. “I don’t understand why it bothers me so much. They don’t even hit me. It’s just words.”
“Words shape identity,” Drogo said quietly. “Especially when repeated.”
She nodded faintly.
“They laugh when I walk past. Sometimes they take pictures. They don’t post them. They just show each other and whisper.”
Drogo’s hands clasped together. “And at home?”
She stiffened but exhaled. “My parents say I should try harder to fit in. My mom says maybe if I wore makeup… or ate more… or stood up straighter…”
Her voice cracked.
Karen’s gum stopped moving for a second.
Drogo’s tone softened further. “So you feel criticized at school and corrected at home.”
Annabelle nodded. “I don’t know how to exist correctly.”
Silence filled the office again.
Karen looked at the girl more carefully now, her eyes slightly less dismissive than before.
Drogo spoke gently. “You do not need to exist correctly for other people. We’re going to work on separating their voices from yours—”
“Or,” Karen said lightly, “she could just reinvent herself.”
Drogo shot her a look. New chapters come out on g.com first.
Annabelle looked confused. “Reinvent?”
Karen shrugged. “New clothes. New attitude. Stop looking like prey.”
Drogo inhaled slowly. “That’s not what we’re doing here, Karen.” His jaw clenched, feeling his tolerance for respect of workspace ethics shaking.
Annabelle’s eyes flicked between them, feeling a bit smaller than usual.
Karen leaned forward slightly.
“Let me ask you something,” she said, her tone now more deliberate. “When they laugh at you, do you at least look good while they’re doing it?”
Drogo pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What? It’s a real question.”
Annabelle blinked. “I… I don’t know.”
“That’s the problem,” Karen replied. “You don’t know. You don’t control the narrative.”
Drogo tutted. “This is not about narrative control.”
“It is,” Karen shot back smoothly. “She walks into a room already apologizing for existing. Why won’t they taunt? I know I was tempted minutes ago.”
Annabelle’s clutch tightened.
Karen continued, studying her like she was analyzing a project. “You dress like you’re trying to disappear. Oversized cardigan. Neutral colors. No makeup. Hair pulled back tightly like you’re attempting to pull your face from the back.”
Annabelle instinctively reached up and touched her hair.
“I like being comfortable,” she said weakly.
“Comfortable is invisible,” Karen replied. “Invisible invites commentary.”
Drogo’s voice cooled. “Karen, enough.”
But she wasn’t done. “If they’re going to look at you anyway, give them something curated to look at. A little makeup. Something fitted. Stand up straight. Make them adjust to you.”
Annabelle’s embarrassment was still there, but something else flickered underneath—curiosity.
“D- Do you… think that would help?” she asked quietly.
“No!” Drogo intervened immediately. “Your value does not depend on visual performance.”
Karen waved a dismissive hand. “No one said value. It’s survival.”
Annabelle looked between them. “But… wouldn’t that be fake?” she asked.
Karen tilted her head. “Everything is fake until it becomes habit.”
Drogo exhaled sharply. “You’re encouraging her to construct a persona instead of building self-worth.”
“I’m encouraging her not to be prey, Dr. Vetter… unlike the self-diminishing humility that will keep her at the end of the social chain.”
Annabelle’s breathing had slowed now. She wasn’t hyperventilating anymore.
She was listening.
Karen leaned back, crossing her legs again. “You don’t have to ‘be yourself’ if yourself is getting eaten alive.”
Drogo’s patience thinned visibly. “Annabelle, bullying is not corrected by reshaping yourself to meet their standards.”
“But what if I don’t even know what my standards are?” Annabelle whispered.
That landed harder than Karen expected. She grinned.
“Then borrow one. Reinvent. Experiment. You’re acting like this is permanent. It’s high school. It’s a courtroom. Upgrade. Start with looking better. Get better clothes, wear push-ups and—”
Drogo stood up.
That was it.
“Session over.”
The firmness in his voice cut through the air.
Annabelle startled.
He turned to her, tone immediately softer. “We’ll reschedule for two days from now. Same time. We’ll continue then.”
She looked up confused, slightly flushed, but she nodded. “O-okay, Dr. Drogo.”
He walked her to the door himself.
“Remember what we discussed previously,” and definitely not what was said today…
He then added gently. “You are not the problem, Annabelle. I need you to remember that.”
She gave a small nod before walking out with her head down.
Drogo closed the door.
Silence.
He turned slowly.
Karen was still seated, one leg crossed over the other, entirely unbothered.
He looked at her.
Not irritated… No, far from that.
The pulsation in his neck ached as he took a step closer. “Karen Benjamin.”
His throat tightened as tight as his fists.
“What,” he asked carefully, “do you think you were doing?”