The silence between us stretched, heavy and sharp. Leonardo leaned back in the chair, his hand still pressed against his temple as if trying to hold his thoughts inside. His eyes, dark and restless, flicked toward me again.
My heartbeat quickened, but I kept my face calm. Professional. Years of practice taught me never to show my emotions in front of a patient. Still, the way he looked at me, so unblinking, so unreadable, made a chill crawl up my spine.
"Leonardo," I said softly, my voice steady even if my pulse was not, "these dreams… do they feel like memories?"
His lips twitched, a shadow of a smile, but it wasn't warm. "They feel like warnings."
Warnings. The word echoed in my head like the slam of a door. I gripped my pen tighter, careful not to let it tremble.
"From who?" I asked, pretending curiosity instead of the unease twisting in my stomach.
His gaze locked with mine, so sharp it was almost unbearable. "From myself."
The air in the room felt heavier, pressing down on me. I swallowed, keeping my expression neutral. Inside, my mind was racing. Was he dangerous? Was he telling me a confession disguised as a dream?
I leaned slightly forward, acting composed. "You're here now. Safe. Whatever you see in your dreams, it can't harm you."
He tilted his head, almost amused, and then his voice dropped lower. "I see them… when I close my eyes. Ghosts."
A shiver ran through me, though I didn't let it show. "Ghosts?" I repeated, calmly, though my chest felt tight.
His stare didn't move. "They follow me. They never stop. I see their faces."
I felt my stomach twist, but my voice stayed professional, even, reassuring. "What you're experiencing, Leonardo, is linked to trauma. Trauma rewires the brain, it makes the past replay itself like it's happening again. The mind uses dreams, visions, sometimes even hallucinations, to release what it can't carry anymore."
For a moment, he was silent. Then, a crooked smile spread faintly on his lips. "So that's your answer, Doctor?"
The way he said Doctor, low, deliberate, didn't sound like respect. It sounded like a challenge.
I held his stare, even though inside, fear gnawed at me. "It's not an answer. It's a possibility. And the more you talk, the closer we can get to the truth."
His smile faded as quickly as it came. He leaned forward, so close that my breath caught. "Trust is dangerous, Doctor."
Inside, panic screamed: Should I call the police? This man makes me feel unsafe. He could be dangerous.
But another thought crept in, quieter, more terrifying than fear itself:
I don't want to let him go. I don't want to push him away. All I want is to know more.
And that craving… was the most dangerous thing of all.