Chapter 19

The room was soft in color. Pastel blues, off-white walls, a wall of bookshelves and a subtle scent of lavender in the air.

It was designed to be warm. Inviting. Safe.

But nothing about Gesly Navarro's presence felt like he was here for safety.

He sat on the couch—not stiff, not slouched—perfectly poised. Relaxed, in a way that looked natural to the untrained eye. But to Dr. Daria Ramos, licensed clinical psychologist and child behavioral specialist, it was performance.

Calculated calmness.

"Hi, Gesly," she started gently, offering a neutral smile. "Do you know why you're here?"

He looked at her with those quiet, piercing eyes. "To talk," he said simply.

"That's part of it," she nodded. "Your sister is worried about you."

"Isn't that her job?" he replied. His tone was polite. Light. Almost charming.

"She says you've been getting into trouble lately. Skipping classes. Getting into fights. Would you agree with that?"

"Depends," Gesly said with a half-shrug. "What do you define as trouble?"

Daria smiled thinly. Ah. He's one of those.

Intelligent. Guarded. Charming. Dangerous in how composed he was.

"I define it as something that could get you arrested. Or hurt."

"So by that logic," Gesly replied smoothly, "if someone hits me first and I hit back… I'm trouble?"

"Not necessarily," she said. "But what you choose to do next, after you hit back—that's where choice comes in."

He tilted his head slightly. "Isn't it all just instinct, though? Fight or flight? Maybe some of us are just built for war."

She blinked. "Do you think you are?"

Gesly smiled. "I think I adapt."

Daria leaned forward slightly, clasping her hands. "You're very clever. You observe first before you speak. That's rare for your age."

"I'm not most people," he replied.

"No," she agreed, writing something down. "You're not."

He watched her scribble. Not a flinch in his expression.

But his mind? So that's her technique. Validation followed by analysis. Echo and redirect. Interesting.

"I'm curious," she said after a pause. "What do you think your sister hopes you get from talking to me?"

"Peace of mind. For herself," he answered quickly. "She's scared. She doesn't understand me anymore. So she sent me here thinking you could translate whatever language she thinks I'm speaking."

"And are you speaking a different language?"

Gesly leaned back, arms casually resting over the couch. "Aren't we all?"

Daria studied him. He was good. Too good. Every response filtered. Controlled. Even the moments of vulnerability were deliberate—like rehearsed lines from a very long play.

"Why do you think she's scared?"

"Because I don't react the way I used to," Gesly said. "I don't panic when I should. I don't cry when I'm supposed to. That scares people."

"Does it scare you?"

He met her gaze.

"No. It excites me."

A pause.

There it is, Daria thought.

The first crack in the mask—too sharp, too honest. But still controlled. He was letting her see only what he wanted to be seen.

This boy isn't here for help, she realized. He's here to win.

Gesly smiled faintly, reading her silence. "So… how am I doing, doc? Did I pass the test?"

She smiled back, equally measured. "We're not here to pass or fail, Gesly. But thank you for being honest."

He gave her a short, mock salute. "Always a pleasure."

Dr. Daria Ramos had been practicing psychology for over twenty years.

She'd sat across sociopaths, trauma victims, and children shaped by horrors too dark to name. She'd seen denial, rage, grief, dissociation—every possible response the human mind could craft to survive.

But there was something about Gesly Navarro that haunted her days after every session.

Too smooth. Too knowing. Too precise.

He didn't avoid the questions. He welcomed them.

Week after week, he showed up exactly on time. Well-dressed. Calm. Polite. Always flashing that charming half-smile that said, Don't worry, doc. I've got this under control.

And that was exactly the problem.

Because this wasn't control.

It was calculation.

A performance sharpened like a blade.

"Let's talk about the fight, Gesly," she said during their fourth session. "The one where you fractured your knuckle."

"Self-defense," he replied smoothly. "You read the report, right?"

"I did. But I want to hear your version of it."

He leaned back, fingers tapping his knee, as if recounting a memory he barely cared for.

"They cornered my friend. One of them pushed me. I hit back. I stopped when he hit the floor. That's it."

"And how did you feel afterward?"

There it was again—that tiny pause. Just long enough to fabricate something believable.

"I felt… relieved," he answered. "That it was over."

"You didn't feel guilty?"

Another pause. But this time, it was almost mocking.

"I don't believe in guilt for doing what needs to be done."

Daria made a small note. That was the third time he spoke about violence without emotion.

"Do you think hurting people is ever necessary?"

"Only when talking no longer works," Gesly said. "Some people only understand consequences."

"You mean pain."

He met her eyes. "Same thing."

By the end of the session, Daria was exhausted. Not because Gesly was difficult.

But because he was too good.

He gave perfect answers with just the right amount of vulnerability. But beneath it all was emotional hollowness so deep it was chilling. He mirrored empathy like a magician pulling rabbits from a hat.

He knew what to say. How to say it. And most dangerously, why.

He weaponized therapy.

Subtle provocations to test her reactions. Emotional truths dangled like bait. And always—always—that distant, clinical awareness of how this game was played.

She stared at her report that night.

Patient: Gesly Navarro

Age: 16

Initial diagnosis:

Under observation for potential emerging psychopathy or antisocial personality traits.

Symptoms noted:

— Excessive self-awareness

— Emotional detachment

— Repeated manipulation of therapist dynamic

— Lacks remorse or guilt for violence

— High verbal intelligence

— Charm used to disarm or redirect scrutiny

Session summary:

Patient displays calculated behavior during all sessions. While cooperative on the surface, therapy is being used not as a tool for healing, but as a stage for performance. Emotional connection is feigned, not felt. The patient demonstrates a disturbing understanding of psychological mechanisms and uses them to maintain control of the narrative.

Recommendation:

Further psychological evaluation is required.

Parental/guardian involvement is advised.

That night, she called Andi.

The elder Navarro answered quietly, already sounding tired. "Hello?"

"It's Dr. Ramos," she began gently. "I think it's time we had a very honest conversation about your brother."

Andi's voice tensed. "What happened?"

Dr. Ramos hesitated. Then finally said, "He's not in therapy to get better, Andrea. He's here because you asked him to be. That's the only reason he agreed. He's not healing—he's performing. For you."

There was silence on the line. Long. Heavy.

Then a soft, broken, "…I thought I could still reach him."

Dr. Ramos's voice softened. "You might. But not as his anchor. Right now, you're his audience. And he's doing everything to make sure you never see the real storm underneath."

Andi didn't speak again.

But the quiet sob she tried to hide into the phone told the therapist all she needed to know.